Page 11 of Worth the Trip

Ramirez pointed at him. “Reed, shut up.”

Malcolm frowned. “See, this why morale low.”

“Morale ain’t low.”

“Mine is.”

“You been here twelve minutes.”

“Twelve hostile minutes.”

I laughed and caught one handle of the football bag. “You need help?”

“Nah. I’m strong.”

“You complained about your shoulder yesterday.”

“That was yesterday’s shoulder.”

Ramirez stared between us. “Ain’t no way y’all got this much education between you.”

Malcolm looked at me. “He disrespects degrees when he insecure.”

“I heard that.”

“You were supposed to.”

He grabbed the bag and started toward the defensive stations before Ramirez decided conditioning applied to staff too. I watched him go, shaking my head. Malcolm had been my boy long enough for me to know there was no cure for him. Best we could do was manage the symptoms.

Players started filtering onto the field a few minutes later, some fully awake and others negotiating with consciousness. A couple headed toward the equipment cart for gloves they should’ve remembered themselves, while everybody else found their position groups with varying levels of enthusiasm. College athletes liked to believe coaches had forgotten what being twenty felt like. We hadn’t. We’d just developed enough discretion not to ask questions when everybody showed up on time and functional.

Malik crossed the field alone.

I noticed the difference before I had a reason for it. His backpack hung from one hand instead of sitting over both shoulders, his head stayed lower than usual, and the bounce normally built into his walk was missing. Malik was usually talking before he reached the field, cracking jokes with teammates or arguing somebody down about music before practice had officially started. That morning, he looked like he’d spent his words somewhere else.

Could’ve been nothing.

Still worth noticing.

I waited until the team split into position groups before walking over. “You good?”

Malik looked up like I’d interrupted a conversation he’d been having with himself. “Yeah.”

“Aight.” I nodded once and started away. If he wanted to leave it there, I was going to let him.

“Coach.” I turned back. He looked toward the field for a second before meeting my eyes. “My mama started chemo yesterday.”

That explained the walk.

“How’d she do?”

“Tried to act tough. Slept most of the evening.”

“My pops did the same thing after shoulder surgery. Told everybody all week he was fine, then fell asleep during the third inning of an Astros game.”

Malik gave me half a laugh. “That’s a little different.”

“It is. Tired still tired, though.”