The Realest Ever - By Keith Thomas Walker Page 0,3

wasn’t flirtatious anymore. He pretended not to see her at all, which was just fine with Kyra. She noticed a lot of men were doing that these days. They saw her face and her body and smiled, and then they saw Quinell and Kat and Kyra’s less than trendy clothes, and they looked away.

She went to the children’s area and took a seat on one of the way-too-little chairs parked under Quinell’s table. He looked up from his book.

“We finna go?”

“No, the bus doesn’t come ’til five-twenty,” Kyra said.

“Can I check this book out?” Quinell asked.

“I think you need to find a book with more words in it,” Kyra suggested.

Kat began to stir in her arms. Kyra shuffled through a large bag she toted and found her sippy-cup. The toddler took the drink graciously, and Quinell got up to find a book his mother would approve of. Kyra checked her watch and rose to her feet, in search of a book to keep her mind occupied for the next thirty minutes.

She couldn’t wait for the day when she was no longer dependent on public transportation. But as far as waits go, the library was one of the best places to be.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Twenty miles away, on Finley High School’s football field, Coach Donovan Lucas Mitchell was wrapping up a light workout with his varsity team, The Mad Stallions. Their season opener wasn’t for two weeks, but Donovan already saw serious deficits in his 26 member squad. Most of these problems would not be solved before their first game, and Donovan doubted if he could fix his team before their season ended in November.

You can mold a talented player into an even better athlete, but you can’t turn a so-so player into the next Emmett Smith – not in just one season anyway. Donovan’s team wasn’t all bad. But he only had two bonafide stars on offense. Neither of his stars was in the quarterback or running back positions. He had an awesome wide receiver who was in for a bad year because there wasn’t enough talent to get him the ball. But such is life.

The date was Thursday, August 14. The blistering days of June and July were behind them, but the temperatures in north Texas would remain in the mid to high nineties until the end of October. Donovan’s team was running a simple back-pedal/shuffle/break drill (without pads), but they had been working out for over an hour, and most of them were drenched with sweat. Donovan brought a whistle to his mouth and blew a short, quick bleat to signal the end of today’s practice.

“That’s it, fellas. Pack it up!”

Fifty-two grateful eyeballs rolled in his direction, and the young men immediately began to scramble, some heading for the Gatorade table, others grabbing equipment. Most of them stayed where they were, bent over with their hands on their knees, sucking in air like a fish out of water.

“I know y’all not tired,” Donovan said as he approached them. “We didn’t do nothing today. You don’t even have your helmets on.”

“Yes we did do something,” a junior named Kevin Willard gasped. His face was slick with perspiration. His beat up sneakers had seen better days. “It’s hot out here, Coach. Why can’t we practice in the gym?”

“Go get something to drink,” Donovan told him. “Your mama will have a fit if you pass out on this field.”

“My mama wanna know when you gon’ call her,” Kevin said as he headed for the refreshments. “She starting to think you don’t like her.”

“He don’t like her,” another knucklehead named Calvin said. He was a burly running back who was about to get converted into a fullback if he couldn’t lose 15 pounds during the season. “He like Miss Murphy, don’t you Coach?”

Miss Murphy was hands-down the best looking teacher at Finley High. She was fair-skinned with a long weave and an awesome wardrobe and one of the best asses known to man. She wasn’t an exceptional instructor, but students paid attention when she talked – especially the boys. When Miss Murphy offered after-school tutoring, her classroom was completely full. Even some of Donovan’s players tried to weasel out of practice sometimes so they could get some extra learning from Miss Murphy.

“You and Miss Murphy getting married, right, Coach?” another student named Victor asked with a grin.

Donovan shook his head at the kids clamoring around him, but he was smiling, too. In addition to coaching the varsity football team, Donovan taught social studies to juniors