Fadeaway by E. Vickers (sight word readers TXT) 📕

Coach B grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze. The best he can, anyway, with his arthritis. He’s never quite gotten the hang of cellular telephones. Maybe his new employee will show him how to use it as more than just a telephone. He turns back to the packages, opening the larger one, which has the name of one of his former players—now a successful coach himself—in the top corner.

“Oh.” The sound escapes him as soon as he sees the sign, its paint worn off along the bottom edge by the good-luck taps of decades of his players: HEAD, HANDS, HEART. All those boys, for all those years. They gave it all, didn’t they?

He thinks he’ll return the sign to the school, but then he thinks again. On the one hand, the team was certainly successful without it last season.

But on the other, that success came at great cost.

Which reminds him—he has a poem to write and a visit to make today, to a former player who is working toward a fresh start from inside a prison cell. If you want somebody to do what’s right, let them see you believing that they can. He’s said this for years, and he’s believed it every time.

Coach B sets the sign aside and looks out at the buds on his maple tree. He knows the team will need a new tradition to go along with their new coach, whoever it ends up being. But he’ll keep the sign safe somewhere, just in case.

The second package is more of a puzzle. All it contains is an old notebook he doesn’t recognize. But tucked inside the front cover, he finds a note with his name scrawled across the top.

Coach B,

I wanted you to know that I finally took your advice and wrote a poem. It’s not very long or very good, but I’ve written more, and they’re getting better. It’s actually for Luke, but I wanted you to be the first to read it. Will you read the back page and give him this notebook when you’re done? Will you keep an eye on him too? And tell him I said to keep an eye on you?

Thank you for everything, always.

Jake

Coach B reads the cover of the notebook: The Book of Luke and Jake. He’s curious about what’s inside, but he is also an unfailingly honest man, so he turns only to the back page and reads the poem.

a haiku for my brother

Baller and Jedi

May the force be with you, Luke.

Someday I will too.

It isn’t long before Coach B hears someone humming his way up the path.

“Ah,” he says as Luke comes to the screen door. “My new employee. Are you sure you don’t mind getting paid in raspberry lemonade and basketball lessons?”

Luke shrugs. “If that’s what you paid Jake, that’s what I want you to pay me.”

Coach B can tell he means it. But more important, he can tell Luke’s not just saying it to be nice but because he still truly wants to be like his big brother. And even after all that has happened, this is a very good thing.

“Do you want me to mow the lawn?” he asks.

Coach B shakes his head. “It’s still a little early for that. I was actually hoping you could show me how to operate this contraption.”

He holds out his phone, knowing it’s capable of so much more than he’s ever used it for. He’s spent decades doing what Luke is about to do—helping someone see the potential in the palm of their hand. There’s something nice about being on the other end of that today.

They sit together in the crackling wicker chairs on the front porch. Coach B demonstrates that, yes, he knows how to turn the phone on.

“This is your text app,” Luke says, tapping on something that looks like a speech bubble.

Then Luke’s jaw drops. “It was you. It was you!” He stands up, still staring at the phone.

He turns the screen to face the old man. “These are your texts,” he says. “You have three of them.”

Coach B reads the messages.

It’s not your fault.

I’m so sorry I wish I would have done everything differently maybe when this is all over you will find a way to forgive me

Rehab going well. Visiting hours on website. Will text more when I can.

“These are from Jake?” Coach asks, already knowing the answer.

Luke nods.

“Can you show me how to write him back?”

Luke shrugs. “He can’t really text very much right now. But I’ll show you how to text me.”

After that, it’s Coach B’s turn to teach Luke something. He shows him how to till the garden, loosening the soil so things can grow. It’s hard, slow work, and the boy begins to sweat after only a few turns of the handle.

“Are there machines that can do this faster?” he asks.

“I’m sure there are,” Coach B says, afraid the boy will give up before he’s really begun. But Luke just pushes harder against the tiller.

“If there wasn’t, I’d invent one. I’m very interested in inventing lately. I have forty-seven ideas in my invention notebook. I can bring it next time and show you. Or my poetry notebook. I have one of those too.”

Coach B takes a moment to marvel at this fascinating, confident kid. He can’t help but feel that it’s Jake who has helped shape him this way.

And then the mention of a notebook reminds him. “Ah,” says the old man. “Don’t let me forget. I have something for you. Come in when you get thirsty, and I’ll give it to you.”

Inside, Coach B sits at the table with his eyes closed, willing himself not to get dizzy today. And then, because there’s still something of the stubborn kid he once was inside him, he tries sending Jake a text.

Proud of you. Call me anytime.

He’s not sure how to determine whether it worked. Probably it didn’t. And it’s just as well—the arthritis makes it hard for