Chapter 106
It wasn't hard for Clarke to keep busy the next day. For some reason, she'd gotten it in her head yesterday that she wanted to re-paint the downstairs bathroom, so she went out and bought a can of white paint in a shade called cream. It was just slightly different than the room's current eggshell shade, had a touch more of a yellow tint to it. It probably wouldn't look much different once it was actually up on the walls, but it was a project she could do over the weekend. Or next week. Or next weekend. If Bellamy ended up being gone for months, a lot of rooms in her house were going to get repainted.
After that, she cleaned the kitchen and the bathrooms, did a load of laundry (there was less of it since it was just for her and Avery), and she called up both the car repair place and Charles Pike. The car repair was just for an update. They were still working on, might have it done by next week. The conversation with Pike, of course, took longer. In terms of continuing with the adoption, their hands were a bit tied until Bellamy was out of rehab. They needed him to be 'definitively sober,' as Pike put it, before they took their case to a judge.
That afternoon, Clarke was pretty wiped out, but she still had a piano lesson with Madi. The girl was getting good, really good, and Clarke found it pretty relaxing to sit there and listening to her play. After she left, Clarke sat down and played a bit herself, then took out her guitar and strummed out a couple melodies. She didn't sing, though, because . . . she just didn't feel like singing. Maybe when Bellamy came home, she would. Maybe that would be good for him.
Exhausted, she managed to put Avery down pretty early that night and crawled into bed around 9:30. She was just about to nod off when her phone rang. When she reached over and picked it up, she couldn't believe the name she was seeing on the screen. Bellamy.
"Hey," she answered, hoping he sounded good, praying he sounded hopeful and not too sad.
"Hey."
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, just taking in the sound of that voice. That deep, gruff Bellamy voice. She'd missed it. Hadn't heard it for three days.
"I didn't think you'd call today," she said. Even though the detox period was over, she'd just assumed once it'd gotten past noon that he'd decided he wasn't ready to reach out yet. And that would have been fine, too.
"I wanted to call earlier," he said, "but, you know, they got this really structured routine for me, and I'm tryin' to stick to it."
"Good," she said. Structure and routine was what he needed right now.
"We always get downtime at the end of the day, though, so . . . just had to work up the courage to call you," he said.
"Courage?" He'd been afraid of this?
"Yeah, I wasn't sure if you'd wanna hear from me."
"I do," she assured him, curling up on her side, warm beneath her blankets with her phone up to her ear. "It's good to hear your voice."
"Yours, too," he said. Then, after waiting a moment, he asked the question she knew he couldn't wait to ask: "How's Avery?"
"She's good," Clarke told him. "She misses you, of course. But she's good."
"Is she sleeping right now?"
"Yeah." If she'd still been awake, Clarke would have put the phone up to her ear and had him talk to her.
"Were you?" he asked.
"Sleeping? No, laying in bed but not really sleeping yet," she replied.
"Have you been gettin' enough rest?"
"Yeah, enough." Here he was asking all these questions about her when she—and everyone else—really just wanted to know about him. She supposed he was doing a lot of talking about himself, though, so he probably didn't mind hearing what she'd been up to. "I've been keeping busy. I'm gonna re-paint the downstairs bathroom."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, it's gonna look nice," she told him. "And Madi came over for her piano lesson today. But don't worry, it's not all just work. I've seen my mom and Raven and Harper. I even had Murphy and Miller over yesterday."
"What about Finn?" he asked.
She was reluctant to even talk about Finn with him right now, but he'd asked, so she wasn't going to keep it a secret. "He did come over," she said. "Nothing happened. He didn't even come in the house. We talked, and I basically told him to shove it."
Bellamy laughed a little.
"Anyway, nothing much is really happening with that right now, but I can keep you in the loop, if that's what you want."
"I'll, uh . . . I'll let you know," he said. "Sometimes I feel good and I feel like I can handle that stress, but then other times . . . you know."
"Yeah, I get it," she assured him. "I'll only talk about that stuff if you ask."
"Thanks," he said. "So everyone's taking care of you then? They're helpin' you out?"
"When I need help, yes," she said, although she had to admit, she was feeling pretty proud of everything she was doing on her own. "What about you? Are you doing alright?"
"Yeah," he replied with a long sigh. "That first night here was, uh . . . really hard. I didn't sleep. Second night got better. Last night, I slept like a rock."
"Well, that's good." Hopefully she'd have one of those nights soon, but that was almost impossible with a baby in the house. "Have you meditated yet?"
