“Pick up the pace, scrub!”

Ethan Skrum lagged as his class ran laps around the track. He grinded his teeth. Mr. Meyer had an annoying habit of mispronouncing Ethan’s last name. Ethan feigned an effort to speed up by swinging his arms more, but he wasn’t planning on breaking a sweat. The school showers were out of the question- the locker room was ruled by Bryce and his gaggle of buddies.

“Nice manicure, fag,” jeered Bryce as he and his posse lapped him, dissolving into snickers. Bryce would have lowered his voice to make a derogatory comment like that in any other class, but somehow Mr. Meyer never seemed to hear him. Ethan rolled his eyes and let them pass. He’d learned that the best way to avoid a black eye was to bite his tongue. The teal nail polish was his favorite, anyway. Screw them.

“SCRUB! Quit prancing around and RUN!”

Ethan scowled and picked up the pace. Meyer was extra abrasive this year, and it was only the first day of school. The two didn’t get along. Meyer would penalize Ethan for his lack of athletic ability by making him run laps or do push-ups or whatever he could think of. Ethan was a junior now, and after having Mr. Meyer for two years, he knew the drill. Everything about him tended to piss Meyer off. Ethan’s nails were always clean and painted, but he swore that Meyer made him run extra laps every time he came into class with a new color. He learned to stop wearing his pink sneakers after his first semester freshman year- he had no interest in being continually set up against Bryce in physical games. But hey, whatever. Not every teacher was going to like him. Ethan didn’t care; however, he knew Meyer wouldn’t hesitate to keep him late after class, so he tried not to draw attention to himself when he had somewhere else to get to. Today, he was going to work straight after school.

Ms. Doyle’s apartment was only seven minutes from the school, right in his canvassing area. Ethan had spent months looking for a babysitting gig, but no one would hire him. Somehow, the concept of a “manny” made parents uncomfortable. However, when Ms. Doyle moved into her apartment complex at the end of July and saw his flyer, she called right away. Her divorce had just been finalized and she was looking for someone with a lot of availability to watch her daughter during the summer and now after school. An otherwise unemployed Ethan was perfect. But, his hours were cut back now that school had started. Ms. Doyle would have Gracie on weekends, Mondays, and Tuesdays, so Ethan would only babysit twice a week. Ethan pulled into the elementary school pick-up lane, just a block away from the high school. He immediately spotted Gracie, who was wearing a vibrant mash-up of pink and purple and two high pigtails– the go-to hairstyle when Ms. Doyle was in a hurry.

Ethan had been watching YouTube videos on how to properly twist and braid coil-y hair and was starting to get the hang of it. He had better be, too, because Gracie kept begging him to do the “his fanciest do.” He had a knack for hair- he had four sisters and a mother that couldn’t possibly get to all of them before the bus came in the morning.

He rolled down his window to wave at her, and she jumped out of her class line-up and raced out to his car. Ethan gestured apologetically to the teacher, who was supposed to check her out. Ms. Doyle must have told her that Ethan was coming, because she shook her head and scribbled on her clipboard. Gracie hopped into the backseat.

“Efan!”

Ethan grinned with Gracie said his name. She had been going to a speech class at school for the last year, but she had a buddy in class and the two of them tended to get side-tracked. Thus, she hadn’t made much progress. She may have had trouble saying her th’s, but it never seemed to slow her babbling.

“Hey Gracie, how was school today?” he asked, and she giggled. Ethan pulled out of the pick-up lane and down the road as she launched into a long story about how her friend Elise got glasses over the summer that made her face look totally different. When Ethan opened the door to the apartment, Gracie noticed his nail polish and squealed.

“Oooh, Efaaaan! Can I have some?”

Ethan smiled and pulled a little bag of nail polish out of his backpack. It contained four colors: teal, purple, blue, and pink. He’d bought the pink for Gracie, and she chose it every time. He sat her down at the kitchen table, put a plastic bag down underneath her hands, and painted her nails. Gracie had a habit of moving her hands around before her nails dried, which often smudged them. Today, she dragged her pinky nail on the table– off the plastic bag– and left a little pink line.

“Oops…”

“Gracie, noooo! Dude, you’re killing me,” he chuckled, and Gracie giggled nervously.

He went into the kitchen and wet a paper towel to wipe up the streak before it dried. By the time he was finished painting– and repeatedly repainting– Gracie’s nails, Ms. Doyle was unlocking the door.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispered to Gracie. She nodded like a bobble-head.
“Hey, you two!”

“Mommy, mommy, look at my fingers!” Gracie bopped over to her mother, who oohed and aahed.

“Hey, Ms. Doyle,” Ethan stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Anne?”

“One more time,” Ethan said with a smile. Ms. Doyle looked back down at Gracie.

“How was she today?” she asked, and Gracie’s eyes flickered over to the table.

