Page 7 of Rules

“Close the door,” he says curtly. “Sit.”

He’s going through some papers in front of him, barely sparing me a glance. Slightly nervous, I dry my sweaty palms against my nylon shorts before I step inside and do as he asked.

Folding my tall frame into one of the two chairs across from him, I wait. It feels like forever, the silence in the room almost deafening. When he’s finally done, he looks through another stack of papers and puts one in front of me before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Care to explain?”

I swallow the lump in my throat before my eyes fall downward, looking at the paper. Words are blurry, letters mixing together as always, but even I know what this is.

“Coach?”

“Don’t you ‘coach’ me, Sanders!” he roars. Coach leans forward, his eyes boring into mine. He’s furious. “Why is one of my starting players failing not one, not two, butthreeof his classes?”

I cringe at his words. I mean, I knew I wasn’t the best student, but this… It’s not even surprising he’s pissed.

“I didn’t hear an answer!”

“It’s just…” I start, but really, what’s there to say? I suck at studying? My brain likes to mix up words so I don’t understand shit of what I read, or try to? My sister’s been acting weird again so I can’t really go to her for help, and she’s the only one who understands how my fucked-up brain works? The only one who knows how to get anything into this thick skull of mine so that I can get decent enough grades to pass.

All of it’s just a bunch of excuses that the coach won’t buy, so I don’t even try.

“Just what?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I’ll do better.”

“You better. You’re excelling at math and physics, but your language and history grades are shit. I talked to your teachers. They agreed to give you a make-up test on Wednesday afternoon. If you don’t pass…”

“I’ll pass,” I say quickly, not even letting him finish the sentence.

We both know what’s at stake.

Not passing isn’t an option.

No grades. No hockey. No championship. No playing on the next level.

A vicious circle makes the bile rise in my throat. If only I could play without worrying about the grades. But life doesn’t work that way.

“You better,” he repeats and gives me another one of his stern looks. “I’ll talk to the guidance counselor and get you a tutor or…”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Sanders…” He runs his hand through his graying hair.

“I’m fine, really. I’ll ask Anette for help. It’s just been a crazy few weeks and…”

Dark eyes stare into mine for a while, until he finally gives in.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You and me both, Coach. You and me both.

Then he turns back to his papers, dismissing me. “Get your ass to the library. I’ll excuse you from homeroom so you can get more studying in.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Don’t disappoint me.” His gruff voice makes my whole body tense.

Just what I needed. More pressure. Like my future hanging by a thread isn’t enough.

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