Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“You gotta level with me, man. If you’re not gonna follow through, there will be consequences and frankly, this team can’t afford to have their star quarterback on the bench. This is a small school. If you actually do fail, word will get out and this program will be under fire for not stepping in to help. It’s not just about you. Our reputations are on the line too. What’s the problem here, Christian?”
I did a double take when he used my first name. I wasn’t sure he remembered I had one. I swallowed hard. No doubt this would sound stupid to anyone besides my sister, but I had to tell him something, because sitting out even one game wasn’t going to happen.
I shrugged and pursed my lips. “I know it sounds crazy but…my parents will flip. My dad works for the administration. If I sign up for on-campus tutoring, he’ll find out about it, and I can’t deal with people being disappointed in me for a subject I don’t give a fuck about when what really matters is the game.”
“Wrong. What really matters is getting an education and living a good life. Hey, I love this sport as much as you do. I get it. But unless you plan on coming back for a fifth year, you’re nearing the end of your tenure here. If you want to stay on, I can tell Mrs. Landau you’ll drop the second part if you don’t pass and—”
“I can’t stay another year. I have to graduate,” I said.
“Then get a damn tutor. Geez, I’d think your folks would be proud of you for asking for help when you need it,” he huffed.
“Yeah well, they’re not those kinds of parents. The last thing I need is to have my father micromanaging my schedule any more than he already does, but…” I paused when my brain started cranking out ideas. A few of which didn’t totally suck. “What if I found someone unaffiliated with Chilton to tutor me? Would that work?”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t see why not. Did you have someone in mind?”
“No. But I’ll work on it and get back to you tomorrow. Is that cool?”
“Sure, but—Rory!” Perez snapped his fingers and grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
“Who’s Rory?”
“He’s an after-school camp counselor at the Y. My kids love him. He just graduated last May from Long Beach State. I don’t think he’s found a full-time job yet, but I do know he’s a math whiz. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him,” Coach said with a laugh. “Rory was on the wrestling team in college. He reminds me of one of our linebackers. Until he starts talking about geometry.”
“Why doesn’t he have a job then? It’s a decent economy. Seems weird that he wouldn’t have found anything,” I commented. I hated that I sounded like my dad, but unfortunately I’d inherited his relentless quest to be well-versed in details. No matter how inconsequential they seemed.
“He’s a bit of a wild card, but he’s a good soul and a smart motherfucker too. He told me he made extra cash in college from tutoring. I bet he’d help. I’ll talk to him tonight when I pick up my kids. If he says he has time to take you on and his rate is reasonable, I’ll have him call you. Sound good?”
“Sure. Thank you,” I replied with a tight smile.
Coach clasped my shoulder and then headed off the field.
I stood alone for a moment, willing myself not to be overwhelmed by the instant wave of anxiety. A tutor? Fuck, that sounded awful. Like a total and complete pain in the ass. But I couldn’t afford to fail. I had to play at the top of my game…and graduate on time.
Most college campuses had the same chill-yet-eager vibe, regardless of their size. And Long Beach State was fucking huge. I glanced at the map I’d pulled up on my phone and then at my surroundings. Students bustled with varying degrees of urgency, crossing the grassy quad area or walking along the tree-lined pathways to their classes. I supposed I could stop someone to ask for directions, but a giant blue pyramid-shaped gymnasium shouldn’t be too hard to find.
I’d agreed to meet Rory Kirkland at his alma mater the following Monday afternoon before practice. Perez set the whole thing up. He’d suggested asking Rory to come to Orange or to meet halfway, but I insisted it was perfectly convenient for me to make the twenty-minute trip after my dreaded statistics class. It wasn’t. Traffic was sluggish on the way there, and it would certainly be worse on the return drive. But a quirky part of me I couldn’t easily explain wasn’t ready to invite a stranger into my space. I’d rather observe the guy in his own environment and get a feel for him without my well-meaning coach inserting himself into the middle of an awkward meeting. It was probably a warped effort to exert control over something that left me feeling powerless. Passive-aggressiveness at its finest.