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 that seriously scary middle school. They’d been utterly broke after her father’s business failed and her parents’ marriage fell apart. That apartment had been all they could afford.
After the case settled, she’d been relieved when a friend offered her mother a bookkeeping job in Flagstaff. Who wouldn’t be happier living in a better neighborhood, going to a nicer school? And Felicity had been glad to leave the kids who knew what had happened to her and Robert.
That didn’t mean she didn’t understand what these kids faced. She knew to her bones what it was like to feel ashamed and afraid and trapped because you were poor. And she knew how to help them. She had piles of research and fieldwork to support her system. Gabe was wrong about her.
She tried to jam the dowel into the spoke opening, but it wouldn’t go. What the hell? She threw the pieces across her office.
Settle down. Get control.
Anger was her enemy. Her father was an angry man, and Felicity refused to be like him in any way. She wouldn’t define herself by her net worth or wallow in self-pity or lose her temper when things went wrong the way he did.
She made herself take a slow, deep breath and forced a smile, since the gesture automatically reduced tension.
She regretted what she’d blurted about her uncle. Now Gabe had joined the crowd who thought she’d got the job because of who she knew, not what she’d achieved. So infuriating. So unfair.
Let it go. So what? Her work would prove her worth to the district doubters, to her staff, to the Discovery parents, even to Gabe Cassidy. She always worked hard, strove to be the best. That was the point, wasn’t it? To be better every day.
Gabe’s accusations stung all the same.
Of course, she realized teens would be more challenging than elementary kids. Peer pressure meant far more to them. On top of that, Discovery Charter was a last-chance school for last-chance kids. So it wouldn’t be easy. She knew that. What if she failed? What if Gabe was right?
