“Last week’s bonus round was naming states with only one major-league team.”
“That’s a horribly worded question.How does one define ‘major-league’ team?”
“You know, the NFL, NBA, MLB, NHL—”
“The MLS?”
“The what?”I asked.
“Major League Soccer,” Austen replied, sounding offended on behalf of the sport.“You see, that question doesn’t have enough parameters.If you exclude soccer, Oregon and Utah are correct answers because of the Trail Blazers and the Jazz.But if you acknowledge the MLS, which you should, given attendance metrics, they both have second teams.Oklahoma is the only state that remains a single-team answer regardless of the variable.It’s not a geography question; it’s a test of the host’s bias against non-US-centric football.”
I stared at him.He hadn’t just answered the question; he’d dissected the methodology.
“Okay,” I said.“We need exactly that energy.Tonight.Eight o’clock.”
He considered.“Sounds tolerable.”
I raised an eyebrow.“That’s almost enthusiasm.”
“Unverified.”
“Tonight, eight.Can I let Ryan know we’re in?”
Austen flicked his gaze toward the radiator, as if consulting the pipes.“We’ll see.”
Quiet resettled.Keys clacked under his fingers, code scrolling in new colors now—errors clearing.Shoulder twinge again; I swapped the empty wrapper for the L-bag peas, still frosted.
A chime pinged my phone—university email icon.I thumbed it without real focus, expecting a practice update.
SUBJECT: Academic Alert—Financial Accounting 221 Section 03
Carter, Lucas—Your current grade of 68 percent indicates a potential risk of course failure.Attendance at the graduate teaching assistant’s tutoring sessions is strongly recommended.See attached schedule.
Blood flooded my ears.Sixty-eight.Passing but not by enough.I had to get at least a C- in the class for it to count toward my major.And I needed the C- to stay on the team.A string of expletives ran through my head.I sat straighter, screen inches from my face as if proximity could change digits.It didn’t.
Across the room the keyboard stopped.“Everything okay?”Austen asked.
I flipped the phone screen-down on my thigh.“Yeah.”
Pause.“Room rule—no lying about emergencies.”His tone stayed even, not pushy.
“Not an emergency,” I forced a slow breath through my nose.“Accounting grade.”
“And?”
“Sixty-eight.”
“Threshold for athletic eligibility?”
“I need at least a C- for it to count in the major and to keep eligibility.”I hadn’t meant to disclose the exact number; it slipped.
He spun his chair, elbows on knees.“Next quiz?”
“Tomorrow,” I admitted.
“Study plan?”I shrugged.Austen looked at his watch.“We have time, let’s get down to business.”
“It’s not calculus,” I said.“And it’s definitely not hockey stats.”
