with her. Each time she’d introduced herself she’d wondered if the person knew about her uncle, her puny salary or believed her to be a useless cheerleader. Maybe she’d bring pom-poms to the first staff meeting to show she could take a joke.
After the meet and greet, her first official act as principal had been to insist the landlord replace the window ASAP. Leonard Lancaster had hemmed and hawed over the phone, but finally agreed it would be replaced today.
She’d set up her office as best she could and had begun making her way through the mess Charlie had left. Bills and reports were stashed willy-nilly, and the man didn’t seem to have ever used his computer.
Right now, what annoyed her almost more than the snarled budget was the gym that still took up some of the school’s much-needed space. Charlie was supposed to have had it cleared out before she got here.
She would have to talk to the coach herself; she needed the room for her After-School Institute, a crucial part of her program. And, since she’d had enough of numbers that didn’t add up, she left her office and started down the hall.
The school was arranged in a U around a grassy courtyard with picnic tables where the three hundred students ate trucked-in lunches. With space at a premium, why would Charlie give away a thousand square feet to a boxing gym? And a controversial one at that. There were parent complaints that the coach was a gangbanger, of all things.
No way would Charlie Hopkins permit that. For all his organizational flaws, he’d been an advocate for the school and protective of his students. That was obvious from what she’d read in the few files she’d found. He’d refused to put in a metal detector, saying it was a breach of faith in his kids. She liked that attitude.
He’d probably sacrificed the space for the rent money, since the school was strapped. The landlord had grumbled over replacing the window, and she’d found a receipt that showed Charlie had bought a small AC unit for the library out of his own pocket.
As she reached the gym door, she heard yells and thuds and punches hitting home in there. So ugly. So violent. She hated violence. Fight with words, not fists. That was her mantra with students. The gym had to go.
Inside was pure chaos. She smelled gym stink and, oddly enough, laundry detergent. Two boys flipped giant tires along one wall. Another dragged a boy on a metal cart by chains around his waist. Some older teens beat on crude-looking punching bags made of green canvas. Another wailed on an older man wearing pads on his arms and legs, both of them yelling at the tops of their lungs.
The place looked as beat-up as the punching bags. The beige paint was cracked and peeling. Water stains formed continents and island chains all over the ceiling. Half the fluorescent lights were dead, few had covers. The walls had fist-size holes punched in them. Punched.
In a menacing-looking ring rimmed by chain-link, not ropes, a Latino as big as a linebacker fought a short boy in a padded helmet. The man had to be the coach, Gabriel Cassidy.
She walked closer and saw the guy was all muscle. He was dressed like a professional fighter in black nylon shorts and a tank top. His skin, the color of mocha, was shiny with sweat. Add to that black, shaggy hair, a large tattoo on his forearm and a menacing expression on what she could make out of his face, and she could maybe see how parents might be intimidated by him.
No excuse to call the man a gangster, but prejudice was insidious.
She got close enough to see details—the gold cross around his neck, the twining muscles on his shoulders. And that tattoo. It was an image of a young fighter with his fists up. The face looked so familiar....
It was Robert. Electricity jolted her. Her gaze shot to the man’s face. She recognized him, too. “G?” she blurted, totally stunned.
Startled, he let down his guard. The boy landed a punch to his jaw. G didn’t react to that, only stared at her in shock. “Cici?”
Robert had started calling her that. Fe-li-ci-ty is too damn white and too damn long.
Gabriel Cassidy was Robert’s brother? “But your last name is Ochoa…” she said, her mind slowing to sludge.
“I changed it to my mother’s,” he replied flatly, giving her the same hateful glare he had at Robert’s funeral when she’d mumbled her sympathy to his mother and little sisters. Why had he hated her so much?
He still seemed to. Felicity’s cheeks burned. The air practically buzzed with tension.
“Coach?” the boy spoke from behind.
“Hit the bag, Victor,” G said, keeping his eyes on Felicity. He didn’t speak until the boy was gone. “What are you doing here?”
His tone made her want to apologize, even though he was the one who didn’t belong. “I’m the new principal.”
“The what?” His head shifted back in surprise. “You’re replacing Charlie?”
She bristled. Yet another person who doubted her. “Yes. Is that a problem for you?”
“No.” He seemed to realize how rude he’d been and softened his tone. “Charlie’s a friend and he didn’t deserve to get fired.” He stared at her, clearly sorting a dozen thoughts at once. “Congratulations on the job, I guess.”
That was supposed to make her feel better?
“Thank you, I guess.” Despite her irritation and shock, she couldn’t help comparing the man before her with the one she’d last seen fifteen years ago. His square jaw, straight nose, strong mouth and storm-dark eyes seemed more striking, as if he’d grown into his features. He’d been big before, and confident, but now he was all muscle and totally in charge.
And very, very hot. She couldn’t help but notice that.
He took his own quick survey of her. Interest flared, then got put out, as if by a bucket of water. “What can I do for you?” He didn’t even try to smile.
“For starters, I couldn’t find a copy of our lease with you.”
“That’s because there isn’t one. Charlie wasn’t using the space so he offered it to me.”
“Okay.... Then how much rent do you pay?”
He shifted his weight, foot to foot, now looking uneasy. “Since I train some Discovery students, there’s no charge.”
“How many from Discovery?” She looked around the gym. Plenty of the twenty-some boys pounding the crap out of each other looked high-school age.
“Maybe ten. The rest come from North Central High.”
A short boy with fierce eyes approached them. “Can I fight Brian? I know I can beat him.”
“Then you know what you need to know. Fight above yourself, not below. And you’re supposed to be coaching.” G glanced around, his gaze landing on a boy huddled over a textbook. “Devin! Get your ass over here.”
The boy looked up. “But I’ve got math.”
“That’s why they call it homework. Alex will train takedowns with you.”
