Cade

I couldn’t help but glare at the empty chair in front of me as I took a sip of coffee.

My 9 am was late. Being late for the interview was not a very good sign. All being late showed me was that their time management was shit and that I was going to have to worry about them every time a competition rolled around. Being late for an interview was one thing but competing under my name and being late to sign in was unacceptable and they were not filling me with hope now. 

I had already taken a chance on these people on age alone. The kid was only 9. I usually only worked with kids 11 and up so 9 was already iffy. 9-year-olds didn’t always have the attention spans or dedication to keep with the sport for more than a few months and I wasn’t going to waste my time on a kid that was going to give up when things got too hard.

I sighed as I looked at my watch. He was now 20 minutes late and with it being summer, I had a lesson in 40 minutes. Most interviews lasted at least 30 minutes and I still needed to have time open.

‘Time management issues,’ I wrote down on the special notes portion of the interview paper. This was just getting to be ridiculous.

I was about to just give up and send an email saying he was no longer being considered for the open spot when the bell above the main door chimed. He was lucky, I would give him that.

“We’re meeting in here,” I called out through the open office door, trying to hide my irritation.

“Sorry we’re late,” the man said with an easygoing smile. “Zane didn’t want to get up this morning.” 

The man was tall, easily 6’2. His hair was black and neatly styled like he was about to walk into a business meeting that matched his expensive suit. I suddenly didn’t believe him that the kid was the reason they were late. His green eyes held no shame and it irritated me more.

“Asher Sutton,” he said as he put his arm across the desk. I took his hand to shake it before looking down at the wide-eyed kid beside him.

“If you sign this,” I told him when I let go of his tight grip and slid over a safety waver, “He can go play while we talk.”

“Do you want to go play,” Asher asked his son and the kid smiled back brightly, not bothering to give an answer before running down the hall. 

“Well, we’ve wasted enough time and I have a lesson in a few minutes so let’s get this started,” I said with a sigh as he filled out the quick waver.

“I really am sorry about that. We had a late night with the move and I didn’t realize the time had gotten so late.” That was a pretty shitty excuse but I didn’t have the energy to call him out.

“How long has Zane been doing gym?”

“About 5 months now.” I frowned as I wrote the answer down. 

“Only five months, what’s his most advanced skill?”

“I have no idea.” I looked up from the paper and openly glared at him.

“How do you not know? Do you not watch his practices?”

“I’m not really a gymnastics person. I don’t know anything about it. Ask me about traditional sports and I’m all over it but gym is still pretty new to both of us,” he said with a small laugh. “I know he can do a backflip.”

“Does his hands touch the ground?”

“Yes.” I nodded with a low sigh; a backhand spring then.

“And he’s won competitions with that?” Sure, that was impressive for only 5 months, and with his age but at the same age I was doing layouts. Was that not normal anymore? It had to be considering my other, older students were still winning with the routines I was making. 

“Oh, he doesn’t compete,” Asher said with a small frown.

“Why are you here,” I asked, not bothering to keep the aggravation out of my voice. I tossed the pen down onto the desk and leaned back in my chair, this interview was all but over at this point. 

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here? Why are you wasting my time? This is a competition gym, it said so on the application form. All of my kids compete. I usually require at least one win a season for upcoming students. It said that in the application too. Did you just not read what you were signing up for?”

“My assistant signed him,” Asher said with a shrug. “Why does he need to compete? He just wants to flip and do cool things.”

“He doesn’t have to compete. A lot of kids do this for fun and there is nothing wrong with that,” I clarified. “But if he wants to go here, he will need to compete. If you don’t want him to compete, I will gladly point you in the direction of other gyms in the area-,” Asher cuts me off and I was getting so fed up with this man. 

“Are they just as good as you?”

“Well, no. I do have several more years of experience-,”

“You’ve only been open for two years,” Asher said with a glare of his own, clearly my attitude was wearing off on him. 

“Yes but I have competed for over half of my life,” I spat.

“I want only the best for my son. If you are the best in the area then this is where I want him to be.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, at this point, I’m not sure I want your son as a student. Not because of him, he seems like a great kid from the three-second interaction I had with him but you just seem like you are going to be a pain in my ass so I think it’s best that we just stop here and save our time and you can try a few other places.”

“Now hold on just a second,” Asher said, a new glare on his face. His green eyes lost every bit of friendliness they had when he first walked in here. “What makes you think I’m going to be a problem.” I blanched at him. 

“Well, let’s just see,” I said as I held up my fingers to count every offense he had made so far. “You showed up 20 minutes late and wasted my time, you didn’t read the application, you don’t seem to have any respect for me or what I do, and you don’t seem to care about this at all. I honestly have no idea why you even sent in an application here other than to waste my time.”

“So that’s it? You just give up on my son without even seeing what he can do?”

“I don’t need to see what he can do,” I said with a shrug. “The reason I am turning him away is because his parent seems like a douche.”

“Just give him a chance,” Asher sighed. “I know this has been a horrible first impression but I swear, I will stay out of your way. He can start competing if you want, you just tell me when and where to show up and I will get him there, I will make sure that we never have to speak if it means you just try with him. Please.” I glared at him just as my phone pinged on the desk. 

I read the text as Asher stared at me and sighed even more. Katie was sick and wasn’t going to make it to practice at least today and tomorrow. She was supposed to be here in 10 minutes so I guess I had free time now.

“You’re a lucky bastard,” I told him with a sigh. Asher all but lit up and I hated that I had a reason to give him a chance now. “My first lesson of the day is canceled so I’ll tell you what. Let’s do an hour-long trial class to see if he even has the energy for that time block at his age. The cost of the lesson will be 30 bucks. After the hour we’ll talk for a bit, see if it’s even worth it, and talk about your horrific time management and if all of that goes well and I think he’s ready to compete we can see about getting him a slot. After that, classes will be $60 an hour if you’re comfortable with that.”

