Page 67 of Campus Heat

The introductions started soon after her statement. Spotlights cut through the arena as Mr. Pine called the players up one by one. His voice was booming with manufactured confidence, and somehow it had a revitalizing effect on us all.

“And in the position of quarterback, we have Ethan Rose!”

The spotlight locked on me, and suddenly the cheers were solid. They felt as real as the girl sitting next to me, and I was on cloud nine. I jogged up the steps and eagerly shook Mr. Pine’s hand.

“It’s a big night,” Mr. Pine said through his smile. His grip was firm, almost testing.

“Yeah,” I replied evenly while trying to figure out what was written between the lines.

“Make it count.”

It wasn’t encouragement. It was an instruction. That was the point he was trying to get across. He arranged all this to give us a chance, and what we did with it was entirely up to us. We could either make something out of this opportunity or toss it out the window.

The rally pushed on for another hour before the team filtered off the court and toward the locker room corridors. The noise followed them, bleeding into the hallway in waves, but I lagged behind slightly. My plan was to circle around the administrative office with the hope that I would miss the worst of the traffic and get a moment alone with Elizabeth. But Jenna whisked her away from some other meet and greet that nobody was aware of, so it was just me and my dwindling energy.

I slowed my pace completely, not seeing any reason to rush to my dorm, but as I rounded the corner that led to the office door, I heard raised voices. They weren’t screaming. They were hushed tones that weren’t exactly loud enough for public ears, but they were sharp, and it was clear that the two people who were talking weren’t exactly on the best of terms. I slowed instinctively, thinking I might be useful if things got physical.

“You stood up there tonight, in front of the alumni, and promised progress,” Mr. Pine said.

“We’ve made a hell of a lot of progress since we started,” Harris replied, his voice as controlled as it always was. “We’re actually starting to compete instead of just being run over. That’s got to count for something.”

“You’re two and four,” Mr. Pine snapped. “That’s not good enough. We want wins, not near victories.”

“This is a complete rebuild. You can’t seriously expect us to knock the ball out of the park right off the bat.”

I heard the shuffle of footsteps and moved further into the darkness. This was not the type of discussion a person like me should be caught listening in on.

“It’s the first year,” Mr. Pine said, and it sounded like his patience was wearing thin. “And donors don’t fund slow growth.”

“The donors haven’t funded anything,” Harris said, finally losing his cool. “The team doesn’t even have a uniform, and we’re praying our way to games on a bus that should’ve been retired twenty years ago. And why? Not because the donors didn’t give us enough. It’s because that’s all my guys could afford. It comes out of their own pockets and measly fundraising.”

“Let’s just cut to the chase and get it over with. I’ve had a meeting with the donors, and they’re starting to wonder whether you were the right hire,” Mr. Pine continued. “They’re expecting energy, discipline, and a shift in culture. But all they’ve been seeing up until now is inconsistency.”

“What they’re seeing,” Harris sneered. “Is a totally new team trying to find its feet.”

I stepped out of the darkness and peered into the window. In all the time we had been training under Harris, I had never seen him get upset. Not once. Not even when we walked out on him.

“They don’t care about that. They’re seeing losses and they aren’t pleased with it.”

“We’re busy building the groundwork. You need a foundation before you can build a house. Things don’t just happen because you said they should.”

Mr. Pine let out a sharp breath. “Groundwork doesn’t fill the seats, Ozzy.”

“Neither does cycling through head coaches every eighteen months,” Harris shot back.

The edge in his voice really surprised me, and I realized that there was a lot more to this conversation than I was aware of. It wasn’t the first time they spoke about this, but I’m wondering if it might be the last.

“Don’t think you’re going to pull that card on me. You knew exactly what you were walking into,” Mr. Pine said.

“No,” Harris said in a voice laced with steel. “I knew I was inheriting a roster. I didn’t know that I’d also be inheriting expectations that were so detached from reality they could be in a movie. That was a new thing you threw in my face after everything was said and done. I was just expected to be okay with it.”

“That roster is your responsibility now, and you better do everything in your power to make sure it succeeds because failure has never been an option.”

“That roster,” Harris said, his voice lowering dangerously. “Was recruited for a completely different philosophy. Half don’t fit the scheme I was hired to implement.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but to a degree and extent, it made sense. That was the reason we could never gel. It was because we had a different goal when we were drafted, but if that was the case, why didn’t we stick to the initial plan?

“Then you adjust. For God’s sake, Ozzy, it’s not that difficult.”