A muscle in Vaughn’s cheek flexes. “Not your fault.”
Then his gaze lands on me. I can’t bear the weight of his disappointment. Guilt trickles in. He asked me for help. Twice. Now he can’t play in the district finals that determine whether they make it to the state meet brackets.
Chapter Seven
Vaughn
“How could you let this happen?” Dad looks down at my algebra test like his stare alone can help him better understand. If it does, then that makes one of us.
It’s like the more I study, the worse I get. I didn’t just fail the test. I bombed it.
Dad lets out a heavy sigh. “I have no other choice but to bench you Friday night. Possibly longer.”
My mind swirls with objections, but I stay quiet. There is nothing I can say to make this better, and my throat is so thick, I don’t trust my voice to speak anyway.
My dad was once described by a reporter as unflappable. No matter what questions people threw at him or how hard they tried, he never lost his cool with the media. But right now he looks like he’s at a complete loss. At least he hasn’t grounded me.
He tosses the test paper on his desk. “Until you bring this D up to a C, minimum, you aren’t to go anywhere but school, home, and practice. Do you understand me?”
Well, so much for not being grounded.
“Yes, sir.”
“I already talked to Dr. Frievalt, and he has graciously agreed to let you retake the test.”
For the first time since Dad started lecturing me, I finally perk up. “He has?”
Dad’s chin dips in a small nod.
“When?”
“Next Wednesday.”
A little hope sparks inside of me. Regionals is next Saturday. Dad must read it on my face.
“If you pass the test and show me that you’re taking school and your position as captain seriously,thenyou can lace up for the game. But if this happens again, I’ll take the leadership position from you. You can’t guide this team if you’re struggling to keep yourself afloat. Do we have an understanding?”
He stands, and I do too. It’s time for practice, and I’ve never been happier to get out onto the field. It’s the one place everything makes sense.
“I understand.”
“One last thing.” Dad’s voice has lost the edge of frustration, but his hard expression is not reassuring.
An unpleasant feeling spreading through me. I don’t think I’m going to like this last thing.
“You don’t play with the team; you don’t practice with the team.”
My eyes go wide. “Dad—” I start then stop myself. Right now, he’s not my dad. “Coach, I need to be out there.”
Not just for myself but for the team. Every moment of practice is critical to prepare. We’re going up against the best teams in the state. This is not the time to make big,sweeping changes in our lineup. Though I guessCoachis just hedging against the likely outcome that I won’t be back this season.
“And you will be. You’ll set up for drills, fill water bottles, wash jerseys, load the bus, anything the team needs.”
Arguing won’t make a difference, and I guess I deserve it. I let my team down, but it’s going to be humiliating filling water bottles for guys I’ve played next to for years.
“Yes, Coach,” I say, jaw tight.
He hesitates a beat like maybe he wants to say more. Perhaps something more encouraging than whatever this depressing talk was. I’ve never felt worse.
