“Coach Frost is as sour as his name. He’s crass, hostile, sassy, angry, terse… my list goes on. However, he’s also a Mama T. rex when it comes to his team. He protects all hundred and twenty of those boys as if they’re his own. If Coach Frost submitted Brevan to this program, that means Brevan has made a big impact on him. Which also means he’s going to go feral if it ever comes back to him that these girls have made him feel bad. While he usually keeps his colorful traits reserved for staff and exudes a polite indifference to those not on his team, I have a feeling he’d make an exception.”
“Ah,” I say.
“You know, I’ve heard these rumblings, but as we’ve just proven today, even adults are subject to false judging,” Byndley says.
“I promise you, as someone who has personally gone head-to-head with Coach Lemon, they’renotfalse accusations. I challenge you to find someone outside his staff with genuinely positive things to say that have nothing to do with his kids or football at all.”
“And you don’t think I should do something about this?” I ask.
“No,” he says, shaking his head adamantly. “I think you should leave it alone. The campus is at peace. Believe it or not, despite his crude personality, no one actually dislikes the football coach.”
“You see it for what it is,” Byndley says.
Zarek is nodding now. “He’s a lonely man and isn’t willing to let anyone get close. However, he’s still part of our family. I don’t believe for a second he’s genuinely cruel. I’d go so far as to say that if someone needed help, he wouldn’t deny them help if he was in a position to offer it.”
“Huh.” Admittedly, I don’t know what to do with this information. My attention moves to Brevan again, and I watch him as he stares out the window.
CHAPTER 9
BREVAN
Ifeel dead on my feet when we finally land in Reykjavík. I slept a little on the plane, but my eyes feel like they’re burning. There’s no way I’m going to be able to stay awake until this evening. I’m going to have to find something thoroughly entertaining if I’m going to stay awake.
I’m almost mindlessly following the people in front of me, who are Jerome and Wendy. I keep track of Wendy’s red hair and purple backpack as a means of making sure I remain with the group. As we head for baggage claim, an arm links with mine.
Xile is a beautiful sort of guy. He has hair that’s down to his shoulders; it’s sleek and pretty. I think he’s wearing eyeliner because his hazel eyes look bold. His smile is just… handsome.
“You as beat as I am?” Xile asks.
I nod. “Not sure I’m consciously moving right now. I’m just on autopilot. If I stop, I’ll fall over.”
He grins. “Right? Maybe we can lean on each other. You have big muscles. You can hold us both up, right?”
While I think his comment is meant to be teasing, I wince at his words. My eyes flicker to Anna and Philomena as I remember what they said about me.Only contribution is his muscles.
“Hey,” Xile says. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head and try to smile. “I’m just tired,” I say.
He doesn’t believe me. I can tell.
Usually, I’m really proud of my physique. I work hard at it. It’s not just for show, though. It’s because I need the muscles I have. I use them. They help me play football well. It’s because of them that I have an agent who’s talking to different teams about possibly drafting me in the NFL.
I’d like to scream that I’m not just a stupid athlete but… I’m not sure I believe that. I want to. I really, really do. It’s difficult when I’ve felt just like that for my entire life. I’ve heard variations of the words so many times, I feel like they’re just part of my identity at this point. How do you shed a piece of who you are and remake it?
Months ago, when I brought the mistake to Byndley, she pointed out that I have a 3.67 GPA and that it’s a very good GPA. I did a little research, and it seems that the national average common GPA is a 3.0, with a 4.0 being a ‘perfect A.’ If I’m forcing myself to look as the glass is half full, I’m far closer to a 4.0 than I am a 3.0, and either way, my GPA is above average.
This should make me feel good. I don’t feel bad about it, but I don’t know if I feel proud of my grade point average. In my mind, I have to work so damn hard for every single class. Does that mean I’m smart? Do I even take challenging courses, or are they just difficult for me?
If someone earns a GPA of 3.67, taking all basic classes that are considered ‘easy,’ and someone else takes all advanced classes and averages the same GPA, what does that say? An A in basic algebra is not equivalent to an A in differential geometry. I don’t even know what differential geometry is, but I saw it on the course catalog and looked it up, and… yeah.
“Brevan?”
I blink out of my thoughts. Wow, I really am tired. I think I’m swaying.
“Isn’t that your suitcase?” Xile asks.
“Yep,” I say and move forward to grab it from the belt. Jerome sees the one I’m going for and grabs it before it gets past us. “Thanks.”
