by Tia Lewis
I couldn’t help worrying about that, even as I waved at people. What would happen if I fucked it all up and failed, even with a tutor? What if the tutor was a piece of shit who only wanted to get credit or money, or whatever they were in it for? What then? What if I didn’t have it in me to do well? My classes were getting harder, and the pressure wouldn’t help my confidence.
My stomach was in knots the entire way to the Athletics building. Music blared from the stereo—this time, it was Guns ‘n Roses.
I walked down the hall, past the locker room and showers, to Coach’s office. I heard voices coming from the inside. One of them was a girl’s voice. A girl! I perked up a little. This could be more interesting than I thought.
Then I stepped through the open doorway and saw my tutor. All hope disappeared when I saw her. For some reason, Jenny’s face flashed through my head. The two of them couldn’t have been more different.
Coach was smiling from ear to ear, and I could have knocked him on his ass for it. He loved seeing my reaction. “Well, look who has arrived!”
“Hey, Coach.”
“Jake Jennings, this is Claire McKinnon.”
I gave her a short wave then shook her hand when I realized what a dick move that was. I didn’t need her hating me and telling Coach I wasn’t cooperating or some shit. I got a frigid vibe from her, and her grip told me she was disgusted by me. One of those. The first impression I got was of some standoffish feminist. I was surprised she didn’t wear combat boots.
“I was just telling Claire how glad we are to have her on the team.” I could have puked, he was so over-the-top. He never talked that way except when he was trying to impress somebody. I was surprised he didn’t bow or kiss her hand, maybe pull out a top hat and cane.
“Are you a football fan?” I asked. It was a stupid question, but the only thing I could think to ask. Was there a student at our school who didn’t love football?
“No, I’m not.”
Coach and I went silent. The office got so quiet I thought I could hear myself blink.
“You’re kidding,” Coach gasped.
She shook her head. He was at a loss.
“I have never seen a game,” she admitted. She looked embarrassed, at least, like she knew we would be insulted. I wasn’t—I was surprised, more than anything. I’d breathed football since I was old enough to hold a ball.
Coach had no idea what to say. I decided to step in since he was embarrassing himself. “I play center. That means I give the ball to the quarterback. He’s the one who throws the ball or hands it off to the person who’s going to run it downfield. Make sense?”
“I don’t really care. I’m just here to do my job.”
I sensed she was a little pissed that I was explaining it. Which was what made me want to keep going.
“Well, just so you know: once I hand it off, I have to block the guys on the other team from getting to the quarterback. Otherwise, they’ll get to him and tackle him before he can get rid of the ball. Or I have to hold the guy in front of me back so the person the quarterback handed off to can run through.”
“So, you’re basically a bodyguard,” she sarcastically replied. “How exciting.”
I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from saying something disrespectful. Smartass.
“Anyway.” I turned to Coach, who still looked totally stunned. I snapped my fingers to bring him around.
He cleared his throat. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about what we’ll need you to do, Claire. Did your advisor tell you much?”
“Not really.”
I watched her as she got herself comfortable in the chair. She had a curvy body, and the loose clothes she wore didn’t do anything for her. No makeup, mousy hair in a messy ponytail that looked like she had been sweating. Thick glasses. She was definitely not my kind of girl.
“She told me Jake would need me a few hours a day, to make sure he does his homework and prepares for exams.”
“Could we not talk about me like I’m not in the room?” I asked. “What is this? A parent-teacher conference?”
“Sorry, but it was your coach who asked me the question,” she snapped. She didn’t sound sorry. Okay, so she was that type. A frigid bitch with a smartass attitude. I wished I hadn’t taken the time to explain my position to her. She didn’t give a shit.
Coach cleared his throat again. “I’ll need you to make sure he’s keeping up. Exams prepared for, projects finished. I want you to report to me every week. If you see any funny business going on, I want you to let me know right away. Don’t wait till Friday if you see something on Tuesday. Got it, McKinnon?”
“It’s Claire,” she corrected.
“Again, I’m right here. And I feel like I have to remind you that I always do well enough. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“And I have to remind you that I don’t give a shit what you feel like you need.”
The room went quiet again, and this time, it was Claire who looked embarrassed. I glanced at her and saw the way her face turned beet red.
Coach took a breath and went on. “If you hadn’t fucked around so much last semester, this wouldn’t be happening! Don’t think I don’t know what you do in that frat house! We talked about this!”
I felt like he held my balls in his hand. I had no way to defend myself. And she was sitting there, listening to the whole thing. I wanted to ask if she was having fun, the smug bitch. I slumped lower in my chair, glaring at him.
“Anyway,” Coach snared, and he turned to Claire with a smile. The two of them reminded me of grownups sharing a secret. Like I was the stupid kid they had to put up with.
Don’t be that kid, I begged myself. Don’t give them what they want.
“All right,” Claire said, her voice shaking a little. “I think we can arrange that. Jake, we’ll work out a time we can get together.” She turned to me, talked to me directly. It was too little, too late. She couldn’t get on my good side.
