Текст книги "The End Game"
Автор книги: Kate McCarthy
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 28 страниц)
Copyright © Kate McCarthy 2015
ISBN-13: 978-0-9875261-8-2
ISBN-10: 0987526189
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any other information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for brief quotations in a review.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Title and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing by Maxann Dobson, The Polished Pen
http://www.polished-pen.com
Cover art courtesy of Mae I Design and Photography
http://www.maeidesign.com/
Interior Design by Allusion Book Formatting and Publishing
http://www.allusiongraphics.com/
Cover models are Maximilian Gust and Hannah Peltier
There are two main characters in this story. Jordan, an Australian, and Brody, an American, which begged the question, which spelling should I use for the dual point of view? I’ve decided to go with American for the entire story to reduce confusion. My reason being the majority of the story is based in America, however I am an author based in Australia, therefore you will find Australian slang and Australian terminology in this book from Jordan’s perspective.
Due to the subject matter contained in this story, some Universities, sporting teams, and processes, have been fabricated for legal reasons.
Thank you for purchasing a copy of The End Game. I hope you enjoy Brody and Jordan’s journey as much as I have writing it.
To my mother with so much love.
You taught me the value of having dreams,
and how important it is to reach for them before it’s too late.
I miss you.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Books by Kate McCarthy
Other Books Synposis
About the Author
Jordan
I walk off the soccer field at North Sydney Oval. Dried sweat coats every inch of my skin from a bout of training I’d rather forget. I’m the best damn player this team has, better than all of them, and they know it. Yet I’m not wanted here.
Distrust glares back at me from my teammates’ eyes as they make their way toward the waiting bus. Their open hostility should hurt, but I can’t feel it. It’s an odd feeling, I think. Numbness. Like being injected with anesthetic. I wonder how long it will last.
My brother is propped in front of the bleachers, leaning against the fence behind him. He looks like he always does. Honey-colored curls peek out from a gray beanie, skin tanned no matter what the season, and cheeks tinged pink from the cool air. His clear blue eyes stare back at me, solemn and resigned, beautiful, yet always so damn sad.
He’s here to watch me train. I’ve been contracted to play for the Australian women’s soccer team in the upcoming FIFA World Cup. It’s a huge honor, and one I don’t take lightly, but I’m tired. My mind is elsewhere right now, which means my focus is shot.
Forcing a smile, I wave and make my way toward him. It’s a cool night and my cleats crunch loudly in the crisp grass, the rich scent of dirt rising up and teasing my senses. I breathe it in deep, feeling it lodge inside my lungs. It gives me no satisfaction. No sense of achievement. Tonight it gives me nothing.
He waves back. Nicolas, or Nicky as I call him, is my safety net. Being older by three minutes has given him a sense of responsibility, and he wields it like a weapon. Perhaps I’m selfish because I let him. How can I not? My brother’s given up his own future so I can have mine. I owe him everything.
“You call that soccer?” he shouts as I get closer.
“What do you call it?”
He shakes his head. “A fuckin’ train wreck.”
My breath huffs out sharply, fogging the air in front of me. “Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”
Nicky tucks his hands inside his pockets and shrugs. “Sugar is for girls and spice and all things nice.”
I laugh, but the sound isn’t a happy one. I’m not any lighter for it. It only weighs me down further because Brody’s gone and I’ll never laugh again. Not on the inside.
“And I’m none of those?”
“Nope,” he says simply, his voice firm and matter-of-fact.
Reaching his side, I take a seat on the bench with a deep, exhausted sigh. Bending over, I begin untying my laces. “What am I then?”
“A fighter. Fearless. A fuckin’ thing of raw beauty out there on the field. No one can catch you,” he says, and I pause to look at him. Pride shines from his eyes, lighting him up from the inside, but when they begin to harden, my stomach sinks like lead. “Some of those girls out there play with heart, and some play just because they’re good at it, but you? You bleed the game.” He looks away, fixing his gaze on the field in front of us. “You play with a fire so bright it hurts my eyes. This game is a part of you. It’s a part of you that no one should be able to take away, and out there you were letting them do just that.”