“She was great, as usual, Ms. Doyle.”

Ethan stayed late after school the next day to study for a pretest. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his new teacher, and he never seemed to get as much work done at home. However, the change of scenery didn’t stop his mind from wandering. He needed another job. Ms. Doyle paid him well, but he wasn’t working enough hours anymore to make the kind of money he needed. His parents only had so much saved up for him for college. Ethan mulled over his options as he walked down the hallway from the auditorium toward the back of the school.

He could hear Mr. Meyer talking on the phone in his office at the end of the hallway. The conversation was intense, from the sound of it. He slowed his pace to silence his footsteps. He had to pass the office to leave the building, and the last thing he needed was to be shouted at for interrupting the man’s phone call. He crept past Meyer’s door on the opposite side of the hallway.

“Efan!”

Ethan looked up, startled. Gracie was sitting in the corner of Mr. Meyer’s office, dolls
strewn around her. She jumped up and ran over to hug him around the waist.

“Woah, hey Gracie…”

He looked up awkwardly to see Mr. Meyer hanging up the phone and staring at him, wide-eyed, through the doorway. Ethan scratched the back of his neck.

“This is Ethan, huh?” Mr. Meyer asked his daughter, and she nodded.

“Hmph.”

Ethan shrank.

“Uhhh… I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow, Gracie,” he said, cringing and slipping away.

He heard Gracie voice behind him on his way out.

“Why doesn’t Efan play wif me at your house, Daddy?”

Gym class the next day was uncomfortable. They played floor hockey, much to Ethan’s chagrin. Meyer stacked the teams particularly poorly, with Bryce and his gang of lacrosse players on one side and he and the other less-athletically inclined classmates on the other. He noticed Meyer watching him during his pathetic attempts to whack the puck at the goal, the scowl on his face becoming less and less subtle. After missing the puck and being body checked to the floor by Bryce, Ethan knew he was screwed.

“SCRUB! Get up and over here NOW!”

Bryce and his buddies snickered and smacked him on the sides with their sticks as they
left him on the ground and ran off to score another goal. Ethan picked himself up and slumped
over to Mr. Meyer, who didn’t look happy.

“I’m the lacrosse coach,” he barked, and then paused, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ethan leaned away and waited for him to continue.

“She needs a sitter during practice. My daughter. She’s asking for you.” He didn’t look up as he said this, face contorted into the phoniest calm he’d ever seen. Ethan gulped.

“…Okay.”

A quick wave of surprise rippled through Meyer’s prickly exterior, and Ethan’s stomach dropped. Shit, he thought.

“Run a lap and get back in the game, scrub.”

Ethan checked his email at Ms. Doyle’s dining table that day while Gracie watched TV. Meyer’s message read “1586 Elm Hill. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. 2:50-5:15.” He shut his laptop. He couldn’t decide how he felt about this. On one hand, he hated Meyer. Probably more so, Meyer hated him. But on the other, he seriously needed the money. Plus, he loved Gracie. Meyer must have been desperate if he was willing to invite Ethan to his house. He was going to have to suck it up.

“Gracie, I’m picking you up after school tomorrow.” She whipped around.

“You are?”

“Yep. Every day, actually.” Gracie’s mouth dropped open, and she jumped up in the air.

“YES! Efan, yes!” she bounced around the room, then stopped.

“Will I still see Daddy?” she asked, and Ethan’s insides flopped.

“Yeah, of course,” he said
.
Stepping into Mr. Meyer’s house felt like stepping into his brain. It made Ethan uncomfortable, like he was violating the man. The leathery cushions on the sectional couch were worn, but not evenly. Three cushions bore the brunt of it- the ones on the ends, and one little spot in the middle. The room was dusty and dark, as the overhead lightbulb had gone out. The only sign that anyone had been in the room in the past year was a little picture frame, polished, holding a smiling Mr. Meyer, Ms. Doyle, and Gracie. Ethan shuddered. The house made Mr. Meyer seem human in a way Ethan hadn’t thought of him before. Ethan took Gracie into the kitchen. They developed a little routine: Ethan would get Gracie a snack at the kitchen table, he would help her with her homework at the kitchen table, and then he would do his own homework at the kitchen table. He kept to the kitchen, though Gracie watched TV in the living room sometimes. Then, Mr. Meyer would get home from lacrosse practice and Ethan would skitter out as fast as he could.

“Can you braid my hair, Efan? I wanna keep it for school tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t your dad braid it in the morning?” Ethan asked, waving her over to the kitchen table and taking a hair tie from her. Gracie huffed.

“Daddy can’t even do a ponytail wiffout all the bumps.”

Cue the back door opening. Ethan laughed uneasily.

“Well, it looks like your dad is home, I had better get going-

“Efaaan, please?”

“What’s that?” Mr. Meyer asked, and Gracie stuck out her pouty lip.

