Page 69 of Player
What I don't say is that my father already fills that role, and I don't need a second taskmaster on my back.
"Yeah, but that's kind of her job," Ty points out.
"What a crappy job."
He nods. "For real! I'd shoot myself in her place," he says, mimicking a gun with his fingers before positioning them at his temple.
"But she helps anyone who wants it," he adds. "And she's hot."
I furrow my brow. I also found her attractive at the beginning of the school year, and I still don't understand why I haven't tried to seduce her. But then, an image of Dixie flashes through my mind. The petite brunette occupies too many of my thoughts. I try to push her away, knowing it's a lost cause. Only on the field am I able to focus completely.
"Player!"
Miss Coles's voice rises from inside the office. She must have heard me.
"Good luck, man," Ty says, laughing.
I give him an annoyed look before heading toward the entrance of the adjacent room. Miss Coles is sitting behind her desk. It's the first time I've set foot in here, and I have no intention of lingering. Another guy from the team is seated in one of the two armchairs near the wall. With headphones glued to his ears, he's tapping away on his phone screen. He doesn't react when I approach the desk.
The education counselor types on her keyboard before looking up at me. "Hello, please sit down."
She gives me a friendly smile that gets on my nerves. If I've been summoned, it's because I did something wrong. I'm not stupid enough to believe otherwise. I don't sit down and hitch up the strap of my backpack while waiting for her to get to the point. Miss Coles leans back in her chair while observing me.
"What do you want from me?" I blurt out, eager to be done with this nonsense.
"A little politeness wouldn't hurt, Player," she replies, "but ifI asked you to come by, it's not to teach you good manners. Although you could certainly use them."
I expected her to be less direct, more conciliatory, to get me to do what she wants, but that's not the case. Her straightforward manner appeals to me, even if it's not to my advantage right now.
"You've near your limit on missed classes, and you're falling behind in two subjects." She picks up a sheet of paper from the desk, consults it, and continues, "If you don't turn things around now, you can kiss being bowl game eligible goodbye. Not the position you want to be in with Chauncey graduating, and you the heir apparent."
I shrug to show that I don't give a damn. Maybe if I fail all my subjects, my father will understand that I'm too stupid to succeed in my studies and he'll abandon his stupid project?
Keep dreaming!
Bolton Boardman isn't a man who accepts his plans being thwarted. He'll find a way to make me pay for my defiance before sending me back to jail. The prospect of finding myself behind bars again sends chills down my spine.
"I'm proposing that you come here every day to get back on track," Miss Coles continues. "I've already spoken with your professors, and they agree to let you do some extra credit essays to bring your average up. I'll help you, Player. With a little goodwill, I'm certain you can succeed."
I don't know what irritates me more, that she's planned everything behind my back or that she's presuming what I can or cannot do. I clench my teeth as she continues, "You'll come here every day, in between your last class of the day and practice."
I interrupt her, "And if I refuse?"
She blinks several times, as if my reply catches her off guard. Seriously? Does she always deal with willing guys? Idoubt it, there are plenty of hopeless cases. I'm far from being the only one on the team.
The education counselor clasps her fingers above her keyboard before answering me, "Your life, your decisions. But if you don't succeed at OMU, the path from there is the JUCO system, and hoping and praying some school comes looking for you after that. And despite what Netflix will have you believe, the NFL doesn’t look kindly on players who bounce from regular schools to JUCOs and back. At least a one to two round hit on your draft stock."
"Maybe I don't want to play pro ball."
Truth be told, it's never even been one of my dreams. I know many players want to join a pro team and make a living from their passion, but not me. Football has never been one of my priorities. It was my father's.
"You wouldn't be at OMU in that case," she retorts.
My lips twist into a bitter smile. If only she knew why and how I ended up at this university. But she can't know, nobody knows except my father, the dean, and me. The first two have no intention of revealing the truth, and I'd rather rip out my fingernails without anesthesia than talk about it.
Shame churns my gut, making me nauseous, but I push it as far away as possible. I lock it in a corner of my mind where it can't reach me anymore.
"As I told you, you'll come every day before going out on the field. I'm certain you'll catch up on everything in time for the last few weeks of the season. We all know how white knuckle bowl eligibility season is."
