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I scratch the back of my neck, my brain scrambling. “There was a first assignment?”
Pushing away from her desk, she stalks around it, settling into her chair and resting her arms on top of the desk. “If you don’t want to take this class seriously, I suggest you find an alternative. You still have time to drop.”
“I can’t drop it. I need this class to graduate.”
“Then I suggest you get to work on the assignment that’s already late. I’ll give you partial credit if you turn it in tonight. Along with the second assignment that’s due tonight as well.”
My mood spirals. Fuck. I have statistics homework to do tonight too, and while it’s not hard, it’s tedious. “I’ll turn both in.”
“It’s due by midnight.”
“No problem. I’ll get it to you.” I’m sweating. Seriously.
“See that you do, Mr. Maguire.” She’s quiet for a moment, so long I’m about to get the hell away from her, but she finally speaks. “I know you’re one of the star players on our football team. You’re considered an important asset to the university, but your schoolwork still matters. You can’t play football forever.”
Her last words piss me off and fill me with all of those insecurities I battle on a nightly basis. “Right.”
That’s all I say. I’m guessing she can tell she made me angry, but I don’t know if she even cares. A single brow lifts, and she murmurs, “You may go.”
I hurry out of there, fighting my anger and the frustration that swirls within me. I hate it when people are quick to write me off as just another dumb jock. I’m not stupid. I just struggle in class sometimes. It takes me a little longer to catch onto things. And I didn’t even remember that I had that first assignment due in English. I can’t believe I forgot, but shit. I’ve done this sort of thing before…
Now I have two assignments to complete. And I don’t know how I’m going to do it.
I have a fifteen-minute break between classes so I settle my ass on a bench just outside the building where my next class is, scrolling through the university app on my phone. I log into my portal and check out my class list, clicking on my English class to see exactly what I need to do. Yep, there it is. I have to write a short essay answering at least three of the seven questions listed in the assignment.
Fuck me running, I haven’t even started reading the book yet.
“Why do you look so stressed out?”
I glance up to find Cam standing there, frowning at me.
“That stupid English class,” I admit, launching into a brief description of what just happened between me and my newest nightmare, Professor Johnson.
“You should get a tutor,” Cam suggests when I’m done complaining. “They even have a scheduler on the app now. You choose your subject, they give you a list of tutors available and the open times they can meet with you, and that’s it. You’re done. You’ve got help coming once or twice a week, whatever you need.”
“I don’t know.” It’s hard to admit to people—strangers—that I don’t always catch on as quickly as others do. That I need help.
But it’s probably better getting a tutor than going this alone, struggling the entire way and barely passing. Or worse...
Not passing at all.
“Don’t let this fuck with your head. You’re trying to do well at school this semester, right?” When I nod, Cam continues, “Well, then you need to utilize every tool available to ensure you’ll get solid grades, especially with those classes you struggle with.”
I know Cam is right. It’s like it was meant to be, for me to run into him, so he can say this stuff to me.
“Fine. I’ll get a tutor,” I say, reluctantly.
“Trust me when I say I think it’ll help you.” Cam waves a hand at my phone. “Look it up. Make an appointment. Oh, and if the first one doesn’t work out, you can always reschedule with another.”
I reopen my portal and start searching. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Cam says his goodbyes before making his way to class, while I sit there and kill the last few minutes before my next class starts, trying to figure out the tutor appointment thing. I scan the list of names, bypassing all the guys. I don’t need some nerd trying to explain to me what I have to do. Or what if he’s a football fan and just wants to talk game strategy and go over stats?
No, thank you.
Of course, it might not be smart to go with a female either. What if they’re a total fan in the other way and just want to flirt? I like flirting, but I need to get serious.
I need to pass this class. I want to do better than a C, but I’ll be happy with that kind of grade, if that’s all I can muster. Beggars can’t be choosers.