He chuckled. "Yeah, more or less. I dozed off."
She smiled, picturing him snoring while everyone else was, like, breathing deeply or something. "What about the yoga?" she asked.
"Haven't done that yet. Don't know if I will," he said. "I like the gym, though. I met a few guys, so I'm workin' out with them."
"Yeah? How's the food?"
"Terrible," he responded without hesitation.
"Oh, no."
"Yeah, last night we had this broccoli casserole. Or stew. I don't really know what it was, but it was bad."
"Well, if that's the worst of it . . ."
"Yeah," he agreed. "No, it's a pretty good place. No major complaints so far."
"Good." She was so glad it sounded like it was living up to everything she'd found out online. Of course, there was one major aspect of it that he hadn't addressed yet, so she felt like she had to ask, "How's the therapy going?"
"It's . . . intense," he answered slowly, as if he was really thinking about that word. "I'm doin' the stuff on my own and with a group. So it's a lot. I'll tell you more about it once I get home."
"You don't have to, if you don't want to." She respected the fact that his therapy conversations were private, just as hers would be, if she started attending one of those support groups for family members.
"No, I will. I wanna tell you. Just not over the phone," he said. "But enough about me. How's everyone else? My mom, my sister?"
"They're fine," she told him. "They came and checked on me this morning."
"Oh, did they?"
"Yeah." It'd been unnecessary, but still very thoughtful. "Hey, your team's got a game tomorrow night. Saturday game. I think it's gonna be streamed on the school website if you wanna check it out."
"Yeah, I don't know if I can," he said. "Technology time's pretty limited here. Plus, I'll just feel bad for not being there."
Maybe I shouldn't have even mentioned it then, Clarke thought. As curious as he'd probably be about how they were playing, that didn't mean he wanted to watch it all through a screen.
"Are you gonna go?" he asked her.
"Wasn't planning on it." Her interested in the game diminished significantly when her husband wasn't on the sideline.
"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed.
"Why? Do you want me to?"
"I mean . . . if you wouldn't mind," he said. "I'm sure I got a lot of players' parents emailing me, wondering what's going on. If you could just tell 'em that I'm off gettin' help, but let 'em know I'll be back . . . that'd help me out a lot."
She had hoped that they would all just field those questions with Miller or the school, but if her attending that game would help put his mind at ease about missing it, then she willing to put on her jersey and go. "Okay. I can make an appearance then," she decided.
"Only if you want to. You don't have to."
"No, I'll go," she said. "I wanna help you." She just hoped people wouldn't stare at her or anything. That would just be awkward.
...
People were staring. It wasn't just a couple people, either. It was almost everyone sitting on the Rockets' side of the bleachers. Not surprising. Carrying Avery up the steps, she sat down in her usual spot, trying to ignore all the eyes she felt on her and block out the whispers she heard swirling all around those stands. Gossip time. At this point, she was used to it.
...
Why is everyone looking at me? Clarke wondered as she walked down the hallway towards her locker. Was she being paranoid? Self-centered? Or had she just worn a horrible-looking outfit or something?
Josephine was sitting outside the art room with one of her older friends, and they were both definitely looking at her. Clarke was sure she wasn't imagining it. Still, she tried to ignore it, put in her locker combo, and started gathering up her supplies for her first two classes of the day.
"I'm sure she knows," she heard Josephine's friend whisper.
"Yeah," Josephine agreed, "probably laying out the welcome mat." They both snickered.
Clarke had half the mind to confront them when Wells strolled up to her locker with his face halfway hidden in his chemistry textbook. "Hey, Clarke," he said.
"Wells." She shut her locker and turned her back to the girls so they couldn't eavesdrop on what she was saying to him. "Am I going crazy, or is everyone looking at me?"
He glanced around the hall and said, "I don't think so."
She looked around, too, and it seemed like everyone had gone back to doing their own thing. "It felt like that when I walked in," she said.
"Maybe they're just talking about the Quiz Bowl's sweeping victory in the holiday tournament," he said with a grin.
"Doubt it." Most people at that school didn't even know that they had a Quiz Bowl team.
"Hey, Willis," Josephine chirped, coming up to Clarke suddenly, "can I talk to your girl for a minute?"
"It's Wells," he corrected.
"Whatever."
He rolled his eyes and headed back down the hall, leaving Clarke alone with someone who seemed very much like a young Regina George to her. "What do you want, Josephine?"
"To find out if it's true." Josephine chomped on her gum annoyingly and wriggled her eyebrows as if she were excited about something.
