Learning (19 page)

But in the end, the details didn’t matter. A doctor came into the waiting room and asked if he could talk to anyone who was there for Chrissy Stonelake. Bailey realized then that she hadn’t even known her friend’s last name. In her worry about fitting in
and trying to blend with her cast, and because of her own hurt feelings from the way she felt she was being treated, she hadn’t even cared enough to ask that single crucial detail: Chrissy’s last name.

The doctor’s look was stonelike, and as they followed him into a small room, Bailey already knew. She knew with everything in her. When they were all in the small waiting room, the doctor shut the door and for what felt like a long moment, he looked at them, at each of them. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry … we weren’t able to save her.”

“What?” Stefano screamed the word. He grabbed at the doctor’s white coat. “That’s crazy. She fainted … she’s going to be fine!”

The stage manager put his arm around Stefano and drew him away from the doctor. Around the room several of the cast started to cry, hands to their faces, the shock hitting them full force. Bailey felt sick to her stomach. She turned toward the wall and let her head rest against the cool plaster. This wasn’t happening … it couldn’t be happening. She’d missed her chance with Chrissy. More than that she’d prayed with her castmates, and Chrissy had still died.

Bailey wasn’t sure how she stayed on her feet, how she kept from running into the bathroom and throwing up. Chrissy was dead? This couldn’t be real … it was a nightmare. That had to be it. The doctor was saying something about the pills … the white pills … and Bailey tried to focus, tried to understand him. Because Chrissy wasn’t the only one taking the pills. Bailey had seen other girls popping them. Or something similar to them. She turned around, still leaning on the wall, and clutched her stomach, her eyes on the doctor.

“We see this with dancers once in a while.” He pressed his lips together, his expression grave. “Chrissy was taking an amphetamine, an upper. A diet pill, basically. From the tests we ran, she
didn’t have proper nutrients for her heart to function — not in quite a while. We aren’t sure how many pills she took, but without food in her stomach they created a deadly effect.”

“So … was it … heatstroke?” The stage manager looked worried. Bailey hated the possibility, but there was no way around it. The man was clearly trying to determine if the theater company was at fault.

“This wasn’t caused by heat.” The doctor looked grim again. “The stimulants caused her heart to go into an arrhythmia, a rhythm too fast to move the blood through her body. Someone else might’ve handled it, but Chrissy’s anorexia complicated things. In effect, when the heart is pumping that fast it’s only fluttering. She died of heart failure.”

Around her several of the girls were softly crying … Gerald and Stefano too. A couple of the guys folded their arms and stared at the floor. The doctor apologized again. “Take a few minutes. We don’t need this room for a while.” When he left, a few of the girls wailed their grief out loud, shouting that it wasn’t possible, that she couldn’t be dead.

But she was, and the reality shook Bailey like nothing in her life ever had. God had prompted her to talk in more depth to Chrissy, to pray with her, and now it was too late. She had let Chrissy down … let God down. Her troubled friend, the one so defeated by the fight of life was no more. The tears began to fall for Bailey, and slowly she dropped to the floor, pulling her knees to her face. She sat there weeping.
Why, God? Why didn’t You give Chrissy a second chance? Is it all my fault? Because I didn’t pray with her?
Bailey shook with grief, furious with herself and desperate to have Chrissy back. But that wasn’t going to happen. Chrissy was gone, the girl whose heart had shouted for help every time Bailey saw her.

The truth was as painful as the loss of Chrissy. Bailey had cared more about fitting in than speaking truth to a girl who desperately
needed it.
God, I’ve failed You … I failed Chrissy. What am I supposed to do now?
She had failed at the biggest God assignment of her life, and now Bailey could only let her tears fall, let the sobs overtake her. Chrissy was gone … there would be no second chance, no time to pray for her or invite her to a Bible study. Bailey cried as she had never cried before. For a girl who had tried to take on the rigors of Broadway and failed. A girl who had starved for love — the sort of love Bailey could’ve told her about. The only love that could ever truly satisfy: God’s love. But Bailey hadn’t prayed with her or told her about the Bible or asked her the deeper questions. Her heart felt like it lay in a million pieces on the floor, because Chrissy was gone. And on top of all the ways she hadn’t told Chrissy about God’s love, she had missed something else too.

She hadn’t even remembered the girl’s last name.

B
UTLER UNIVERSITY WAS SITUATED ON ONE OF THE MOST SCENIC
campuses in all of central Indiana. But more than that, it was outside Indianapolis far enough that it felt isolated among the cornfields and sweeping panoramas. Cody took in the view as the bus pulled into the school’s parking lot. This week would be about football, yes. But if God had His way, it would be about a lot more than that.

