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It had been a long season, but it felt like only hours ago that Coach Greaseworld had first laid eyes on this group of idiot children who, under his brilliant management, would win him a World Series. And sure, Greaseworld knew there was a reason why he was ordered to attend anger management classes, and why he wasn’t supposed to be within a five-mile radius of any Little League baseball game, and why he’d had to steal a man’s mustache in order to fly under the radar. But his kids were tough, and they seemed okay. Mostly; Angela still flinched every time he raised his voice, but she’d get over it. Those kids were tough.
Greaseworld had been promising the Fishes pizza all season, and he’d finally made good on his promise. Of course he’d picked the cheapest pizza place he could find, which was mostly empty and served terrible pizza, but the kids were so amped up on adrenaline that they didn’t seem to notice. They’d managed to eat a whole pizza and a half, and they were still running around like maniacs.
Pete, Mikey, and Keisha had decided to play tag, a decision that Mikey and Keisha would quickly come to regret. Achmed was blasting music so loud in his headphones that Vicki was dancing to it, pliè-ing and leaping across the tables. Dante was still eating the other half of their second pizza, clearly ignoring Sally talking at him about something useless. Greaseworld was acting as a human pillow for Ernie, who’d eaten four slices of pizza and then promptly passed out. And Angela was sitting across from him, making faces.
“This pizza’s trash.”
“You’re trash, Angela.”
Angela looked up at him, a scowl plastered on her face. Greaseworld could swear he heard church bells. “Ha ha,” she deadpanned.
Greaseworld hated doing all the emotions stuff. His preferred style of coaching was yelling and insults, a style that worked quite well on Angela in the past. If she was fucking up, all he needed to do was pull her aside and shout until she stood up straighter, and then she’d go back out and pitch a no hitter. But she looked oddly dejected in a way that she shouldn’t be after winning, and it made Greaseworld feel weird.
He pushed his plate away, leaning back in his chair. “What’s wrong, kid?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“I do not believe that for a second.”
“I said it’s nothing,” she shouted, prompting a few of the others to take notice. Angela put her fork and knife down, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m fine, Coach. I’ll be fine.”
Before Greaseworld could say anything, Vicki leaped onto their table, bending down to make eye contact with Angela. “You did really good!” she said, more sing-songy than usual. She leaned in closer, glancing at Greaseworld and mock-whispering. “Even Coach thinks so.”
“Yeah!” Achmed came out of nowhere, sliding next to Angela and punching her shoulder. His music was still blasting, and Greaseworld wondered how he could even hear anything. “You did awesome! The crowd loved you! Maybe almost as much as me!”
“Plus,” Vicki added, “you beat your brother. Which is the most important thing, I think.”
Achmed nodded, and Angela cracked a smile. Greaseworld wished he could just let the kids be, but he felt compelled to say something. He felt in some way responsible for her mood. He didn’t regret a single thing, but he supposed yelling at children was probably not good for their development, or something. And as the adult in the room, he should support her. Or something. That's what he told himself, at least.
“Angela, you’ll always have a place on the Fishes,” Greaseworld said, sounding slightly more emotional than he would have liked. When his eyes met hers, Greaseworld saw a bit of that spark he’d seen the first time he met her, the spark that led to her destroying his first team, and him picking her for the second. The determination that kept her getting better, the stubbornness that kept her from giving up, the desire to prove herself that reared its ugly head every time she fucked up and he yelled at her to do better.
Their eyes only met for a moment, before she looked down again, but Greaseworld could tell it wasn’t out of fear or shame. The rest of the team, noticing something was happening, came around and slapped each other on the back, gave each other words of encouragement, congratulated each other on their win. But Angela was staring down at her plate, and Greaseworld could tell it wasn’t out of fear or shame.
He could tell she was plotting. He couldn’t wait to see what she had planned.