"If what's true?" Clarke asked, still clueless as to what she was talking about.
"That Bellamy's coming back to Arkadia."
Those words all strung together like that . . . they didn't even compute in her mind for a moment. "What?" she spat out incredulously.
"Oh, come on, don't act like you don't know."
She didn't know, though. What the hell was this, some crazy rumor? Who had she heard that from? Was it actually true?
"Oh my god," Josephine gasped. "Do you really not know?"
"What're you talking about?" He was playing football now, probably on his way to the pros. Why would he come back to Arkadia when his whole future was set up for him down there?
"People are saying he dropped of college," Josephine said. "Huh. I thought you'd know. Weren't you guys fucking like bunnies last year?"
Too much like bunnies, Clarke thought, her stomach clenching with worry as she considered the possible implications of this . . . scenario. Bellamy couldn't drop out. Because if he dropped out, he'd come home, and if he came home, then . . .
"Well, if he does come back, every girl's gonna be all over him," Josephine predicted, "so good luck having him all to yourself again." She gave Clarke a smug look as she made her way back over to her friend, like she somehow thought that she, a freshman, stood a chance at seducing a nineteen year old guy. Gross.
Oh my god, Clarke thought, her heart pounding out of control. Oh my god. She had to find out more about this so she could come up with a plan.
The only person whose word she really trusted on any of this right now was her best friend's, so she went out to the commons and found Raven sitting alone at a table, lots of books strewn out in front of her. Most people knew better than to interrupt her when she was studying, including Clarke, but this was an emergency.
"Did you hear?" she asked, crashing into the seat next to her friend.
"What?" Raven asked.
"About Bellamy."
"Oh, yeah," Raven said. "But you didn't say anything, so I figured it was just a rumor."
Why did everyone think that she would somehow be clued in about Bellamy's potential return? They weren't talking anymore. They hadn't talked for half a year now. "What if it's true?" she fretted.
"You think it might be?" Raven set her pencil down, leaned back in her chair, and got this curious look on her face as she thought about it. "Why would he drop out, though? It doesn't make sense."
"No, it doesn't," Clarke agreed. "Which is why I need a favor."
"Oh, god," her friend groaned. "What?"
"You go down to the middle school to TA, right?"
"Yeah, sixth period."
"And don't you TA for an eighth grade class?" It wasn't just any eighth grade class, though. It was an eighth grade class with a certain eighth grader in it.
"You want me to ask Octavia?" Raven easily deduced.
"Maybe not outright. Just poke around a bit, see if she says anything about her brother coming back to town."
"Octavia usually gets kicked out of class," Raven informed her.
"Just do it right at the beginning then," Clarke practically begged. "Please? I need to know." She couldn't tell Raven why she needed to know so badly, but . . . she did. She really did.
At the end of the day, when Clarke still hadn't heard anything from Raven, she was beginning to think Octavia had perhaps been absent from school. But after the last bell of the day rang, she headed to her locker, and Raven was already there waiting for her.
"So?" Clarke asked leadingly as she opened up her locker.
"Okay, I got the scoop for you," Raven said. "Bellamy's not dropping out of college. He's still at UCF. Although he did quit the football team."
"What?" That still didn't make any sense. He'd left town for that team. He'd left her for that team.
"Yeah. Weird," Raven agreed. "Octavia thinks he might transfer somewhere else next year. Who knows? He could even end up back here."
Oh god, Clarke thought, panicking. What if he did? She'd avoided him for Thanksgiving and Christmas break so far, but she wouldn't be able to avoid him if he was living back here again. The summer months alone were going to be a challenge. Would she and her parents have to move? All because she didn't think she could handle seeing him yet?
"Would that be a good thing," Raven asked, "or . . .?"
Clarke set her books down in her locker and grabbed her backpack and coat, not really caring if she was neglecting to bring home her homework. "Thanks, Raven," she said, easing past her. She headed toward the door, no longer feeling like everyone was watching her, of course, but . . . she knew they would be. If Bellamy came back to town, everyone would wonder if they were getting back together again. And on some level, she'd want that. But she also knew she couldn't have it. Not anymore.
It wouldn't necessarily be a good or a bad thing if Bellamy returned to Arkadia; it would be a confusing thing.
...
