So here I am, bright and early on Monday morning. It’s barely eight, but I’ve already been up for hours. I snuck in a session with my trainer at the gym to prepare for an upcoming fight, and that somewhat lessened my anxiety surroundingthis. I’m in the best shape of my life, and lacrosse season will be starting next month.
Honestly? I hate finance stuff. I wasn’t exactly raised with the best role models when it came to finances. I know how to make food out of the random shit in the pantry and fridge, and how to stretch a dollar, but when it comes to…I don’t know, building wealth? That’s a phrase the new stepdad throws around a lot, and I haven’t been able to admit I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about.
So being in the financial aid office…
“Ah, yes, here we are.” She clears her throat and glances my way. “I’ll just dive right in, shall I?”
I gesture for her to continue, my stomach knotting.
“Your GPA has dipped below the requirement for some of your scholarships. Most importantly, the athletic one.” She faces me. “We’re a Division I school, which means our GPA requirement is a 2.3. As of the end of the fall semester, you have a 2.2.”
I swallow. I knew I wasn’t doing so hot in those freaking business classes, but after the final, I tuned everything out. I didn’t want to know how much I sucked.
Clearly, I should’ve done some extra credit.
In order to make Shadow Valley Universityworkwith my nonexistent funds, I received a handful of scholarships. My tuition is completely covered by the athletic scholarship, while smaller, academic ones go toward housing.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “How do I fix it?”
Her expression melts into one of pity. “If you can raise your GPA above a 2.3 by the end of the semester, you will be eligible to renew the scholarship for your senior year. You should’ve been made aware of this by your academic advisor last semester.”
I press my lips together. Last semester…nope. I vaguely recall some emails, but I figured it was about picking classes. I was all set in that department.
“So…do I still have a scholarship?”
“You do,” she says. “I was able to do some finagling. As long as you meet with a tutor for your classes this semester, the athletic one remains in place.”
“In other words, I need to pay for housing.” My voice comes out wooden.
She nods. “We can give you a week if you’d prefer to stay in the same dorm, but there are some other options.” She plucks a brochure from a stack off to the side and slides it across the desk to me.
“Anything else?”
“That was it, hon. My email is always open if you have any questions. Otherwise, we’ll see you next week.”
Fuck.
I get up and stride out of the financial aid office. I force my body to remain loose, the same way I do before a fight, but it’s really just trying to hold off the internal panic. Housing… Shit, it’s not evenremotelyaffordable. I could try to find a roommate for some off-campus apartment, but my fights wouldn’t cover rent.
I get paid good money when I win, but there’s no guarantee. Plus, it’s not exactly inconspicuous. When lacrosse season rolls around, I need to focus on that. Even if fighting is my first love, lacrosse is what keeps me in school.
Shaking out my limbs, I leave the administration building and climb into my car. I’ve been spending the last week with a teammate, essentially couch surfing, because my mom and her new husband are entertaining theotherone.
Scarlett.
Since the wedding, I’ve managed to avoid being in the same room with her for longer than a few minutes. Andshe’smanaged to tone down the disgusted looks. She had no problem showing me her true colors as my mom and I walked down the aisle.
The sick part is, I was happy for my mom. She seemed to have found a genuinely good guy, and he’sstillas into her as he was before he put a rock on her finger. Too bad he has baggage in the form of a prissy, holier-than-thou daughter.
Well, maybe she’s not so holy. The dress she was wearing left nothing up top to the imagination. She probably had to use tape to give herself that sort of cleavage. It was just tacky, you know?
Anyway, I’m more of an ass guy, and she was a bit lacking in that department.
That’s not the point. I’m grateful Miss Yale hasn’t been around, because my mother doesn’t need that negativity. Her new husband, Robert, took her on a Greek island-hopping honeymoon, and she came back practically glowing.
But when Robert told us his daughter was coming home for the holidays, I started planning my exit. I stuck around through New Year’s then packed my bags and hit the road.
My phone chimes with a new email. I click on it as I start the car then drop my cell on my thigh to rub my hands together.