“Why don’t you ask my dad when he thinks we should do this?” I jerked my thumb in Coach’s direction.
“That’s enough, Jennings!” His voice crackled with anger. “You can do an extra few laps today during your workout. Exchange phone numbers, do what you need to do. Just remember. You don’t pick up that GPA, you’re only fucking yourself over.” He glanced at Claire. “Sorry.”
She shrugged and looked at him to me. I stood so fast I almost knocked my chair over.
“Fuck this,” I growled, feeling the blood rush through my body. I decided to go right to the locker room since the guys would be in for practice in a little while and I could get my laps in before they changed up.
“Wait, Jake.” Claire jogged after me.
“What?”
“Chill out!” she replied. “Can I have your number, please?”
“You can’t get it from your new best friend in there?” I was almost at the locker room door when her voice cracked like a whip.
“Stop being such a fucking asshole for two seconds and be a man, why don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Man up!”
That stopped me. I turned to Claire. If she were a guy, I would have laid her out flat for that comment, with the mood I was in.
She looked flushed again, but she stood her ground. “Listen, I don’t want to do this anymore than you do. Like I don’t have enough on my plate already. But if we have to do it because you need the grades to play football, and I need the money, why make things worse? Being an ass about it will only make us both miserable.” Her nostrils flared when she was pissed. If she wasn’t pissed, she was scared. Either way, I didn’t think I completely hated her anymore. She had a temper. I could appreciate that.
I pulled out my phone. “What’s your number?”
She gave it to me, and I dialed it in. I waited for her phone to ring, and when it did, I hung up.
“There. Now you have my number. I’ll call you after we finish practice, and we can meet up at the
library.”
“Do you have all your books yet?”
Right. My books. “No. I didn’t buy them yet.”
“We’ll go to the campus bookstore instead. There’s really no homework for you yet, is there?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She made it sound like I took classes for slow kids.
She frowned. “Your classes probably haven’t assigned any reading yet since the semester only just started, right?”
“You’re right,” I admitted. I wondered the kind of classes Claire took, that she could be such a snob.
“Okay, so we’ll get your books and talk about a plan to get you started.”
“Can you wait to do all this exciting stuff until after I practice?”
She gave me a smirk. “I can do that. What time will you be finished? Do you have a guess?”
“Five?”
She nodded. “I usually have dinner at five in the cafeteria, but I can make an exception for you.” She turned to go, and I shook my head while I listened to the swishing of her baggy blue jeans as she quickly walked out the Athletics Building.
Great. A whole semester with a sloppy smartass. Lucky me.
6
Claire
My hands shook the entire way out of the Athletics building. I couldn’t believe I had been so vocal with Jake, but it needed to be done. He was a stupid jock and bully. It wasn’t my fault he slacked off. I was only trying to help him be the star everybody else thought he was.
And the way he explained his position to me. Like I gave a shit! The way he made it sound, he was bringing religion to the unwashed. Like all I needed was to have the game explained to me, and I would see the error of my ways. What a conceited asshole.
So why did the one thought that kept rushing in front of all the others have to do with how sexy he was? I might not have known anything about football, but it made sense to put somebody of his size up against other players who needed blocking. He was tall—six-three, at least—and massive, with shoulders and arms that could stop a truck. His hair was nearly golden blonde, and his eyes pierced me like pale blue ice.
He reminded me of Chad. I hated him for making me remember Chad.
I nearly fled back to the dorms, wishing Marcie didn’t have classes almost all day on Mondays. I wouldn’t be able to talk to her about it at dinner, either, since I’d be at the bookstore. For some reason, my friends had to stick to their schedule when it came to meals. I had never thought about it before. Maybe it had to do with control. We were all sort of anal—we had to be, to handle our strenuous coursework.
I had left Skype open before going to class, and when I sat down, I saw a message from Adam. Let me know how the meeting went. I had run into him on the way back from my second class earlier in the day and told him about my new job assignment.
I grinned, my heart beating a little faster. It was sweet that Adam went out of his way like that. I replied: It was incredibly awkward.
I didn’t expect him to get back to me right away, figuring he would have left the computer by then. But he hadn’t. I’m all ears. What happened?
Long story, I replied. There’s a lot of tension between the player and his coach. I mean a lot! It got super weird. I have to meet him at the bookstore at five, so don’t expect me for dinner.
Oh. That was all he replied. Then, he sent a frowny emoji.
Don’t be like that. You don’t have to listen to Thomas rail on and on about the evils of football and sports players. Look on the bright side. To that, he replied with a bouncing smiley emoji.
I couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel nice that Adam showed interest in me. I wondered what brought him around—we were always close, and there was always a special sort of something between us that I didn’t feel with the others. I wasn’t lying, though, when I told Marcie I thought he saw me as a sister. All of a sudden, he was going out of his way to let me know he’d miss me when I wasn’t around.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Have you slept lately? I asked.
Yes, Mom.
I sent him an angry emoji and left it at that.