When the pep band started to play "Sweet Caroline," Clarke was happy. Not only because she liked the song, but because their playing drowned all the whispers out. Unfortunately, they had to stop abruptly when the team lined up for the next play, so the song didn't last long, and then she heard the whispering again. She also heard an overly-perky voice say, "Excuse me?" from behind her, and then she felt a tap on her shoulder. A woman with a strawberry blonde pixie cut sat down next to her without even asking if the seat was taken (which it wasn't), and said, "Hi. Clarke, right?"
"Yeah, hi." She hadn't thought anyone would dare sit by her tonight.
"You're Coach Blake's wife?"
"Yes."
That woman—god, she was a total Stepford wife, wasn't she?—did one of those tight, close-mouthed smile things, and said, "I couldn't help but notice he's not coaching tonight."
"No, he won't be for a while," Clarke said, "but he's hoping to be able to coach some games towards the end of the season."
The woman wrinkled up her nose and asked, "Do you really think he should, though? I mean, everyone heard about that DUI he got. Hardly the responsible male role model us parents want coaching our kids."
Clarke just stared at her for a few seconds, her mouth hanging open because she was utterly flabbergasted. "Um . . ." What was she even supposed to say to that? Who in their right mind had the audacity to come up to somebody's wife and trash her husband? "Wow, I . . ." As much as she would have loved to just go off on her, there were kids around, including her own kid, and that wouldn't have helped improve Bellamy's reputation. "I have to go to the bathroom," she decided, thinking of the quickest escape possible. She got back up and hurried down the bleacher steps, wondering if everyone else who was looking at her and talking about her was talking about the same thing. Were people really going to be so vicious that they'd turn on Bellamy at the drop of a hat? Hopefully this one mom was in the minority.
She'd just rounded the bleachers and was prepared to head back up to the parking lot and leave the game altogether when her former principal stepped in front of her and said, "Clarke, there you are."
"Hi, Mrs. Sydney," she greeted, not able to smile or sound even the slightest bit friendly after everything she'd just heard. God, women like that made her blood boil. They were so fake nice. Everything she'd said had been in this ironically cheerful, upbeat tone, and that just made Clarke hate her even more.
"Please, call me Diana," Mrs. Sydney said. "Oh, your daughter's beautiful."
"Thank you." Normally, she might have shown her off a bit, but . . . not tonight. Tonight was ruined.
"I wasn't sure you'd be here," Mrs. Sydney—Diana—said.
"Well, I wasn't planning to be." If it hadn't been for Bellamy, she honestly would have just stayed home, and that probably would have been for the best. Because she was going to be fuming about this all night now.
"I'm glad I ran into you," the principal said. "I wanted to let you know what's going on."
Clarke got a bad feeling in her stomach when she heard that. "What?"
"Well, ever since your husband's . . . accident, we've been getting some phone calls and complaints from parents who don't think it's appropriate for him to keep coaching the team."
"Great," Clarke said sadly. It wasn't just cruel gossip going around then. There were people out there, probably sitting up in those stands, who were actively trying to get him fired. And that would just give him one more stressful life event to deal with, making his recovery even harder on him.
"It's not every parent, I assure you," the principal said. "Just a handful of them. But they have drummed up enough of a fuss that it's going to be discussed at the school board meeting Monday night."
"Mrs. Sydney . . . Diana . . ." Clarke corrected herself. "He made a mistake. Granted, a really bad mistake, but he knows that. He's getting help for it right now."
"I know," Diana said. "I'm thinking of him and praying for him every night. And listen, if it was just up to me, I'd give him a second chance. I know he's a great coach, and he's really revitalized this program in a very short amount of time. But it's not just up to me. If the school board votes to remove him, then there's nothing I can do about it."
She sounded so . . . resigned to just letting other people make the decision for her, and that didn't sit well with Clarke. Bellamy needed people who were willing to fight for him right now. "This isn't fair," she said. "They're gonna have this whole discussion about his job, something that affects his whole future, and he isn't even there to take part in it?"
"It's bad timing, I know," the principal acknowledged. "It just so happens that there isn't very much else on their agenda right now, either, so . . . this is definitely the hot-button topic."
"Oh, god." If she had to call Bellamy and tell him he'd lost his job, or if he had to come home and find that out . . . it'd devastate him. This was probably the only job he'd ever had in his life that he was actually passionate about. "Does Coach Miller know about this?" she questioned, hoping that maybe the opinion of the assistant coach could sway some people.
"He does," Diana said, "and he's going to be there advocating for Bellamy. I just thought you'd wanna know, too, so that this doesn't blindside you. I know you and your family are probably already dealing with a lot right now, and I'm so sorry to have to dump all this on you, too."
