Free Caught Running by Madeleine Urban, Abigail Roux Page A

of his head as he stood back up and gave the car another slap with his hand. “See you tomorrow, man,” he said with a smile in his voice, turning to head into the house.
    Stuck in place, Brandon just watched Jake walk up the stairs, intensely glad the other coach wasn't looking at him at that moment, because he was sure all sorts of things he didn't want seen were written all over his face. Closet queer. Fuck . Brandon ran a hand through his hair and pulled out of the driveway. He really hoped Jake had meant what he said in a somewhat affectionate, teasing manner, rather than a dirtier, more ignorant meaning.
    Brandon had heard enough of that to last a lifetime.
    * * * *
    "Morning, Mr. Bartlett,” one of the bouncy little cheerleaders greeted the next morning. “Morning, Coach,” the boy walking with her said, nodding at Brandon respectfully and smiling as they headed for their seats.
    "Katie,” Brandon said distractedly, ticking her name off the list, but Jimmy's greeting caught him off guard, and he looked up. Pushing his glasses up, he had to rally. “Ah, good morning, Jimmy."
    "Morning, Coach,” came another greeting almost immediately, followed by a smattering of other good mornings as the kids filed in. The first class of the day usually saw tired kids trudging in and flopping down with grunts. But every boy who had been at tryouts the last two days greeted Brandon that morning in a semi-cheerful manner.
    Blinking, he remembered what Jake had said about the players always being in class, and looking at his grade book, he had to admit the coach was right. They all had perfect attendance. Pleasantly surprised, Brandon moved to his desk off to the side of the room to grab his teaching list for the block. “All right, break into groups of four, please, and pull some desks together for each group. We're doing interactive exercises today.” It was one of the activities Brandon consistently received positive feedback on: Students working together on something besides book work. He personally felt they learned much more by doing rather than seeing or hearing. Musing, he got them started on a variation of Biology Pictionary and let them go, listening in on each group.
    As the first class of the day got started, the speaker near the door crackled to life for the morning reports. The voice droned on with the usual announcements, the person speaking obviously aware that no one ever listened to these things. At the end, the voice read, “And Coach Campbell would like to remind the student body that the next person caught throwing wet wads of toilet paper at the ceiling of the locker rooms will be ... wait, can I say that over the speaker? I'm not sure I can say that.” There was a clearing of a throat and a mutter that couldn't be understood, and then the kid said, “Just don't do it again, trust me."
    A few of the boys in the class snickered quietly, trying not to make a lot of noise but obviously familiar with whatever threat their coach had used. Brandon's brow shot up. He could just imagine what Jake had said he would do. Shaking his head, he chuckled, tapping Cynthia on the head and pointing to the trash can for her gum without having to say a word. Too bad Troy couldn't find other upperclassmen to keep reading announcements along those lines. It would be amusing enough to keep him going all morning.
    As he walked around, Brandon noticed that one of the baseball kids was having trouble drawing, using his left hand instead of his right. He was about to say something when he saw the kid's right hand. His fingers were taped. The teacher stopped before commenting and just watched, not wanting to interrupt. It was awkward for the boy, he could tell, but the kid got it done, and the other students guessed correctly. Brandon smiled and patted the kid's shoulder. “Good job,” he murmured before moving on to the next group.
    "Thanks, Coach,” the kid muttered automatically.
    The rest of Brandon's day went much the