“Nicky—”
“Don’t.” His voice is sharp and cuts right through me. Shaking my head, I return to my laces, unable to look at him anymore. “Don’t let them.”
One of the ties tangles in my fingers. I give up and rest my elbows on my knees, letting my head hang low. “They’ll get over it and tomorrow it will just be yesterday’s news.”
“Bullshit, Jordan.” Nicky jerks to his feet. Facing me, he crouches so I can’t avoid looking him in the eye. “This kind of crap doesn’t wash off after a hot shower. It sticks like fuckin’ tar.”
I force a chuckle. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Nicky.”
A strangled, angry sound rises from his throat. I know he’s only five seconds from losing his shit, but I can’t help it. I know what he’s asking me to do, and the very thought squeezes all the air from my lungs. I won’t do it.
“I love him.”
“You loved him,” he corrects me. “And now you have to let him go. He wants you to, honey. What happened out on the field tonight, teammates shunning you, hating on you, do you think he wanted that for you?”
No. He didn’t.
My jaw locks tight in a desperate battle to hold back the tidal wave of pain. I lose and it crashes over me, ripping away my blanket of numbness. My body begins to shake, and I tense every muscle hard so Nicky doesn’t see.
“Jordan?”
He says my name but I don’t hear him. My eyes close and the world drops away from me. All I see is Brody in its place. He’s wrapped around me, his naked skin pressed against mine, our bodies tangled in bed sheets. It’s suffocating, but I love it. I’m warm and safe, and his lips kissing along my brow are heartbreakingly tender. He speaks to me, but my breathing is deep and even. He thinks I’m asleep.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, and his voice cracks with so much pain it squeezes my chest. “You made me want you and need you, and now I can’t live without you anymore. Not for a single second.”
I draw a deep, scratchy breath and open my eyes. My brother is standing now, rubbing a hand over his face like he has no clue what to do or say. I rise to my feet with purpose. What happened is my fault. I know it is. Brody needed me and I wasn’t there. I was never there. And now it’s too late.
“What, Nicky?”
His eyes turn hard. “Let him go.”
“I can’t.” There’s no letting go. Not ever. Even with him gone, Brody’s hold on me will last a lifetime.
“You have to.”
My chin juts out, stubborn to the core. “I don’t have to do anything except what’s right for me.”
“Goddammit!” Nicky growls his frustration. Ripping the beanie from his head, he tugs fingers through his hair. “What are you going to tell them at the press conference in the morning?”
“The truth.”
I begin the walk toward the locker room to collect my training bag. The majority of the team is already on the bus. They’ll be waiting for me if I don’t get a move on. Nicky doesn’t follow.
“Which is what exactly?” he calls out.
I turn, walking backwards. “I’ll figure it out.”
But I already have. I’m just not prepared to argue about it with my brother any longer.
Head bowed, I make my way inside the locker room, water bottle dangling from my hand. Finding my locker, I pull out my bag and shove the bottle inside. After taking out my team jacket, I shrug it on, all while holding myself together when I feel ready to fall apart.
Changing out my cleats for a pair of slip-on shoes, I zip up the bag and carry it out toward the bus, my head held high.
My brother wants the truth? It’s that I once believed being the best was all you had. So did Brody.
But we were both wrong.
Jordan
Two years earlier…
The automatic doors at Austin International Airport whoosh open, ejecting me into a bright, sunny afternoon. I fill my lungs, taking in my very first breath of United States’ air. It’s thick and warm, and after spending seventeen hours stuck inside an airplane sucking down funky, recycled oxygen, it smells delicious.
It also smells like great expectations. My entire future is riding on my year in this country. Rather then crumble under the weight of the pressure, I’ve been telling myself I’ve got this. I’m going to be focused and determined, and I’m going to kick ass. The positive mantras worked well these past six months, which was how long it took for the college dean and my international scholarship agency to get the paperwork in place. Now that I’m actually standing here on American soil, my lungs have seized. I’m not nervous. I’m bloody terrified. I haven’t got this at all. I’ve left behind my entire life in Australia to complete my senior year in college in a foreign country where I don’t know anyone.
