Smiley

"No one knew his real name. He simply entered a gym smiling and never stopped. At first I thought he was a reporter or athletic director, maybe a popular teacher. He acted as if he knew everyone in the place. Wearing a dark blue overcoat, black scarf, baggy pants and worn shoes, he moved confidently about, sometimes carrying a clipboard.
When he took notes, his squat body hunched forward, concern etched across his face, tiny dark eyes darting end to end.He never removed that frayed gray sweater no matter how warm it got in the gym.
I watched him shake his head in distress whenever a girl would muff a pass or blow an easy shot. Usually he positioned himself a bit away from the other spectators. Once, I sat directly behind him and glanced at his clipboard. It contained a jumble of numbers and diagrams, phrases I couldn't make out. None of it seemed to make sense. Perhaps he was a very analytical coach out scouting.
I never saw him around town. No one seemed to know where he lived or worked, if indeed he did work. He never arrived or left with anyone. At game's end, I'd look around and he had vanished."
From "Smiley", a story included in "Dancing on Lava--Switchblade Stories 3", available on Amazon.