“Fair enough. We’ll try working here and see how we do.”
Freak cocks his head to the side as he glances at the window above my dorm fridge.
“Did you make those paper snowflakes taped to your window?”
“I like Christmas and I don’t have room in here for a tree,” I reply defensively because they are a bit reminiscent of an elementary school teacher’s classroom.
“They’re cute. I like them. I just didn’t think of you as an arts and crafts type of girl.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“Take it as a compliment. It means I think it’s cool that you’re not just a brainiac but that you’re creative too.”
Freak places his computer on his lap and plugs the power cord into the wall.
“I’m not a brainiac,” I tell him.
“Modesty does not compute in my competitive brain.”
“I’m not being modest. I’m not a brainiac.”
“Did I offend you or something? Because it’s weird that you’re denying your gifts.”
“I just don’t think you should go around giving people descriptors that don’t actually apply to them.”
“If you’re not a brainiac, then why are you the best tutor in the program? Why does everyone recommend you when they’re failing a class and need to turn it around fast?”
“Because I’m organized and disciplined… not super smart. I’m the best because I work hard.”
“Exactly what I like to hear. I’m ready, Teach. Let’s write some shit.”
I get comfortable, leaning against the wall and folding my legs completely underneath Freak’s hoodie. I have on some sleep shorts underneath, but I still feel somewhat naked in his presence.
“What grades did you get on the essays the first time you took the class?”
“I never handed them in.”
“Not one?” I ask in disbelief.
“I told you. I was busy with football.”
“Did you even try?“ I ask, worried that this may be a lost cause.
“Yes, but I failed one essay and got an incomplete on the rest.”
“So you did hand in one?”
“Technically, yes, but not the others.”
“So, what exactly is the plan? I’m assuming you’re taking the class again next semester. How can I help you now?”
“I actually don’t have to take the class again if you help me. Professor Roberts is giving me a chance to hand in all of my missing assignments by the end of Christmas break. If I ace them, she’ll throw out the F and adjust my final grade on my transcript.”
“She can change a failing grade from freshman year?”
“She gave me an incomplete for the class, and so yes, she has the power to change it if I complete the work.”
I shake my head at the flexibility and privilege given to college athletes. If this was any other student, they’d have to take the class over or may even be placed on academic probation. But I’m not here to judge, not when I’ve made the ultimate arrangement. If he passes the class, I get the guy of my dreams.
