Page 2 of Echoes of Us

After a few minutes of loving on Eli, I sit up and grab my phone. Shit. That didn’t feel like twenty minutes. I jump out of bed and run for the shower. Why am I so bad at time management?

Without delay, I get dressed and head downstairs, where my mom, dad, and seven-year-old brother are seated at the table. My brother is feeding Eli pieces of bacon while Dad reads the paper. Mom is looking through her daily calendar.

“Ethan, what time will you be home tonight?” Mom asks.

“Miss me already, Eve dear?” Dad asks, grinning at her. “Probably around 5:00 tonight. Why do you ask?”

“We have to leave at 5:30 sharp for church tonight, remember? We can’t be late. Kids, I have two houses to show this afternoon, so I won’t be home until 4:30. Emmaline, you’ll have to make sure EJ starts his homework the second you two get home. No TV.” Mom declares.

“That’s fine, but I can’t take EJ to school today. Coach called. I have to leave now to go meet with her about something,” I say as I take a blueberry muffin and an orange from the table.

“That’s fine, Honey. And I’m serious about the homework.” She looks between EJ and me.

I look at EJ and wink. “Of course, Mom, no TV before alllllllll homework is done!” EJ giggles and winks back at me. Mom rolls her eyes and huffs as she looks back down at her planner.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and kneel down to kiss Eli on the head. “I’m out. EJ, be ready to do so much homework today. Bye!” Before they can say anything else, I am out the door and heading to school.

The parking lot is fairly empty when I pull in. The only people I see are the soccer girls practicing on the field and some of the middle school girls who are eager to get to school early to watch the football boys walk inside. My school is your typical expensive private school, featuring five timeless, red brick buildings. Each one embodies sophistication, with ivy-clad walls, towering turrets and tall, narrow windows. The campus itself is carefully landscaped, with pristine lawns, intricate flower gardens, and serene walking paths.

I head down the walkway past the first four buildings, making my way to the athletics building. This building always smells like a sweaty gym locker, but it’s home. My friends and I spend a lot of our time in the athlete lounge, studying during free period. When I’m not studying, I’m training or working with coach and the team to study plays and write out new practice sessions.

Coach is sitting at her desk when I arrive. I sit in the seat across from her, noticing my student folder open between us. Great. She leans back, shakes her head slowly and folds her arms.

“Listen, Em. You’re my team captain and my best lacrosse player. In the spring, I need you to step up and take control of this team on the field. But… you won’t be on the field if you don’t pass calculus. Your midterm grade was emailed to me last night, and you’re close to failing. Get it together or you’re benched. You know the team rules, and there are no exceptions. Especially for my captain. You’re the standard the team needs to reach for, kid.”

“I know, Coach. I’ve been trying really hard, but calculus just doesn’t click for me.”

“Talk to Mr. Roberts after class today and see if he can help you raise that grade. We can’t win state this season without you.”

“I will. Nothing can keep me from playing. I promise.”

“All right, Em. Now go study or review your calculus homework. It looks like the study room is empty now.”

“Thanks, Coach. I promise that I’ll do whatever it takes.”

In the hall before class, my boyfriend, Devan, is standing at my locker. As always, he looks so hot. He is the tallest guy in our school with huge muscles for an eighteen-year-old. The brown, wavy hair and deep-brown eyes to match don’t hurt either. Devan and I have been dating since freshman year. We’re your typical homecoming-king-and-queen cliché.

Devan leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “What are you doing here so early, Em? You are never on time to anything, much less first period.”

“I had to meet with Coach about my calculus grade. If I can’t get my grade up, she’s going to bench me in the spring. It’s total bullshit.”

“I mean, what did you expect? All teams have the same rules about grades. Get it together or get over it.”

I pull out of Devan’s embrace and push him off. “You know, sometimes you could just be on my side instead of adding to my problem,” I say.

“Yeah, and sometimes you could stop making your problems my problem. I have more important things to worry about right now than your calculus grade.” He responds.

Without another word, I turn down the hall toward calculus. Devan and I have been super off lately. Over the last few months, he seems to enjoy telling me how I am in the wrong instead of just letting me vent. I always listen to him complain about practice, scouts and football showcases. Why can’t he do the same for me?

After class, I walk up to Mr. Roberts’s desk and ask if we can talk. Mr. Roberts is a large man with a huge, bushy mustache and shiny bald head. He consistently gives off the impression he hates teaching. Unlike the other teachers, his classroom is super bare. We always joke that he keeps it like that in case he ever decides to just walk out and never come back. In all his years teaching here, no one has ever seen one thing on his wall besides the school creed and a cartoon clipping of Garfield.

“What is it Briggs?” Mr. Roberts asks huffing.

“I know my midterm grade came out last night and it shows I am only two points from an F. I was wondering if there is anything I can do or if you can help me get my grade up? I have to have a passing grade in order to play…”

He holds up a hand and says, “Let me stop you right there. It is not my job to make sure you play a sport. It is my job to teach you calculus. I sit here and do my job every day. It is your responsibility to study and ask questions during class if you don’t understand something. I never see your hand up in class, so why should I take time outside of class to help someone who hasn’t cared until they were about to lose something that mattered more to them than this class in the first place?”

“I do care though, Mr. Roberts! I just don’t underst…”

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