“Are you kidding? Devin lives for homework. What he needs is the balls to defend himself from bullies.”
“So you teach him to be a bigger one?”
“Bullying is a head game. To beat it, you need better game. Trust me, without STRIKE, Devin Muller’s back to getting swirlies in the girls’ john.”
“These kids experience enough violence in their lives without you teaching them how to do it better.”
He gave a half laugh. “What I teach them is self- discipline, self-control and physical confidence. They fight in my gym, not the streets.”
She held his gaze. “A good principal’s focus has to be on helping students perform better in school.”
“A good principal knows kids need different approaches and trusts her staff to do what works for each kid.”
“You’re not on my staff, G.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “It’s Gabe or Coach Cassidy. No one calls me G.” Robert had given Gabe the nickname to make him sound more gangster. Hearing it was like sandpaper on a sunburn. “Look, Charlie was a great principal. He got fired for defending the kids no matter what scores showed up in the newspaper.”
“You assume I won’t stand up for my students?” Clearly riled, she tapped her desk with a short wooden dowel from the Tinkertoys.
“All I know is that Charlie got done in by politics. You’re clearly better connected than he was.”
She sucked in a breath. “My uncle had nothing to do with me getting this job.”
“Your uncle? Who’s your uncle?” Where the hell had that come from?
She blinked, startled. “Phil Evers is my— But that’s not the point—”
“Wait. The superintendent is your uncle? Oh, I get it. Phil Evers’s niece needs a job, so Charlie gets the boot.”
“That is not true.” Her face went from milk-white to bright red. “Phil wouldn’t know me on sight—not that it’s any of your business. My program works. That’s why I was hired. And I will implement it no matter what obstacles I have to jump, sidestep or knock to the ground.” She was completely fired up, ready to fight—body tensed, jaw locked, eyes hot, lips a stubborn line.
Part of him—his caveman soul—enjoyed seeing her this way, wanted to go chest to chest with her, hip to hip, thigh to thi— Uh, forget that.
He was chagrined to realize that this entire time the undercurrent of sexual attraction had been humming through him like a supercharged V-8 on idle, ready to blast to life, zero to sixty in four seconds flat.
Enough. He lifted his hands in surrender. “I get it. You’ve got something to prove. All I’m saying is that kicking out STRIKE won’t help.”
“It might. Parents have complained that you condone gang activity.”
“That is total bullshit. STRIKE is what keeps half my kids out of gangs. I don’t allow gang colors, signs or talk in my gym. And who complained? Beatrice Milton? The parent-group lady? She’s pissed because she wanted the space for her craft business.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe boxing is appropriate in a school.”
“I coach Muay Thai, which is a revered martial art, for your information. And you’re flat-out wrong. You don’t know this neighborhood or these kids, what their lives are like, what they need.”
“I’ve studied and worked with at-risk kids for several years. And I used to live near here, too, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Oh, I remember, all right. You were slumming and when things went bad you beat it out of town in a hurry.”
“My mother got a job in Flagstaff, so we moved.” She was breathing hard, turning a glass paperweight over and over in her hand.
He considered telling her exactly what her spoiled selfishness had done to Robert and his family, but that wouldn’t help his cause. “Look, I’m sure you mean well, but a lot of these kids have messed-up lives. School is not a priority.” Gabe softened his tone, fighting to stay calm. “STRIKE changes that. They have to go to school, get good grades and stay out of trouble. They gain physical and mental skills every day. At the very least, they forget for a few hours all the crap they endure trying to survive around here.”
He stopped, breathing hard, blood pounding in his skull. He’d raised his voice at the end and was leaning across the desk glaring at her.
She didn’t back down, he’d give her that. She had a muscle-bound, tatted-up cholo yelling in her face, and she hadn’t called the police or even flinched.
“You’re obviously very passionate about your gym,” she said. “I respect that, but that doesn’t change my decision.”
He stared at her.
“Find a place that wants you, Gabe. You’ll be better off and so will we.”
Frustration boiled inside him. His stomach churned, his muscles tightened, ready to fight. Count to ten before you say something hard. He was too pissed to count. “Look, I need to get to work now,” he said, pushing to his feet. “We’ll have to talk later.”
“I believe I made my point. Two weeks. Be sure I get those waivers.”
Waivers? Charlie never gave him any waivers.
Gabe stalked off, fuming. Damn it all to hell. This was worse than getting let go from the South Mountain recreation-director job. They’d claimed the position suddenly required a college degree, but the real deal was that a scary-looking half-Mexican dude didn’t present the right image for the yuppies the city wanted to attract from the pricey houses that had recently been built. He’d seen their point, but that didn’t mean he’d liked it.
He’d been low until he got word about Kurt’s bequest and Charlie had offered him the space for the gym. That had been the silver lining to losing the job. It was a way to honor Robert. Every kid he trained was Robert to him and that felt worthwhile. Corny as it sounded, that meant more than the ego stroke or cash from the city job.
And now he might lose it all. Talk about a kick in the teeth. And from Cici, of all people. She’d wrecked his brother and now she was going after him. If he weren’t so pissed, he might laugh.
What would he do? Try to find another space? Scrape up rent somehow? That would take a while, and what would happen to Alex in the meantime? Or the boys from North Central? Or, hell, Devin?
Nothing good, that was certain. Gang life loomed always, ever ready to sink its claws into his boys, like a lion peeling off the weak from a herd.
He stopped walking and gathered himself together. He never backed down from a fight. He tended to butt his head against the wall until the wall gave or he passed out from blood loss. To win with Cici, he’d have to be smart, think outside the box.
Not easy for him. It was funny. He’d wanted to be a lawyer, work in civil rights, help the underdog, until he’d had to quit school to support his family. He knew now he would have made a lousy lawyer. Lawyers compromised, made deals, sold out, gave in. That was not Gabe’s way. Not at all.
What would get through to Felicity Spencer? He had no idea, but he’d better figure it out before he and his boys ended up on the street.
FELICITY STABBED©AT©A Tinkertoy wheel with a red dowel, her hands still shaking, her breathing coming fast and hard. She was still angry. And hurt, if she were honest with herself.
She dropped her head to her desk. You let him get to you. He’d accused her of running away, of slumming.
As if she and her mother were living in that run-down, bug-infested apartment for fun. As if Felicity couldn’t wait to attend