Chapter 158: Coach Scott's Office
Thursday, January 12th, Morning
She knocked on the door. It wasn't unusual for the door to be closed before school started. Often, she wonders what he did behind the closed door. Nothing that would get him fired, she mused, hopefully.
After a moment, she knocked again. This time there's a response.
"Who is it?" his voice called back.
"Sawyer Scott," she said.
"Come in," his voice called back.
She opened the door and went into his office. Her Dad, Lucas Scott, sat behind the desk. Sawyer looked at her Dad over; he looked tired. Always at the beginning of the year, he looks like crap, and he recovers just in time to look like crap again. With him needing surgery, it made him look worse.
"Hey, Sawyer, how can I help?" Lucas asked.
"You left before I got up; I didn't get to see you," Sawyer said.
Lucas shrugged, "I had to head out early. Stuff needed to get done," he said.
"Okay, just wanted to see you this morning," Sawyer said.
"That's sweet," Lucas said.
Sawyer's mouth involuntary turned up in a smile for a moment, then returned to a neutral expression. "What are you looking at?" Sawyer asked, noticing a book open on his desk.
"I was cleaning out the cabinet and found this old scrapbook," Lucas said.
"From when?" Sawyer asked.
"The third championship, when you were nine," Lucas said.
"Can I see?" Sawyer asked.
Lucas nodded, "Sure," he said.
Sawyer walked over to the desk and looked down at the scrapbook. She looked over the pictures of the various girls. One of the photographs had Ashlyn Pierce-Scott early in her coaching career.
Turning the page, she looked at a picture of two young girls, and James Scott with his leg in a walking cast. The photo was taken during the all-star break in the NBA. Sawyer smiled at the two girls; both wore Tree Hill Basketball jerseys.
Lucas looked at that picture. He smiled, "You and Brett," he said.
"Yeah," Sawyer said in a low voice.
"Different times, I think Keni ran off just before they took the photo," Lucas said.
"Yeah, maybe," Sawyer said.
"Brett always wanted thirty, and you for some reason always wanted forty-three," Lucas said.
"Brett always liked Brenna Stewart, that's why she wanted thirty," Sawyer said.
Lucas nodded, "How about you and forty-three?" he asked.
"I was supposed to be next," Sawyer said.
"What does that mean?" Lucas asked.
"I was supposed to be the next Scott," Sawyer said, a tear in her eye.
"I get that, but how does that relate to forty-three?" Lucas asked.
"You were three, Keith was thirteen, Uncle Nathan was twenty-three, so I was going to be forty-three," Sawyer said.
Lucas nodded and got the significance. He watched as she turned the page. This page had a picture of a pale woman, who looked gaunt, and wore what looked like a turban around her head. Her complexion was graying, but she was smiling and cheering.
Sawyer quickly turned the page. There was Sawyer still wearing the number forty-three jersey, but she was holding up a sketch pad. There was a beautifully detailed drawing on the sketch pad. It showed her Dad on the sideline watching the game, holding a clipboard.
"I still can't believe how talented you are when it comes to art," Lucas said.
"Mom had us drawing and painting every time she watched us," Sawyer said, in a low voice.
"Your artwork always stood out," Lucas said.
"Yeah, I gave it up to play basketball, then to cheerlead," Sawyer said in a low voice.
"You could always have a hobby," Lucas said, "I wrote, your mom did her drawings, hell your Aunt Brooke started her business as a hobby."
"Not everyone is so gifted, plus I do the streaming," Sawyer said.
Lucas sighed, "It use to bring such joy to your life," he said.
"It was a different time," Sawyer said.
Lucas nodded, "That it was," he said.
"There was a time it brought me joy," Sawyer said and nodded, "There was."
"Ever just want to enjoy things again?" Lucas asked.
"MMM…. maybe," Sawyer said, "Why do you ask?"
"The Frost Gallery called, and they invited me to an exhibition," Lucas said, "I thought you'd like to go with me."
"Dad, are you sure? Isn't there anyone else you'd rather take?" Sawyer said.
"No, I think you'd enjoy it. Art that is, like in the past," Lucas said.
"Are you positive?" Sawyer asked.
Lucas nodded, "Yeah, I figure you'd enjoy it, get dressed up, and I get to spend time with my baby girl," he said.
"Dad, I'm not a baby anymore," Sawyer said.
"Well, you'll always be my baby," Lucas said.
"Awe Dad, that's sweet, but you know I'm almost sixteen," Sawyer said.
"Don't remind me," Lucas said.
Sawyer laughed, "So, what are these exhibitions dress code?" she asked.
"Black tie," Lucas said.
Sawyer shook her head, "I'm not sure I can pull off the Patty Smith's look," she said.
Lucas laughed, "Well, you can always ask Aunt Brooke or Chase for hints," he said.
"What about Izzy?" Sawyer asked.
"You could ask her, but when she's down here, she's usually working or wanting to spend time with your niece and nephew," Lucas said.
Sawyer nodded, "True," she said.
"Also, who knows, maybe you could get some good leads on an art school," Lucas said.
"Dad, is that why you want to bring me to this gallery thing? So, I can think about art school?" Sawyer asked.
"Not entirely, just thought it could be an option for college," Lucas said.
Sawyer shook her head, "Look, Dad, I appreciate your concern, but I just don't know, what I want to be when I grow up," she said.
"You don't?" Lucas asked.
Sawyer nodded, "Yes, to shock you, Dad, I take it. I'm not like everyone else; I don't know what I want to be," she said.
"You did," Lucas said.
"What I wanted to was taken away from me, Dad," Sawyer said.
"I lost my first choice around your age too, and I re-invented myself," Lucas said.
"Well, you thought about it before you lost it," Sawyer said.
"Not until I had to," Lucas said.
Before Sawyer could respond, the opening bell rang. She looked at Lucas, and sighed, "I have to go to class," Sawyer said.
"Yeah, you better go before you're late," Lucas said.
Sawyer nodded and left the office. Lucas watched his daughter go; he looked down at the scrapbook. He flipped the page back and looked at the picture of the gaunt turban woman. He took a deep sigh and closed the book.