“Okay, men … let’s wake up.” Cody stood and his voice boomed all the way to the back of the bus. They’d left Lyle an hour ago at seven in the morning, and most of the guys had fallen asleep. But registration was in thirty minutes. “Come on … let’s go … welcome to football camp. Wake up, men … hustle!” His assistants, Coach Schroeder and Coach Braswell, helped round up the guys, and together they gathered gear and plodded their way across the parking lot.

This early in the morning the heat hadn’t set in, but already the day promised to be sweltering. Cody had plenty of powdered sports drink, and three five-gallon containers which they would keep full for the guys. He didn’t want his guys dealing with dehydration. “This way.” He took the lead. He’d been here a week ago to scout out the campus. He knew the layout of the university, where their dorms were, and the path from the dorms to the field — where registration would take place.

As the guys climbed the stairs to the dorms, they seemed to wake up a little more. Only a few of them were seniors, old
enough to remember the coaching era of John Brown, back when the players still believed in themselves. That was the last time the Lyle Buckaroos had been to football camp. Cody felt sorry for Coach Oliver, because the man had missed this experience.

“Man, look at this.” Marcos Brown walked with a few players just ahead of Cody. “This place is sick … I didn’t know college was this nice.”

The comment was poignant. If something didn’t change for Marcos, his grades were so bad outside football camp he wouldn’t set foot on a college campus.
We can’t have that,
he told himself.
God … give me more than the X’s and O’s this week. Please, Father …

I have all this figured out, my son … I know what you need before you ask it.

Cody felt himself relax under the certainty of the response. God knew what he needed before he asked for it … that was the point of the Bible verse he and DeMetri had read this morning before they headed out to Lyle.

“Alright,” Cody read from a clipboard as they reached the second-floor dorms. “Room assignments are set, so don’t look to switch and don’t complain.” He had to be stern, had to get them focused. “Listen for your name, take your gear, meet up, and find your dorm room.”

The guys had come a long way since Cody took over, but they still weren’t a team. It was something Cody had noticed yesterday at the barbecue. After the dunk tank excitement had died down, the guys hung in cliques of twos and threes. Cody thought it strange, because these kids had grown up together. Probably since kindergarten. But then, no one had ever required that they be a team.

Until this week.

When everyone was situated, Cody led the guys down to the field where they would check in. He met up with the coach from the college at registration. “Lyle High School, checking in, sir.”

“Lyle.” The man looked up, a twinkle in his eye. He gave a shake of his head. “So you’re the brave kid who took over for Oliver.”

Cody wasn’t offended. “Yes, sir.” He reached out and shook the man’s hand. “Cody Coleman.”

“Brave.” The man chuckled and marked something down on the list in front of him. “People have all but forgotten about Lyle.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody felt a rustling of anger stir inside his heart. These were his players the man was talking about. “That was the old Lyle.”

Cody’s tone must’ve gotten the man’s attention. He looked up, squinting at Cody against the bright morning sun. “Okay, then.” He nodded to a man who was probably his assistant. “Coach here has a welcome packet for each of your players.”

And with that the camp experience began in earnest. Inside the packet each guy received a T-shirt and a folder, to track progress made over the week. Sixteen teams were registered for camp, and half an hour later the college coaches in charge gathered them at the fifty-yard line.

“This will be one of the toughest weeks of your life.” The head coach, Liam Henry, was a veteran, a stocky man with a big growly voice and a reputation for winning football games. “You’ll have mandatory group training sessions, and time with your teams.” He explained where the various fields were located. During their appointed sessions, each team would have access to half a field.

The camp was organized. Cody loved that. It left him time to think about his players, what they needed to gain this week to be successful. If they were going to leave here a team, the work ahead was daunting.

Coach Henry wrapped up his talk and allowed five minutes for water and dressing out. The Lyle team wore matching T-shirts, navy and white, the Buckaroo colors.

“Come on, guys … get a drink. Let’s be first on the field.”
Cody stayed with them, encouraging them. He looked for signs that they cared about each other, and again he didn’t see any. Still, they managed to be third on the field after the break.
Better than last,
Cody told himself.

Stretches came first. Coach Henry walked the lines of players shouting truth at them. “Being limber and warmed up is crucial. No one ever took football seriously if they didn’t know about stretching.” He had them pair up and work together, helping each other stretch their hamstrings and back muscles.

Stretching led to footwork, monotonous movements that caused Cody to watch his players closely. Were they on board with Coach Henry’s aggressive approach? Were they listening? The coach was going on, telling them about the daily competition. “Every day we’ll award points.” He stared them down. “The team with the most points wins first place for that day.”

The glare of the sun made it hard to see, but Cody squinted at his guys. A few looked down, as if they weren’t even here. Arnie Hurley whispered to Joel Butler, a lanky wide receiver from the junior class. Joel’s parents were in the middle of a messy divorce. Other than DeMetri and a few others, Cody’s team treated this opening session like a morning biology class.

High school coaches were allowed to walk the lines, casting glances and keeping their players in order. Cody headed toward Arnie and Joel, and the boys noticed him. Immediately they paid attention. The other players seemed to pick up their pace.