Asher smiled brightly before pulling out his wallet and setting a hundred-dollar bill. I grabbed it and went to get him change but he waved it off.

“Keep it,” he said as he stood up. “Call it the ‘douche fee’.” I only hummed before putting the bill in the desk and standing up. I winced at the pain in my ankle but brushed it off as I walked towards the door.

“Parents go upstairs,” I told him, pointing to the observation rule. “Play on your phone, watch your kid, take videos; I don’t care but do not get in the way, and do not step on my mat with shoes.”

“Yes sir,” he said cheekily with a mocking salute before heading upstairs.

Zane was running around the gym floor like a madman when I walked in and I sighed, remembering why I didn’t start kids this early.

“Hey Zane,” I called out to him. He immediately stopped and turned to me, a smile far too similar to his father’s on his face. “You want to tumble for a little bit so I can see what you can do?”

“Yes,” he all but screamed as he ran over to me. I sat on the mat and he followed.

“Alright let’s get our stretches done. Don’t want to get hurt do we?” He shook his head and mirrored my movements as I guided him to spread eagle. “So what all can you do?”

“I can do a really good cartwheel,” he said, eyes lighting up. “And round offs! And I can walk on my hands and I can do a backhand spring!”

“Do you need help with that backhand spring or can you do it by yourself?”

“I can do it all by myself,” he said proudly. His stretch was actually really good, his chest was almost touching the floor. 

“Alright let’s start with those cartwheels,” I said as I gestured for him to stand up while I remained sitting. “Try to stay on that line and I want to see you go halfway down the floor with them. Take it slow. I want to see the prettiest cartwheels you can do.”

We repeated this several times with different skills. His cartwheels were a bit shaky but his round-offs were gorgeous and since those tended to be more important, I could wave off the cartwheels. His handstands were pretty good, he could hold them nicely for about three seconds before toppling over and trying again. For only five months in, he had amazing natural talent. With a little bit of time and practice, I had no doubt he could place in at least third in a few months as long he sticks with it.

His backhand springs were fine but inconsistent. A few were beautiful but most were done with spread legs and bent knees.

He barely had any skills that went forward but his back tuck barely needed a spot.

I watched from a distance as he threw a simple tumbling pass across the room. The kid had potential; there was no doubt with that but the man sitting in the room upstairs was going to be an issue. I sighed to myself as I pushed myself off the floor and headed up the stairs.

My body fucking hurt with every step. I wasn’t used to spotting and running around this much anymore, most of my students didn’t need spots or at the very least didn’t flop like a fish every time they landed in my arms. 

Asher was watching his son like he was the best gymnast in the world from where he sat on the bench and I suddenly felt like this was a different man than the one who showed up almost half an hour late.

“There will be rules,” I told him suddenly. Asher startled but smiles when he sees me standing in the doorway.

“Such as?”

“If you are more than 15 minutes late to a class then you forfeit your time and will be paying a late fee on top of the regular price.”

“That’s fair,” he said with a nod.

“When he starts competing you will meet me at this gym an hour early and we will drive to the competition together so I can make sure you do not show up late when you are representing my gym.” He frowned at that but nodded again.

“If I notice he’s getting tired I will end the session. You will have a discount for the time he doesn’t use but he will not tumble if he is too tired to continue. Safety is my number 1 priority and I will not have him hurt if I can help it at all.”

“I understand that and I thank you for taking that into consideration,” Asher said with a little more professionalism than I would have expected from him. 

“Lastly, with him being so young, I will be a bit harder on him. I need to set a good foundation for him. The second I notice he is dragging his feet or is starting to lose interest I will be doing a check-in with him alone. The only reason I will do it alone is because I need him to be honest with me but in the spirit of transparency I will ask him if he still wants to do this, why he seems to not be as energetic lately, if competing is too hard, if it’s too much stress, if he wants to take a break and try again in a few months. If I get a few negative answers I will tell you whether or not we continue or if we are taking a break. I will not waste time on a student who doesn’t want to be here.”

Asher looked like he was hiding something but nodded anyway.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

“How often do you think his classes should be?”

“I want him here at least three times a week,” I said honestly. “I would like more but I don’t want to burn him out. Three times a week is a minimum but talk to him about it; it is his decision in the end. If he doesn’t want to do more than three a week that’s all we’ll do but if he wants to be here every day, I can move spots around to make that happen as long as it will not hurt you financially.”

“Will you be his primary coach?”

“Unless you go to a second gym, I will be his only couch. I don’t have any employees. Like I said I am a competition gym. I don’t have big classes, there are only private lessons so I can give your kid my sole attention.” He nodded and looked pleased with the answer. 

“What do we do from here?”

“If you are ready to officially sign him up and you promise to get better at respecting my time we can go to the office now and get all the paperwork done.”

“Sounds like a deal,” he said as he stood up and I envied the way his knees didn’t pop.

“Can I ask one last question,” he asked as we walked down the stairs, he acted like this was the easiest thing in the world while I pushed down the pain with every step.

“Sure,” I said with a shrug.

“What happened to your foot? You can tell me to fuck off if you want, I was just curious.”

“Gymnastics,” I said easily. I would never hide the possible injuries for this sport. “I hurt myself the night before a competition, didn’t listen to my body, competed anyway, and paid the price. Which is why I will stop a lesson on the spot if I see he is hurt or getting tired.” Asher frowned but didn’t say anything else as we stepped into the office.

With the paperwork done, I bid both of them a good day and got the rest of the opening set up, praying I didn’t just make a horrible decision.