My next deep breath of United States’ air starts to taste a little less like excitement, and a little more like an anxiety attack. I start to turn. My only plan: barrel through the elated hordes of reuniting travelers and demand a ticket from the departures counter for the next flight home.
“Jordan Elliott!”
A loud, Texas twang shrieks my name and halts my escape. I turn back, keeping a tight grip on the handles of my luggage as I scan the direction of the shout.
A long, waving arm catches my eye. It’s attached to a slender, athletic female with tousled dark hair and impish brown eyes. She’s looking directly at me, an excited grin plastered across her face.
“Elliott!” she shouts again and starts pushing her way toward me. She’s wearing a Colton Bulls tank top, cute denim shorts, and cowboy boots that look like alligators have attached themselves to her feet.
A smile begins to form and recognition clears the panic from my eyes. “Leah?”
My inspection is interrupted when she envelops me in a hug and dances up and down. I’m squeezed and jostled, and when I’m eventually released, Leah spreads her arms out wide.
“Welcome to Texas!”
Leah’s my new roommate in an athletes’ apartment block right off campus. She’s also a defender in one of the best women’s college soccer teams in the world. After three months of pre-season training, I’ll be starting striker for that very same team.
My lungs seize again. Breathe, Elliott, I chastise internally. Enjoy the moment. The world is your oyster. Glory will soon be yours, blah blah blah.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Leah’s gaze takes in the two hefty suitcases resting behind me with disbelief.
“Yep, that’s it,” I reply.
“But…” she looks at me, doubt furrowing her brow “…you’re here for fifteen months. You do know that right?”
“Of course I know! One suitcase alone is full of soccer gear. What more could I possibly need?”
Leah grabs the handle of the bag sitting on my right. “Screw the soccer gear. You know, if I had to leave my boyfriend and travel halfway around the world, one suitcase alone would be dedicated to shoes and vibrators.”
I take hold of the other and walk alongside her as we make our way out to the parking lot. A sly grin forms on her face. “Did you pack any?”
“Pack any what?”
“Vibrators!” she says in almost a shout. The word garners the attention of several people around us and a flush heats my cheeks.
“No! Of course I didn’t. I mean, those things show up on X-ray scans, right? How embarrassing. With my luck, the TSA would think I’m smuggling drugs inside them and take them out for a closer inspection.”
Leah’s laugh is loud. “It doesn’t matter anyway. There’ll be plenty of male bodies for you to choose from. The guys on campus love female jocks.”
I snort. “I’m not here for sex.”
“Of course you are. It’s college.”
After my luggage is stowed, we’re in the car and zooming directly toward my new home. It only takes half an hour, but with Leah talking non-stop the entire trip feels like minutes.
I barely have time to take in the scenery, but it’s enough to realize that Austin, Texas, isn’t all brown dirt and tumbleweeds, cow dung on the sides of the road, and dusty cowboys riding horses into town. I knew it wouldn’t be. Wikipedia explained in great detail that Austin is a beautiful, thriving city, with clean air and condos, yet I still feel slightly robbed.
“Have you lived here long?” I ask.
“Yep. I’m a born and bred Austinite,” Leah replies as she accelerates through a yellow light. “What about you?”
“Born and bred Sydneysider.”
“What about your family?” she asks.
The familiar pull of loss tugs at me. I try to get a handle on it and force a smile for my new friend. “I have a twin brother, Nicolas, or Nicky as I usually call him.”
“Oh my gosh, that is so cool. Are you guys like, identical?”
I shake my head. “Fraternal, but we look a lot alike. Unfortunately, he’s way bigger than me and the eldest by three minutes, so he likes to boss me around.”
“What about your parents?” she asks.
“It’s just the two of us.” There’s a brief silence, which I feel the desperate urge to fill before she starts asking more questions. “What about you?”
Her eyes light up and she starts telling me about her three older sisters, all of which are scattered across the country.
“You all sound close,” I say. “Do you miss them?”
“Are you kidding? We fought like a pack of wild cats. My parents are enjoying their empty nest far too much.” She grins at me quickly before returning her attention to the road. “I do miss borrowing their clothes, though.”