Even still, by morning break — after their first team session — Cody wasn’t impressed. “Listen up.” He called his guys over, and when they didn’t run, he blew the whistle around his neck. The sound got their attention and most of them hurried into place in front of him. “Listen.” He didn’t want to get angry. But if they didn’t find something special at camp, the time would be a waste. “This isn’t the picnic. We have to be serious.”

He called his assistants over. “Everyone knows their playbook, right?”

A murmur of
yes
‘s and
sort of
‘s came from the crowd. Cody tried to keep his patience. “We will know our playbook by tomorrow. If we don’t, we will use every minute of our team time to run the perimeter of the college.” He looked over the players, catching the surprise in some of their eyes. He hadn’t been this strict with them before. There had been no need. “Does everyone understand?”

Again the response was weak and mumbled. DeMetri shot an angry look at his team. “Did you hear, Coach? That’s not how you answer, y’all. Understand?”

Cody swallowed the smile that played in his heart. DeMetri was a leader. He needed several of those — but this was a start. The sort of beginning his team would need if the week were to matter. “Smitty is right!” Again Cody’s voice boomed. He remembered Jim’s advice.
Take charge … let them know you’re in charge. They have to know what you expect.
Cody lowered his clipboard. “When I ask you a question, you respond as a team. You say, ‘Yes, sir.’ Is that understood?”

The response was better than before, but nowhere near where Cody wanted it. He raised his voice again. “I said … is that understood?”

This time most of the team figured out what they were doing wrong. Their voices came together again in a fairly loud chorus of “Yes, sir,” and “Yes, Coach.”

Cody caught the satisfied nods from his assistant coaches. They were making progress. “Good. Now let’s get to work.”

The afternoon teamwork was long and arduous, and temperatures hovered in the high nineties. Cody gave them numerous water breaks, and at the last one DeMetri approached him. “Guys are going through the motions.” He looked ready to cry, sweat pouring down his face. “I’ve been praying for this team … for you
… for all of us for such a long time.” He kicked at a clump of grass and put his hands on his hips. “They need to care more.”

“They will.” He winked at his player … the kid who had become like a younger brother. “Keep praying, Smitty.”

DeMetri didn’t look sure. He pursed his lips and blew out hard, sweat spraying. Anger played out in his expression, and he shook his legs, trying to stay loose. Finally he nodded, his intensity stronger than before, but more controlled. “Yes, sir. I’ll pray.”

“I’ll count on that.”

Cody watched him return to the others, his shoulders back, his purpose clear. During the last set of drills, Cody let DeMetri and two other guys lead the team. He called the other coaches over and the three of them huddled off by themselves. “I need to know about the players … whatever there is to know.”

The two assistants looked at each other and then at Cody. “You would know more than us.” Schroeder took his baseball cap from his head and smoothed his hair back, clearly at a loss. “We only just started coaching.”

“Not about their playing ability.” Cody kept his voice low, between just the three of them. “About them as people. Who’s struggling with what … where the challenges are … that sort of thing.” Cody explained what he knew. “DeMetri’s mom is in prison again … he’s living in the guest room of my apartment.” He paused, making sure they understood. “Arnie’s sleeping with his girlfriend … talk is she could be pregnant even now … that sort of thing.”

The men nodded, and Coach Braswell took the lead. “I’ve been teaching at Lyle for six years. I’ve watched these kids grow up. Wells and Bronson … their dads are out of work. The bank’s trying to foreclose last I heard.”

“Larry Sanders’ little sister has bone cancer.” Coach Schroeder’s eyes softened. “His home life’s a mess.”

“And Terry Allen’s house burned down last month. The whole
family’s living with his grandpa.” A knowing filled Braswell’s eyes. “For the most part the kids don’t have a clue what the guy next to them is going through. It’s a small town, but people are very private. No one talks … no one complains.” He nodded slowly. “I see what you mean.”

Cody felt satisfied. This was what he figured — the guys were each dealing with something. Same as any teenager on any other football team. “Alright … this is what I’m talking about.” He looked over his shoulder at the guys on the field. “If those guys knew these things about each other, they’d stop feeling like a bunch of individuals from Lyle. And start feeling like a family.”

Slowly the idea began to make sense. Cody watched the change happen in the faces of his assistants. Schroeder nodded big. “I get it. Like maybe they need a reason to care.”

“Exactly.” Cody stared at the players running drills on the field. “Now all we need is a plan.”

That afternoon he called Jim Flanigan. “I heard one of the guys on the Colts has a foundation to help high school football teams with small budgets. Is that right?”

“Absolutely.” Jim explained the player and his charity. They talked for fifteen minutes before Cody’s idea fully came together. After another half hour and a series of phone calls, Cody couldn’t have been happier.

Now it was a matter of praying that his idea would work.