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So, yeah. I’m failing.
“Are youawarethat if you don’t get your grades up–this fucking minute–that you will be suspended from the team?” Coach manages to say.
I haven’t seen him this pissed since the ref’s bad call screwed our championship chances last year.
And I knew about the suspension rule.
I just didn’t realize that I was so close to being one of those guys.
“Shit,” I said, staring at those damning letters. The C’s. The D’s. I’m so screwed. “What do I do?”
Coach grunts. “You’re going to get off your ass and take care of it. You’re going to work with a tutor of my choosing. And no more extra practice until I say so. You got that?”
I can feel my ears burning.
“But Coach–” I start.
He cuts me off. “I don’t want to hear it. You do this, Rayn, or I’ll suspend you myself.”
I shake my head. I have no choice here. If I want to be the legend I want to be, then I guess I have to be a freaking student. It’s messed up.
I’m not going to be an accountant. Never going to be a doctor.
All I have ever wanted in my entire life is an NFL ring.
So, why do I need a diploma to get there?
It feels like a waste of time. A distraction. And there’s nothing more that I hate than a distraction.
But I’ll do it.
Because sometimes you just need to play a different kind of game.
“Alright,” I say, resigned. “Just tell me what I’ve got to do.”
Coach looks at me questioningly, like maybe he doesn’t actually believe I’m going to do this.
He should know better.
I master whatever I set my mind to.
“Tutoring at the tutoring center. Every day. 9 a.m. Ask for Lennon. She’s the best, apparently,” he says. And then he just turns to leave.
Tutoringevery day.
God.
I’ll do what I have to do.
But I’m not going to like it.
Chapter Two
LENNON
It’s a beautiful morning.
I had my first class early this morning at 7, and now I’m sitting in the quad drinking my coffee while I read the New Yorker on my phone. This is one of my favorite parts of my day. For just a few minutes, it’s quiet. Relaxed.
