“See you at home?” Marcus asks, hiking his backpack farther up his shoulder.
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. See ya later.”
By the time the last student leaves, I make my way down to the front of the auditorium where Professor Craig is leaning against the desk.
He can’t be that much older than my dad. Early fifties, maybe? He has the hardened look of a professor who has taken too much shit from too many students and doesn’t want to hear another excuse from anyone.
“Mr. Hollins. Do you know why I asked to see you today?”
“I’m not sure.” I hold on to the straps of my backpack, needing something to do with my hands so I don’t fidget.
“Your most recent paper”—he pulls it out of a file on his desk—“was unable to be graded.”
“Unable to grade? What do you mean? I worked hard on this.” I snatch the paper from his outstretched hand. It’s ten pages filled with red marks and lines.
“As such,” he ignores me, continuing on, “it does not show a grasp of any of the material we have reviewed so far in the course of the semester.”
“So why didn’t you just give me an F then if it was so terrible?” It’s hard to keep my voice even.
Does he have to be such a pompous jackass?
“You need to pass, yes?”
“I do.” No sense in lying to him.
“Otherwise you’ll lose your starting position on the soccer puck team.”
“Hockey.”
He waves me off. “It’s all the same to me. Because I am a forgiving person, I am going to give you another chance.”
Forgiving, my ass.
“I need to rewrite this?”
Professor Craig nods. “Get help, a study partner, anything and give me something I can grade. I expect this by Monday.”
“Four days? We had two weeks the last time.”
“Then you better get started.” He snaps his briefcase closed and walks out the door.
“Jackass,” I mutter at the closed door.
God. If only I didn’t make a promise to my parents to finish college and get a degree. With my dad only playing for a few years in the NFL, he wanted me to have the best shot of a future after my playing career ended. I could be playing for the pros now instead of figuring out how the hell I’m going to pass a class that everyone told me I could sleep my way through.
Dejection hangs heavy on my shoulders as I leave the science building. Between astronomy and calculus, I’ll be lucky to keep my starting position on the hockey team.
Forget that. Not just my starting position, but my position at all.
The sun is irritatingly bright this afternoon. Groups of students are clustered around the quad. A few wave to me as I take the familiar route back to the hockey house.
Except…studying there isn’t going to get me anywhere. I clearly don’t know the material like I thought I did.
Instead of going home to sulk before practice, I head to the student center. There’s no way I’m going to give up my starting position on the hockey team without a fight.
The all-glass building sits in the middle of campus. It’s a bit of an eyesore with the way the sun reflects off it. With the sun beating down, I’m hit with a wall of heat as I walk inside.
Finding the map of the building, I locate the tutoring center and head that way. Never, in all my years of being here, have I needed help. I’ve mostly been able to coast through the last three years. Clearly Professor Craig isn’t going to give me any leeway. Most professors give a lot of grace to student athletes. Not that I ever expected it, but ithelped to have an extra day or two on papers while traveling for away games.
