A Player with Promise  

By Coleen Armstrong

Paul wore his black leather jacket to school nearly every day, with torn jeans and a silver cross dangling from one ear. I watched him, his light-brown, shoulder-length hair falling across his face as he concentrated on revising a third composition draft.
 
He was a unique case, all right. He dressed like a hood, but acted like a gentleman and was at heart an intellectual. I discovered that early, on the fourth day of school, when I received his first paper. It was vivid and insightful, a refreshing change from the rest of the group, still recovering from back-to-school blues.
 
By October, we'd struck a rapport. By April, I knew this was a kid I'd be hearing from for the rest of my life.
 
One day we sat together, going over some mechanical details on one of his papers. It was spring, time to look back and analyze the past year.
 
“Any regrets?” I asked casually.