In a way, Clarke was glad she had, though. It was better to know about it than to be clueless. "Are school board meetings open to the public?" she asked, feeling a surge of determination in every part of her body.
"Yes," Diana replied.
That was all she'd wanted to hear. "Then I'll be there."
...
There wasn't much time to get things ready for the meeting, so Clarke didn't waste any time at all. Right when she got home that night, she called up Raven and said, "Hey, it's me. I need your big brain to help me do a little research." Raven came over at 8:00 and stayed until 1:30 a.m. helping her figure out a course of action and, more importantly, helping her find some evidence that would support keeping Bellamy as the coach instead of firing him.
The next day, she called Miller up to see if she could get the phone numbers and emails of all the players. He said he'd do her one better, that he could get them all together in person because they were planning on watching film from the game. (Apparently they'd just barely managed to win.) Clarke met up with all of them at the school, told them about what was going down at the meeting on Monday night, and got them to sign a petition stating that they wanted Bellamy to remain their coach. They definitely didn't take any convincing. The guys seemed to have a few ideas of their own, too. Good ones.
That night and any chance she got Monday during the day, she wrote out some things she wanted to say. A speech, technically, although she wasn't sure if she wanted it to print it out and have it in front of her. She would have loved to be able to just wing it with powerful speeches, like Bellamy could, but she had to rehearse hers first. It was a good speech, though. In fact, it was damn good. If anyone wanted to try to get her husband fired, they were gonna have to go through her first, and she was willing to put up a fight.
Her stomach became increasingly agitated as the meeting grew close Monday night, but she ignored it and focused on finding the perfect professional outfit—it ended up being a pencil skirt and button-up blouse—and then got to work straightening her hair. Forty-five minutes before the meeting was set to begin, every single one of her friends showed up to her house that night and drove there with her. Aurora, Octavia, her mom, and Kane all made sure to be there, too. In fact, since everyone who normally babysat was attending the meeting, she had to ask Madi to look after Avery instead.
There was one little thing on the agenda before they got to Bellamy, but that didn't take more than two minutes, and nobody cared about it. The fact of the matter was that the meeting room was packed full of people, probably way more people than normally attended. Lots of the parents, sure, but also, lots of players. All of the players.
It was brutal having to just sit there listening to two moms—one of whom was the same woman from the game on Saturday night—go off on this whole spiel about how Bellamy was no longer qualified to be the team's coach. They attacked his character, made it sound like he was going to be some dangerous influence on their kids. They presented the board members with a petition to fire Bellamy that had thirteen signatures on it. But Clarke wasn't intimidated. Those signatures didn't necessarily all represent different households. Besides . . . she had far more signatures than that.
No one else on that side of the debate actually spoke up, so next, it was Miller's turn. He did a good job. He talked about how he'd known Bellamy his whole life and how he knew first-hand how much he loved coaching that team. He talked about all the work he'd put into it and how it wouldn't be fair for the school to turn their back on him now. He ended his speech by saying, "I ask again that the board demonstrates leniency and understanding towards Coach Blake at this time. He might be going through difficulties in his personal life, but professionally, I guarantee, he will still end up being the best coach this school will ever have. Thank you for listening."
"Thank you, Mr. Miller," the school board president said as Miller walked back from the podium to his seat. "Is there anyone else who would like to speak on this matter?"
Here we go, Clark thought, doing her best to turn off her nerves. "I would," she said, standing up. Her friends whispered their words of encouragement while a bit of an ominous buzz arose from the crowd. Everyone had seen the coach's wife there, of course, but no one had expected the coach's wife to get up and speak.
"Please approach the podium," the president instructed.
Confidently, she walked up to the podium, put her materials down, and adjusted the microphone to her height. It was so quiet in that room, she could've heard a pin drop. But that was good. It meant people were going to listen.
"My name is Clarke Blake," she started out. "I'm the proud wife of Coach Bellamy Blake. Tonight, I'm here to speak on my husband's behalf, because he couldn't attend. He's at a voluntary treatment center in Baltimore getting the help he needs." She side-eyed the women who'd spoken out against him, because one of the things they'd said was that they didn't think he was going to get any better. "You know, when I heard that all of this was going on . . . I honestly wasn't that surprised," she continued. "I get it. He made a really big mistake; he did a really stupid thing. Trust me, he wouldn't have any problem admitting that. He got drunk, got behind the wheel, and got in an accident that could've been a lot worse than it ended up being. No one's disputing that." She made sure to lock eyes with every single person on that school board, sitting up there like the fucking Supreme Court, and spoke with even more conviction when she said, "What I will dispute is this idea that the Arkadia football team is somehow better off without him. Because that's just not true."