Leah pulls into a parking spot in front of a majestic, red-brick block of apartments. The windows are trimmed with white timber and matching decorative grids. The surrounding gardens are lush and green, and well kept.
“This is us?”
She nods and grins. “This is Colton Park University, Elliott. Home to the best student athletes in all of Texas.”
“Wow,” I breathe as I take it all in, finding it hard to believe I’m finally here. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty.”
Leah shakes her head as she gets out of the car. “What were you expecting? The Wild West?”
“At the very least.”
The building is five floors and our apartment is halfway up on the third. We make our way up the stairwell. My suitcases make a loud clunk as we roll them up the wide, tiled steps. After moving down the long corridor, we stop at a dark timber door. Nervous anticipation fills me. This is going to be my home away from home for more than a year. It might not seem like much, but right this minute it feels like a big deal.
Leah hands me a key. “You do the honors,” she says, bumping my shoulder with hers.
“You’re not going to carry me over the threshold?” I ask as I take it.
With a laugh, she snatches the key back, unlocks the door, and makes a grab for me. “What are you doing?” I screech, leaping backwards with a giggle.
Leah crouches and locks her arms around me, just under my backside, and lifts me up. We’re shrieking with laughter as she carries me through the doorway, but when she trips over my bag near her feet, we take a header and spill across the floor like a figure skating trick gone wrong.
“Oh my god,” she gasps and rolls over, moaning loudly. “I think you dented my ass with your knee.”
“Better that than your face,” I reply weakly, getting up on all fours.
“That was,” drawls a deep, amused male voice from somewhere in the room, “the single best thing I’ve seen all day.”
I lift my head and my eyes climb upwards, slowly taking in the Viking warrior standing before me. Worn jeans encase brawny legs, and a Colton Bulls muscle tee shirt covers a chest so powerful and wide it deserves its own postal code. Further up I catch brown hair pulled back off his face with a tie, a scruffy jaw, and eyes the color of dark blue denim—one of which winks at me.
I close my mouth.
“Elliott, this is my boyfriend, Hayden. Honey bunches of love, meet my new roommate, Jordan Elliott.”
I can’t imagine this guy being a honey bunches of anything, but the endearment doesn’t faze him in the least. He stalks toward me, powerful thigh’s rippling with each step, and holds out his hand. A little dazed, I scramble to my feet and take it in mine. His handshake is firm and warm, and I like him instantly.
“G’day, mate,” he says with an excited grin.
I burst out laughing. Hayden’s attempt at an Australian accent is horrendous. His grin morphs into a pout. It should be ludicrous on such a colossal specimen of man, but on Hayden it’s charming. “Too much?” he asks. “Not enough? I’ve been practicing for weeks.”
“He really has,” Leah corroborates as she picks herself up off the floor with a groan. “He’s never met an Australian before so I’m warning you now, he’s going to swamp you with questions, crack jokes about dingoes, and make lewd references about your vagina being the land down under.”
“It sounds perfect,” I reply with a grin, letting go of Hayden’s hand. “Keep doing that for the next year or so, will you? My course load is going to kick my ass, so I could use a good laugh now and then.”
“I like her,” he says to Leah without taking his eyes from mine. “She can stay.”
“Yeah? Good,” she replies, already wheeling one of my suitcases inside the apartment. “Because I’ve already decided I’m keeping her.”
After I bring the other suitcase inside, Leah gives me the grand tour, starting with the living area. A flat screen television rests on a small cabinet in front of a three-seated sofa. A PlayStation sits on the floor between both. The screen is paused in the middle of a game of Major League Baseball. It reminds me that Leah mentioned along the drive from the airport that her boyfriend plays college baseball.
“Nice,” I say, waving my hand at his score. “You’ve got version fourteen, right? We have twelve back home on the PC and the glitches do my head in.”
Hayden’s eyes go wide and his nostrils quiver with ill-concealed excitement. “You play?”
“I have a brother. Of course I play.”
“You want to play now?”
Leah shakes her head at me. “You haven’t done yourself any favors, Elliott. My man is not going to leave you alone until he kicks your ass on that stupid baseball game.”
“You only call it stupid because you’re a sore loser, babe,” he says.
