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But it’s looking like it will be a constant for the next six to eight weeks. Just thinking about being dependent on someone else for that long makes me sick to my stomach. I hate asking for help.
Justin keeps trying to make small talk on the drive. I know he’s just trying to keep my mind off of what just happened, but I’m not in the mood for any of it.
Eventually, he gets the hint and turns on the radio instead. Despite him appearing supportive, I know he’s annoyed. He just doesn’t understand. Sports aren’t really Justin’s thing. He’s more of the academic type. And byacademic,I mean he’s Pre-Law, and he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else on the planet, and he has a terrible habit of showing it—except to me. He knows I won’t put up with the condescension.
Feeling bad that I’ve been so bitchy today, I reach over and hold his hand. But it’s only a second before he pulls his hand away.
So, that’s how this is going to go…
Ten minutes later, we are pulling up to the athletics building on campus. Justin parks the car on the curb by the front door and looks over at me.
“Do you mind if I wait in the car?” He asks.
“No, that’s fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
On one foot, I hobble out of the car and grab my crutches out of the back seat.
As I use them to start walking—or hopping—inside, I’m suddenly very grateful that my coach’s office isn’t too far away. The less walking I have to do with these things, the better.
I stop at the door and knock before heading inside. Coach Smith sits behind her desk and warmly smiles when she sees me.
“Hey, Jenna,” she greets. “Come on in.”
When I get inside, I see that she’s not alone. She’s sitting across from another woman who I’m pretty sure I recognize as my academic advisor.
“Have a seat,” the coach gestures to the empty chair.
I walk over, sit down, and feel like I’m suddenly on trial for something.
Coach Smith says, “So, what did the doctor have to say?”
“I’m out for six weeks, tops,” I lie.
Her eyes narrow in on me. “Jenna, I’ve been doing this long enough to know when your leg was bent backward like it was, it’s not as easy as that.”
My lip starts to quiver as I fight back the urge to cry.
When I don’t answer, she asks, “You’re done playing, aren’t you?”
As painful as it is, I give a slight nod and wipe the single tear that has escaped. “I’m really sorry, Coach. I know we were on track to go far this year.”
She crosses her arms and leans them on her desk. “Jenna, don’t you worry about that. We will be fine. You worry about getting that leg better.”
The woman in the other chair starts to speak, and I jump a little because I forgot she was there.
“Miss Mitchell, I hate to bring this up at a time like this, but we need to talk about your tuition payment that is due in a week,” she says.
Now, I recognize her. She’s not my academic advisor. She works in the student finance center.
Fuck.
I clear my throat. “Ma’am.” My southern accent comes out, and I try to make it sound as sweet as possible. “I shouldn’t have a tuition payment because I have a full-ride athletic scholarship.”
The two women exchange an uncomfortable glance before Coach Smith says, “Jenna, your scholarship was contingent on you being able to play volleyball.”
The other woman adds, “The last time you got hurt, we knew you’d be able to play again, but this time, you’re done. And you didn’t get hurt while playing volleyball, so I’m afraid your scholarship has been revoked.”
Stunned, I ask, “What does that mean?”
