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“The big fucking deal is we are a championship team,” he growls, his voice trembling with emotion.
I don’t see Spencer showing a whole lot of emotion about anything except football. I should have known this was about football.
“Oh, okay,” I continue, finally understanding. “Well, we will still be a championship team if I am a senior, right? Who cares?”
“Hillby is going to care!” Spencer shoots back, his voice getting louder with every second. “And I care. And Zeke and Trevor are definitely going to care!”
“All right… so? Are you going to give me a cake or something?”
Spencer stands up, pacing back and forth, his arms held out from his sides. Spencer’s plan is to be a CEO, but his brain right now is about three-quarters football. He’s a little obsessed. This guy doesn’t know the meaning of balance.
“You gotta slow down,” he mutters angrily. “You just gottaslow it down. What are you going to do? Do you have a minor or a concentration or something?”
“Naw, man, just straight computer science.”
“All right… Well, you are going to get a minor. Pick one. What do you want to do?”
He is starting to irritate me. Did I know I was a senior? No. I mean, credit hours just rack up. It’s not like I count them out one by one. But if I could graduate, I would.
Why would I want to be here an extra semester or two if I didn’t have to? Why would I want to spend all that extra time and money here if I could get on with my real life?
“You know what, I think this is a mistake,” I answer, all breezy, hoping maybe he will get distracted. Maybe somebody will throw a football outside the window or something.
“How about music?” he offers. “You ever think about taking up the French horn? You look like a horn player.”
“Fuck you,” I answer, not even really knowing why.
“Or how about art? You spend all that time over there in the art school. How about that? You ever think about that?”
Instantly, Jenna pops into my mind.
“Art? What do you mean?”
He stops pacing and stares at me. “Art. You know. Drawing and shit. Do you have any talent for that? Any interest?”
“I may have a little bit of interest,” I answer.
He scoffs, laughing to himself as he nods. “All right… All right. This is gonna work. Your schedule is open on Wednesday afternoons, right?”
I shrug. Why does he know my schedule so well? He smiles at me like he knows something important.
“Yeah, it is,” he answers his own question. “So this is going to be fine.”
“What’s going to be fine?” I ask, confused.
“Hillby told Zeke and me we had to get our electives under control this semester, in case we make it to the playoffs. In case we have to go to academic review.”
“Yeah? So? My academics are fine. Which you obviously know.”
He blows this off, not acknowledging that he’s been a little bit too nosy about my academic progress. I make a mental note to make sure he can’t actually hack into the grades or anything like that. Or maybe Coach Hillby gave him the information? Either way, I don’t like it.
“So you are going to take this art class with us.”
My finger drifts over the touchpad on the laptop. I have a page of search results with Jenna Tokar’s name on them. That’s what I want to be doing.
“Yeah, let me think about that,” I dodge. “You want me to get a minor? Maybe music doesn’t sound so bad after all.”
“No, take the art class,” he insists. “None of us know our asses from our elbows. We don’t even know the building. You could show us the ropes.”