A smirk plays on her lips. “I’ll show you who the loser is later tonight. In bed.”
Hayden jabs a finger in her direction as he sinks down on the sofa. “You better put your money where your mouth is.”
“How about I just tell you where to put your mouth, and we can go from there?”
Leah’s boyfriend groans as he picks up the controller and returns to his game, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “I’m going to eat you alive.”
“How long have you two been together?” I ask when she leads me into the kitchen that sits off to the left of the living space.
“Three years.”
“I don’t believe you.” I fan myself with my hand from the heat sparking between the two of them.
“Believe it.” Her grin is smug. “He’s a man madly in love.”
Hayden’s snort from the living room is loud, indicating he heard us talking. Ignoring him, Leah opens and closes a few cupboards, showing me where everything is kept before she leads me to the opposite end of the apartment. There are three rooms: two bedrooms with a bathroom situated in the middle.
My room has a double bed pushed against the far wall and a nice, wide window. Beneath it rests a study desk and chair, and beside that a single dresser with five drawers. It’s tucked neatly next to a built-in wardrobe. The furnishings are basic, but it’s clean and it doesn’t stink like sweaty gym socks, which is always a huge plus when you’re rooming with athletes.
The bed is already made with fresh sheets. “You can change them if you brought your own,” Leah says, “but I figured jetlag would be making you its bitch and you’d want to crash for a couple of days before you settle in properly.”
I face her, pressing my lips together to hold in the sudden well of emotion. I’m an outsider here, in senior year no less—where strong bonds and deep friendships have long since formed. I was prepared for it to take months to feel welcome and accepted as a team member, but Leah and Hayden have managed to do just that in one afternoon.
“Thanks,” I choke out, my eyes burning.
“Don’t cry over sheets, Elliott.” She pulls me into a hug, one hand rubbing my back soothingly. “Why don’t you go have a shower? Afterwards we can have dinner and something to drink.”
I do just that, washing the stink of the airplane from my hair and pores. Not bothering to unpack just yet, I pull a tank top and sweatpants from my suitcase and get dressed.
When I pad quietly out of my room, Leah’s on the PlayStation, and Hayden has his head buried inside the fridge. He holds out a dark bottle of something cold over his shoulder when I make my way into the kitchen.
“That’s not some kind of American piss-weak beer is it?” I ask teasingly as I take it from him.
“You don’t drink piss-weak beer?” After getting out another two bottles, he goes to snatch mine back. “All the more for me.”
I jerk it out of reach. “Are you kidding? I’m Australian. We drink anything with alcohol in it,” I joke, though in truth I rarely drink at all, but tonight is my first night in a strange, new country. If there ever was a time for alcohol, it’s now. Before I take a sip, I clink Hayden’s glass with mine. “Cheers.”
He echoes the sentiment, and after bringing the bottle to my lips, I almost spray a mouthful everywhere when he asks me if I have a boyfriend back home. “I know a lot guys who are gonna want to meet you,” he adds.
Hell no. Receiving this international sports scholarship is the equivalent of winning the lottery. I beat out thousands of foreign students for this chance. It’s going to be the most influential year of my life, and I simply can’t risk it for anything, or anyone.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” is all I say.
With my head down, I immerse myself in the next three months of pre-season training. It involves getting acquainted with my new teammates, head coach, assistant coaches, team manager, nutritionist, sports therapists, the team doctor, and everyone else on board that makes our Colton Bulls soccer team the team to beat.
It’s a whirlwind of activity: weight training, watching plays, endless drills, fitness tests, drug tests, and everything in between. I fall into bed exhausted every night with no time to wallow in my homesickness, or traipse around the countryside playing tourist. I haven’t even had time to decorate my walls with my motivational prints and my treasured signed poster of Lionel “Leo” Messi, a forward for FC Barcelona. I could sit here all day listing out his achievements, but to put it simply, the man is a soccer-playing god. I also have a signed poster of Cristiano Ronaldo waiting to be hung on my wall, but that one’s for more nefarious purposes. The Portuguese player is not only hotter than hell itself, he is, of course, my future husband.