Even though no one had interrupted Miss PTA Mom, Miss PTA Mom herself still had the audacity to stand up and cut in with, "Excuse me, Mrs. Blake, but you have a child yourself, don't you? How would you feel if she was being coached or taught by an alcoholic?"
The president hit some kind of gavel and said, "The board asks that all others refrain from speaking while someone is at the podium."
"She's biased, clearly!" the mom shouted. "We can't listen to-"
"I'm not done talking," Clarke cut her off sharply. That garnered another ominous buzz, and though PTA Mom didn't sit down, she did at least shut up. "My husband is not a perfect man," Clarke acknowledged. "I thought for a long time that he was, but he isn't. And that's okay. None of us are. Now I understand, believe it or not, why some of you might be concerned. And I understand why the athletic director over here might be concerned about the future of this program if you end up letting him go. But in all reality, this has nothing to do with how many games you'll win or how many championships you'll undoubtedly advance to if you leave Coach Blake in charge. This is all about what kind of man is coaching these kids." She pictured him in her mind, smiled softly, and said, "He's a good man. Always has been. He's the kind of man who cares about people so much that he'll step up to the plate for them no matter what, no matter how hard it is." She looked down at her stomach, a stomach that had been huge and round five months ago, and decided to go off script a bit. "By now, you probably all know that's what he did for me. My child, my daughter . . . she has a father because he volunteered to be one. Without him, she'd just have me." She shot a challenging look at her least favorite mother in the room and said, "So look me in the eye and tell me that he's not a good man. Because if you can honestly do that, then I'll just sit down."
That mom looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights. She didn't say anything. In fact, slowly, she took her seat again, too.
"I did a little research to prepare for all of this," Clarke said, picking up several interesting articles she and Raven had dug up last night. "I just wanted to see if this school board has ever set a precedent for staff members who end up legal situations. And it turns out, you have." She approached the bench with her findings, feeling like a lawyer or something, and handed them over to the school board president himself. "In 1997, a volleyball coach also received a DUI. She had to perform community service and pay a fine, but her status as a coach was never revoked," she informed him. "And even more recently, in 2005, allegations of sexual assault against a technology teacher were completely disregarded at a school board meeting much like this. That teacher stayed on staff and retired in 2009." She headed back towards the podium, saying, "So if you wanna fire my husband, you're gonna have to explain to me how he's any worse than those two. And guess what?" She held her hands out to the side, shrugging. "You can't do it. You can't just sit here and shame someone who's had the courage to go confront his issues. I mean, if you wanna talk about role models, that's a role model right there. That's what these kids need to see. Not someone who never struggles, never faces adversity, always just hides their pain, but someone who perseveres and overcomes and deals with their problems rather than letting them grow. And that's exactly what my husband's doing. He's not a bad person trying to become good; he's a sick person trying to become healthy. And that's not something that should garner judgment. It should earn respect."
It must have sounded like that was her ending, because the school board president very politely said, "Thank you, Mrs. Blake. We'll take this all under consideration."
"Oh, I'm still not done," she informed him. "I just wanted to say, if you don't wanna listen to me, then at least listen to the team he's coaching." She looked back at all those players, and they stood up, took off their letterman's jackets, and came to stand beside her in the t-shirts they'd hastily printed up yesterday. The shirts said, Our Coach, Our Team, and there wasn't one player who had refused to wear them. Not one.
"Right here, I have a petition signed by not just some of the team members, but all of them," Clarke said, holding up a much longer list of names than what the mothers had collected. "This petition states that they want their coach back. And guess what? They decided to take it a step further all on their own." She stepped aside, allowing the first player, one of the captains of the team, to approach the microphone. He had to bend down to talk into it, of course, but his words were perfectly clear.
"I won't play without Coach Blake."
He must have been a pivotal player, because a gasp arose from some of the parents. Quarterback, perhaps? When he stepped aside, the next player came forward, bent down, and said the same words into the microphone. "I won't play without Coach Blake."
A few people on the opposing side started to lean towards each other and whisper. They all looked completely bewildered that this was blowing up so spectacularly in their faces.
"I won't play without Coach Blake." It just continued. One after another, that was what Bellamy's players said. When she did eventually tell him about all of this, he was going to be blown away. Touched.
Clarke looked back at her friends and family, smiling as the boys continued with their unwavering commitment. She had a good feeling about this.