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“Passing that course is a graduation requirement for all Business majors.” He pauses. “And failing a class puts your GPA below what you need to play, according to the athletics committee.”
I’m still frozen, processing.
No one would call me a star student, but I’ve never flunked a class before.
Fall semester grades get posted over winter break. But I haven’t bothered checking mine—or logging into my school email—becausebreakis supposed to be a vacation from all the boring parts of college. I figured I’d gotten a mix of Cs and Bs like I usually do.
“So I’m off the team?” It’s a small miracle I manage to choke those words out past the panic lodged in my throat.
I’m not chasing a pro career like Conor is.
I’m not as fast or as focused as Hunter is.
But I love playing hockey. Love being part of a team and the high of winning we’ve been experiencing a lot lately. Hockey is the one thing I putsomeeffort into, as opposed to the none I normally give everything else. And I care about helping Hart gethis championship. It’s practically all he’s talked about since freshman year, and this is his last chance. The thought of being seated on the bench, stuck watching those hopes die, makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“No,” Coach Keller answers, and I take a breath for the first time in what feels like forever. “But you are on probation.”
I exhale, my muscles finally relaxing. I’ve been on some sort of probation most of my life. With my parents or with some authority figure. It’s a warning; that’s all.
“Professor Carrigan has agreed to let you retake the final exam once the season has ended. Provided you pass that, you’ll still be able to graduate with your year.”
My posture slumps further. I lean back in the chair, relief replacing fear. Even if I fail the final again, I’ll still get to play in the championship, assuming we get that far.
If I flunk out of college after that, it’d have the silver lining of horrifying my image-obsessed family. I can only imagine what kind of story my parents would spin to explain how a Phillips ended up degree-less. Even if they cut me off, I could continue crashing with Hunter and Conor until graduation, minus having to go to class, which I barely do currently. I’ll have full access to my trust fund after my birthday in August, unless my dad decides to take that too. And if he does, I’ll find a job somewhere doing…something.
Coach is still studying me, and I’m worried I might looktoorelieved.
Quickly, I rearrange my expression, aiming for remorseful and appreciative. He talked to Professor Carrigan for me, set this whole deal up.
Honestly, it’s surprising. Appreciated, but surprising. Usually, Coach is a big fan of consequences. If anyone’s late to practice, we all skate suicides. That kind of thing.
“Okay. Thanks,” I say.
Coach’s serious expression doesn’t waver. “Professor Carrigan seems to think your grade was a result of poor motivation, not an issue comprehending the material.”
I fight the grimace that wants to appear. The material was dry, and Professor Carrigan is an older woman with an uninspiring teaching style. I’m not looking forward to a round two, that’s for damn sure. Unfortunately, I have no other option.
“I’m just not great at math. I’ll study harder this time.”
“I’m sure you will, Phillips. Since Professor Carrigan is making a notable exception to her normal policy, I assured her you would be a dedicated student.”
Quickly, I nod. “Yeah, I will be.”
“I’m not leaving that up to chance. So, I’ve set up a tutor for you. You’ll meet with her once a week to review materials from Professor Carrigan and prepare for the final.”
A tutor? Afemaletutor? After three and a half years on this campus, I know that means my tutor will either be too nervous to talk to me or too busy flirting to focus on math. Neither bodes well for me passing the retake.
“That’s really not necessary—”
“You’re not in a bargaining position, Phillips. Take the deal—or you’re off the team.”
“I can pass on my own.”
He says nothing, just stares me down. It’s intimidating as hell and a look I recognize from practice whenever one of us deviates from his directions.
It meansI’m the coach, so we do it my way.And he’s right; I’m not in any position to challenge him.
I swallow. “Fine. Uh, thanks—for setting the tutor up.”