“I want Efan to braid my hair!”

“Oh, uhh, well if he has to go he has to go, honey..”

“…I’m not in a hurry…” Ethan’s mouth had a mind of its own.

Mr. Meyer grunted and walked behind the kitchen counter, which Gracie took as a
concession and squealed. She grabbed Ethan’s hand and sat him down on the couch in the
living room, then sat down in front of him.

“I’m ready!”

Mr. Meyer eyed them from the kitchen. Ethan squirmed, but he was stuck now. He sat down. Gracie’s comment from earlier bounced around his mind. Daddy can’t even do a ponytail.

Ethan turned the back of Gracie’s head toward the kitchen and stretched out his arms.

“Hey Gracie, grab your doll. We can do her hair, too.”

Gracie got up and ran to get her doll, then set it down in front of her.

“I’m not good at braiding, Efan. Can we do an easy one?”

“Definitely.”

Ethan separated Gracie’s hair into three parts and instructed her to do the same to her doll. He held them in his hands and folded them over each other, making every move and cross slowly and verbally. He didn’t look over his shoulder, that would ruin his little demonstration. He kept braiding and narrating, answering Gracie’s questions along the way and encouraging her. By the time he was done, Gracie had a neat little braid down her back and her doll had a rather messy version with a couple random twists mixed in.

“Daddy, look! I did a good braid!”

Gracie ran over to Mr. Meyer, who was watching them from the kitchen. He took the doll.

“She looks very nice, sweetheart.”

Over the next couple weeks, Gracie started showing up to school wearing messy braids. They were loose and scraggly, but they got tighter over time. Gracie was ecstatic. Ethan was impressed with the way she was handling the divorce, her enthusiasm never wavered. It seemed Ms. Doyle and Mr. Meyer avoided talking about each other in front of her. Ms. Doyle found out about Ethan’s arrangement with Mr. Meyer, which was a little awkward. But ultimately, she was happy that Gracie would have some consistency. Ethan was good for her, like a big brother to look after her between houses. Ethan never stuck around when Mr. Meyer got home from lacrosse, he was still gruff as ever. However, his place was beginning to feel less haunted. Over the course of the first semester, it began to look cleaner. On October 30th, Mr. Meyer replaced the light bulb in his living room. On October 31st, he turned it on. Ethan took Gracie trick-or-treating and made sure to hit both her parents’ houses.

To keep the tension out of his babysitting arrangement, Ethan had started trying more in gym class. He didn’t conjure up any surprise athletic abilities, but he stopped slinking around the gym and started picking up his feet. So long as he blended in, he was satisfied.

As the semester drew to a close, they started alternating different “fun sports” every day in gym class. This, of course, was only fun for athletes, but at least there was variety. On soccer day, they were broken up into two teams. Soccer is generally played outside, not on a gym floor, but it was raining outside, and Meyer wasn’t interested in changing his teaching plans. He set up pop-up goals on each side of the gym and blew his whistle to begin. Ethan was on defense; he didn’t have an offensive bone in his body. He tried to stay away from the action, but with the athletes continuously scoring on his team, he was bound to get barreled down at some point. And of course, his time came. Bryce streaked down the field with the ball, itching to score. Ethan alone stood in his path. Ethan knew he should probably flee, but he didn’t want to give Bryce the satisfaction. “Out of the way, fag!” Bryce sneered, and Ethan’s team screamed for him to “DO SOMETHING!” In Ethan’s defense for the events that followed, he had forgotten to pack himself a lunch and hadn’t eaten anything that day. Ethan had some sort of misplaced courage in that moment, and he braced himself and ran toward the ball.

Then Ethan was laying on the ground.

Screeeeeet!

The sound of Meyer’s whistle split through Ethan’s skull. A blurry Meyer jogged up to them, huffing and puffing. Game play had stopped.

“You okay, scrub?” he asked, and Bryce snickered off to the side. Ethan blinked.

“uhhh… yeahhhhh…” he responded.

“Bryce!” Meyer roared. The snickering stopped.

Bryce shook his head and took a step forward. “Sorry Coach, I was just trying to get around him. We both faked the same way; it was an accident.”

Bryce’s buddies stifled their laughter in the corner, and Bryce kept a phony straight face. The class started to disperse, ready to get back to gameplay, but Meyer blew his whistle again. Ethan’s hands shot to his ears.
“I don’t appreciate that mouth in my gym, Bryce. Not today, not ever. Now shut up and go run a LAP!”

Bryce grumbled and jogged off. The rest of the class got back to their soccer game, watching Bryce run along the walls for probably the first time. Ethan got up and rubbed his head. He looked over at Meyer, who had gone back to watching the class with a scowl. Ethan smiled a little, until Meyer caught him looking.

“Walk it off and get back in there, scrub.”