Page 21 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Everyone thinks it though. Dumb jock who can barely read." His voice carried years of accumulated shame. "I've gotten this far by being really good at memorizing things I hear and charming people into explaining concepts. But this class has too much reading. Too many technical terms that sound alike. I can't keep up."
I thought about Ryan again, how he'd hidden his ADHD for years because he thought it made him weak. How much energy he'd wasted on shame instead of finding strategies that worked.
"Okay," I said, pulling out my laptop. "Let's try something different. I'll read the main concepts out loud, and you tell me what they mean in your own words. Then we'll create a visual map of how they connect."
"You don't have to."
"I'm aware of what I have to do. This isn't charity. You understood those concepts better than half the class when you related them to hockey yesterday. You just need a different way to access the information."
He looked at me like I'd spoken in tongues. "You were paying attention to what I said in class?"
"Don't let it go to your head." I opened a new document. "Ready?"
For the next hour, I read while Lance listened, occasionally stopping him to clarify or expand. Without the barrier of written text, his understanding was actually impressive. He connected theories to real-world applications instantly, drawing parallels I hadn't considered.
"So cognitive restructuring is basically like changing your game tape," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Insteadof replaying the mistake over and over, you edit it to show the correction."
"That's actually a perfect analogy." I typed it into our shared notes. "Have you ever been tested for learning differences?"
"My dad doesn't believe in that stuff. Says it's just an excuse for being lazy." He shrugged, but I caught the tension in his shoulders. "I've made it this far without accommodations. No point starting now."
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
"I'm serious. You're making everything ten times harder than it needs to be. The learning center offers free testing. You could get extra time on exams, access to audiobooks, note-taking support."
"And everyone would know."
"Know what? That you learn differently? So what?" My voice came out harsher than intended. "You think using accommodations makes you weak? That's like saying a goalie shouldn't wear pads because real athletes play through pain."
He blinked at me. "Did you just use a hockey metaphor?"
"Don't get used to it." I turned back to the screen. "The point is, you're handicapping yourself for no reason except pride."
"It's not pride. It's..." He struggled for words. "I've spent my whole life being the best at something. Hockey comes naturally to me. School doesn't. If people knew how hard I have to work just to pass, they'd realize I'm not actually smart."
"Fletcher." I waited until he met my eyes. "You just explained complex psychological theories using hockey analogies that I'm absolutely stealing for my thesis. You connected Marcus with resources while teaching him coping strategies. You manage complicated plays while tracking multiple moving opponents. That's intelligence."
"That's different."
"No, it's not. Intelligence isn't just about reading quickly or taking tests well. It's about problem-solving, pattern recognition, adaptation." I closed my laptop, giving him my full attention. "You're not stupid. You're dyslexic. Those are completely different things."
He stared at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "Why do you care?"
Good question. Why did I care? This went beyond protecting my GPA or project success. Somewhere between him helping Marcus and admitting his struggles, Lance had become three-dimensional. Human. Someone I wanted to help.
"My brother has ADHD," I said finally. "Undiagnosed until college. He spent years thinking he was lazy and stupid because he couldn't focus the way teachers expected. By the time he figured it out..." I shrugged. "A lot of damage was already done."
"The hockey player?"
"Yeah. Ryan was brilliant at reading plays, could strategize like a chess master. But put him in a classroom and he'd fall apart. The shame ate him alive."
"Is that why you hate hockey? Because of what happened with his scholarship?"
"Part of it." I fidgeted with my pen. "But also because I watched how the sport chewed him up even before that. Nothing mattered except performance. His worth was tied to goals and assists. When that got taken away..."
"He had nothing left."