I waited for Jake at the campus bookstore until twenty after five, feeling like an idiot. Did he think it was funny, telling me he’d meet me only to stand me up? I wondered if his stupid friends were outside, laughing at me. The way jocks always did.
I gave up, resolving to call him and tell him what I thought of his little prank. Just as my hand touched the doorknob, the door flung outward, away from me. There he was.
“Oh, only twenty minutes late,” I snapped.
“I’m so sorry.” For what it was worth, he did look apologetic. “One of the players on the team got hurt when we were on the field. It was bad. I took him to get X-rayed since I have an SUV he could lie down in.”
I felt like such a bitch. “Oh. Shit, well, is he all right?”
“I don’t know. I came here after I dropped him off.”
My head tilted to the side, and I studied him. “You did?” I guessed that would explain the grass-stained and stinky uniform he wore. Sweat, grass, and man-juice filled the air. And there I was, thinking he wanted the whole bookstore to know he played football.
“Yeah. I should have texted, but I didn’t think about it.”
“It’s okay. Let’s get started.” I turned back toward the inside of the store, and he followed. “So, do you have a roster with you?”
“Uh, no. I came right here, remember? I didn’t stop home.”
“Right. I wasn’t thinking. We can use the computer.” I directed him to one of the terminals, waiting until he finished printing out his course list. While I waited, I looked around. I could have been working there, with the books and the smiling faces and the lack of embarrassing situations like the one I’d witnessed in the coach’s office.
We both carried a wire basket, going from aisle to aisle in search of the abbreviations for his courses. I wished he would have had time to change since his smell was starting to become unbearable. His hair was all sticky and messy, too. I resisted the urge to tell him about it or offer to smooth it down for him.
“What do you major in?” he asked, loading up on Shakespeare.
“I’m pre-law.”
“Oh. Now I get why you said you already had enough on your plate.”
I smirked. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that.”
“It’s all good. I guess you do pretty well if you’re good enough to be a tutor.”
“I’m doing all right.” I kept my face turned from him so he wouldn’t see me blush. Here he was, trying to stay above a two-point-O. What would he think of my four-point-O?
“There are your Sociology textbooks.” I pointed, watching as he piled thick books into an already full basket. He carried it like it weighed a feather. I wondered idly how much he bench pressed, then wondered what the heck I was doing thinking about something like that. That was something my roommate Jess would have thought about, not me.
“You live in the dorms?” he asked.
“Yeah, I can’t afford to live off-campus. I wish I could. I’m tired of sharing shower stalls with an entire floor.”
“I bet it gets crowded in those stalls,” he joked.
Was he flirting with me? No way. Not somebody like him. His testosterone probably ran through the roof. It was just a habit.
Either that or he was making fun of me. My mood soured.
“We tend to go one at a time, but I’ll bring that up as a way to save water.” I walked ahead of him, finding the French Lit textbooks. I took those since his basket nearly overflowed.
If he noticed the change in my mood, he didn’t think anything of it. “Where should we study? I mean, I’ve heard of the dorm rooms being a little cramped. My house well … that’s a no.”
Again, I wondered why he said it. My mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion: he didn’t want to be seen with me at his frat house.
My heart clenched in total misery. I should have
known Jake would be that way.
“I’m sure the library still functions. You’ve heard of the library, right?”
He took a step back, his blue eyes narrowing. “What’s the deal, man? What did I do wrong this time?”
“Nothing. You’re fine. Excuse me.” I brushed past him, looking for the THA101 textbooks. Intro to Theatre. What a fucking joke.
He followed me, whispering fiercely, “Is this how the semester’s going to go? With me wondering what I said that pissed you off? Because I don’t feel like playing games.”
“You know what?” I tossed a theater book into my basket. “We don’t have to talk about anything outside of your course work. Will that make it easier?”
He clenched his jaw like he wanted to say something, but then turned away with a huffing noise. I guessed I hurt his fragile male pride or something. It made me feel sort of powerful. I picked up the books for his course on nineteenth-century lit, then found the end of the line for the register.
We waited in cold, stony silence. I asked myself how it happened—we had been getting along pretty well for a minute. Jake had even impressed me when he told me about helping his injured friend. I wondered if there was any such injury after all.
I felt like such a nobody with him. Like the difference between us was only highlighted by our proximity. He was tall, hulking, looking like something out of a sports magazine in spite of the smudge of dirt on one stubbly cheek and the grass stains on his knees. I felt small, insignificant. I wished I could hide.
What really upset me was the way people seemed to know him. Was I the only person on campus who didn’t know who this idiot was? Not only did they wave, they knew his name—and his jersey didn’t have a name on it. I turned my head away and rolled my eyes. He was probably soaking it up. If only they knew what a moron he was, they wouldn’t love him so much. Arrogant jerk.
Only … when I turned back to Jake, while we unloaded the books on the counter, he didn’t look happy or proud. He looked sort of uncomfortable. Was it because I was with him, and he didn’t want them to think we were together? Did he not like them seeing him looking like something the cat dragged in? Or was he not as into his fame as I guessed?