The stadium we train in, and will play in, is bigger than I’m used to and seats a maximum of thirty thousand people. It sounds impressive, but it sits alongside the college football stadium, which seats over a hundred thousand, so our arena is nicknamed David, and our bigger counterpart, Goliath.
I haven’t met any of the football players, despite sharing the same parking lot. We hear them train though, so I know they’re there. Their grunts are loud and roaring shouts echo across into our field. It sounds more like an epic war rather than an ordinary afternoon of football training. Leah tells me they’re all big, hairy deals on campus, with egos that match the size of their stadium, so I vow to avoid them where possible.
Two weeks before our senior year of college starts, our team has its first exhibition contest. I would call it a sell-out because the bleachers are full, but admission for the match is free. My nerves are shot, knowing it’s going to be televised live on the Colton Bulls network. Through some miracle I manage to keep my head, and it’s an easy win—six nil. It sets us up with confidence and before I know it, I’m back in an airplane, flying to Hawaii for the Outrigger Resorts Shootout. We play two matches against Arizona State and Hawaii and walk away with one win and a draw.
We touch back down in Texas on Monday night and start classes the next day. I have my schedule tacked to a corkboard on the wall of my bedroom and my campus map studied.
When Leah taps on my door at ass o’clock on Tuesday morning, I roll over with a tired groan and seized muscles.
“Say it ain’t so,” I whine, the sound muffled because my face is mashed into the pillow. Her appearance is merely a hallucination from lack of sleep, I tell myself.
“On your feet, sistah,” Leah drawls, dashing my hopes.
I drag my exhausted body toward the edge, wondering if my legs will hold if I try standing. Probably not. They’re going to buckle beneath me and I’ll fall and hit my head, pass out, and maybe earn myself an extra hour in bed. My sleep-fogged brain decides that sounds marvelous, so I plant my feet on the floor and push up gingerly.
When I remain standing, I simply glare at Leah through bloodshot eyes. “I hate you.”
Leah is a morning person, so she simply blows me a kiss and sings, “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to the gym we go,” as she leaves my room.
I acknowledge the voices in my head that tell me to throw my bedside lamp at her head and let them go. For now.
After weight training and five miles on the treadmill, Leah and I shower, make a protein shake for breakfast, and hit campus. It’s the biggest college in the state, and reviewing it on my map is completely different than seeing it in person. Our apartment is right near the soccer fields, but campus is in the other direction. I haven’t had time to familiarize myself with the buildings. Parting ways with Leah, I make my way toward where I hope my first lecture is held. Ten minutes later, I’m hopelessly lost. I have to ask three separate people for directions. When I finally arrive at my destination, I’m late. It sets the tone for my entire week. I’m late for every single class, and worst of all is my Business Law and Ethics lecture on the Thursday morning. I don’t know how it happened, but I read my schedule wrong, so when I arrive two-thirds of the way through, books piled in one arm, my protein shake in the other, I’m flustered and out of breath.
When I race through the doorway, Professor Patrick Draper pauses mid-sentence and turns in my direction. He looks in his mid-forties, but he’s ridiculously handsome and wearing a suit that looks as expensive as a brand new car. He makes an exaggerated motion of checking his watch before he looks at me again, his brows raised high.
Every student in the room follows his line of sight as though my interruption is the most interesting part of their entire morning.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say.
I start scanning the room for a free desk. Please God, point me to one right now, I pray silently.
“Late?” my professor echoes, his tone aggravated and sharp, and I realize he’s not going to let this go as easily as I’d hoped. “Late is ten minutes. You’ve almost missed my entire class.”
Several chuckles dot the room, and I want to close my eyes and sink well below the crusty layers of the earth. Before I can form an excuse, he says, “I hope this doesn’t set the tone for the entire semester.”
I want to reply with “me too,” but humor or flippant remarks aren’t going to save me right now. “Of course not.”
“Good.” He jerks his chin toward an empty seat near the back of the room. “Take a seat so I can continue what you so rudely interrupted.”
“Ouch,” I hear a student mutter as I make my way toward the vacant desk. I don’t look his way. I can’t. My face is on fire and I just need to get to my seat so I can die in peace.
