“Sure.” I flop back in my chair and toss the pencil on the table. I’ve still got a crap ton of work to do. No sense letting my pride stand in the way of solving one stupid equation, even if it grates.
Austin’s eyes remain fixed on me as he calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Gonzalez, got a minute?”
My gaze shoots a few tables over, where a guy I don’t know but recognize from practice springs to his feet, apparently too happy to do the captain’s bidding. My phone buzzes again and I shut it off. One distraction at a time.
Gonzalez’s eyes sweep the table as he approaches, hands tucked into his pockets. He’s got a dark, serious vibe and lacks the swagger the other guys wear like war paint. I like him instantly.
“Enzo.” They do one of those complicated dude handshakes and I can’t help but feel he used Enzo’s first name for my benefit. It irks me that he knows me so well. It feels like a weakness, but the truth is, I don’t practice with the team most days and I haven’t had the opportunity to learn the names and faces of all one hundred and thirteen players. Austin turns back to me. “Have you met my man Enzo?” he asks. “This kid’s wicked smart and he’s a mechanical engineering major too.”
I hesitate. I don’t think we’ve met. Any familiarity is probably just from football.
Enzo smiles, revealing a row of bright, even teeth. “We haven’t been officially introduced,” he says, “but we were in Beck’s class last spring. You probably didn’t notice me because I always sit in the back.”
“Nice to meet you.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. “Beck, huh? That class was brutal.” I got a B, but just barely. The man gave new meaning to the phraseanal retentive. Rumor has it ME students complain about his unfair policies every semester, but the complaints fall on deaf ears. And since the only path to graduation is through him, we all earn our battle scars one lecture at a time.
Enzo rubs the back of his neck. “Toughest SOB on campus as far as I’m concerned, but I managed to squeak out an A.” My jaw nearly hits the table. An A? From Beck? It’s unheard of. Enzo chuckles. “I also got a severe case of anxiety. Glad I didn’t have him during the season.”
“Right?” I shake my head in wonder. Austin was right. Enzo’s a smart guy. But he’s obviously busy with his own course load, judging by the stack of thick textbooks on his table. I don’t want to impose, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to feel him out. I could use another pair of eyes on this stupid equation because I am about one step short of crazy town. “I can’t imagine dealing with Beck on top of the ACME design.” I gesture to my work and give him a wry grin. “I’ve been working on this equation half the night and can’t find my mistake.”
“I’d be happy to take a look. If you want?”
“Honestly? I’d totally owe you one.” Truth. I’ve gone over the numbers so many times I doubt I could find the mistake at this point even if it were highlighted.
He waves me off. “We’re teammates. This is study hall. No biggie.” I watch in silence as he pulls a chair up next to mine. Then I slide my laptop and notes over so he can take a look. While he’s checking my calculations, I turn on my phone and steel myself against my dad’s latest barrage of text messages.
I scroll through them quickly, although the urge to swipe delete is tempting.
You can’t ignore me forever. I’m your father.
I know your mom raised you better than this, Kennedy.
Please call me back. I miss you.
The last one steals the air from my lungs. I sit frozen, staring at the message for a long time. How can he claim to miss me when he’s been MIA most of my life? That was his choice, not mine. And where does he get off acting so self-righteous? Self-absorbed would be a more fitting role. Hell, I can’t even begin to count the number of times he’s let me down. All the times he’s shattered my heart with his stupid, selfish—
“Carter?”
I glance up, realizing too late it’s not the first time Enzo’s said my name. All the guys are staring at me as I stuff the phone in my bag and force a smile. It feels brittle, but it holds. “Any luck?”
“Yeah, I think I found the issue.” He points to the screen, tapping one of the calculations. “The numbers were transposed. Should be twenty-three, not thirty-two.”
I give myself a mental facepalm because, data-entry error. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
Enzo shrugs. “Truth be told, I’m kind of jealous you’re competing. I couldn’t find a team to work around my football schedule. You’re lucky.”
I snort. Hardly. Going it alone is probably closer to insanity. Even my advisor thinks so. At first I thought he was just citing the rules, but the further I go down this rabbit hole, the more I’m sweating the scope of work required. Problem is, I’m used to doing things on my own. It’s how I was raised and the idea of needing help rankles. Besides, having a teammate means giving up control, and I’m not a fan of putting my fate in someone else’s hands.
I watch as Enzo stands and turns back toward his own table, shoulders slumped. He got an A from Beck, which means he’s meticulous. And he found the error in my calculations in just a matter of minutes. Still, the competition is important. Placing in the top three guarantees interviews with some of the top engineering companies in the country.
And not finishing on time guarantees you won’t place at all.
“Hey, Enzo?” I call, the words tumbling out before I have time to change my mind. “I actually entered solo, but it’s not too late to add a partner.” I pause, and he looks at me in surprise. “I—I have a design concept, but there’s still a lot of work to do on the final prototype. I could really use a sharp pair of eyes for validation and drafting the report. If you’re interested.”
“Yeah?” he says, flashing me a giant grin as he sits back down at the table.
“Yeah.” There’s a nervous flutter in my belly.Please don’t let this be a mistake. I have so much riding on this competition. I steal a glance at Austin, who’s pretending not to eavesdrop, although he hasn’t turned the page in his book since I opened my mouth. Then it hits me. This must be what he feels like on a daily basis, shouldering the burdens of the team, and the expectations of his family and fans, every decision feeling like it’s make-or-break under that kind of pressure.
I shake off the thought.
