“It’s about that class you wanted to drop.”
“Improv.” I’d almost forgotten about that. Coach told me he’d take care of it, and I assumed he would. I mentally cross my fingers that it’s good news.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to help you.”Fuck. “And I understand from the professor that you haven’t been attending classes.”
Double fuck.I didn’t go, because I figured it was a waste of time.
“I had planned on getting a tutor to help me catch up in the new class when I switched into something else,” I explain weakly.
“Well, that’s not happening. But lucky for you, Professor Frost is a hockey fan. He’s agreed to let you join the class late.”
I honestly don’t know if that’s good or bad. But it doesn’t look like I have a choice at this point.
“Thanks for trying. I’ll do my best to tough it out.” I stand to go, but my legs are a little shaky. I’ve got a lot riding on this stupid class. How am I supposed to pass a subject I know nothing about except for that one time I stumbled across an episode of some TV improv show when I was channel surfing?
“A tutor’s not a bad idea, though,” Coach says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Email Professor Frost and ask him to set you up with someone. Whatever it takes to pass. You’ve earned your place on the first line. Now it’s up to you to keep it.”
“Uh, okay. Will do.” Although I’m not exactly sure what the fuck an improv tutor is going to do. The dudes—and one chick—on the episode of that TV show I caught were seriously talented, and the stuff they came up with on the fly was hysterical. I can’t see me doing anything like that. And I don’t know how any tutor is going to change that.
But I’m not going to argue with Coach when I’m on thin ice—no pun intended—and he’s letting me off easy, so I nod politely and haul ass for the door.
“And Serrano.”
The no-nonsense tone in Coach’s voice makes the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. I turn around slowly, like I’m expecting to face a firing squad. I’m not far from wrong. Coach looks like he wants to see me drawn and quartered.
“Don’t let anything like this happen again. It’s important that you keep your grades up to maintain your eligibility. I took a big chance bringing you here. Don’t make me regret it.”
I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can answer. Anger I could handle. But his disappointment—that’s like taking a hockey stick to the crotch. “I won’t. I promise.”
He dismisses me with a wave and turns back to his computer. I make sure the door doesn’t slam behind me and head over to the Biscuit. All of a sudden spicy wings and cheap beer sound like a fucking fantastic idea.
The team is yukking it up at our usual table—table seventeen, a long, high table surrounded by a dozen bar stools—when I get there. Slaggert sees me first—unfortunately—and smirks at me like he knows something I don’t.
“So what’s the word, Serrano? Was I right? Coach rip you a new one?”
Lex reaches across another player to punch him in the arm. “What the fuck is your problem, rookie?”
“Lighten up, man.” Slags winces and rubs his shoulder. “I’m just messing with him.”
“Well, it’s not funny.”
“Some people need to get a sense of humor,” Slags mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.
Lex lets it pass and pulls out the stool next to him, motioning for me to sit down.
“What did Coach want?” he asks when I’ve got a cold beer and a plate of hot wings in front of me.
“You were right about the line switch. I’ll be with you and Cal from now on.” Provided I don’t fuck up again.
He high fives me. “See, I told you it wasn’t bad.”
“Yeah, well, that wasn’t all.” I reach for my beer and chug half of it down. “You know that class I was trying to drop? The improv thing?”
“Yeah. The one that jock-hating jerk in the registrar’s office wouldn’t switch you out of. Coach took care of that, right?”
“Wrong. I’m stuck in there for the rest of the semester. It was either that or lose my scholarship.”
“You’re taking an improv class?” Slags—of course—asks, his lip curling. “Isn’t that like for theater geeks? You know half those guys are gay, right? Probably more than half. Better watch your back, if you know what I mean.”
