Santos looks at me because he knows something no one else does. “Listen to me, you’re gonna show up tonight. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure Josie’s gonna show up and be a professional. But if she’s not there, that’s on her.”
“Then what?” I ask Santos, since he seems to have all the answers.
He’s unfazed. “Then we go back to Coach and make another plan. But one thing’s for sure, you’re not giving up. Not on hockey.”
I nod because he’s right. Hockey is the one thing I can do. It’s what I love, and I’m not letting anything get in the way of me and a pro career. My classes might be hard, and facing my ex might be damn near impossible, but with hockey on the line, I have no other choice.
5
Josie
It’s been a busy day, but I haven’t been able to get my meeting with Dr. Ambrose out of my mind. I’m an overthinker and I’ve been obsessing and falling down the worst-case-scenario rabbit hole all day. I sit down for my dinner break. I only have ten minutes and I’m eating those orange crackers with peanut butter. There’s no way they have any actual nutritional value, but yeah, we can call it a dinner break—and I’m thrilled to see an email from Dr. Ambrose in my inbox.
Well, I’m thrilled at first. Then panic sets in. But curiosity wins out, so I open it.
Hi Josie,
I have excellent news. As luck would have it, there is a tutoring opportunity available for you. It will require 10-12 hours a week, and a bit of flexibility because the student is an athlete. In exchange for your services, the Dean is graciously granting permission for you to use the accumulated tutoring hours as the remaining credit toward your Teaching andTutoring Writing course. With this plan in place, you are on track to graduate in May with dual degrees. I know this is a goal you have been working toward in earnest, and I am pleased that we were able to find a pathway to ensure completion of that goal.
Your first session is tonight, immediately following your shift in Reference. I realize it’s short notice, but as I said, the student is an athlete, and his team is scheduled to travel this weekend. He’ll meet you at 8:00 p.m. for a tutoring session and you can make further arrangements from there.
Please log all of your hours and add them to your timesheet so we can keep track. I’ll stop by periodically to check on your progress.
This really is a wonderful opportunity to earn the credit you need and to assist a fellow student at the same time. I’ve listed his information below for reference.
Name:Beckett Vandaele IIIYear:Senior
Courses:Intro to Philosophy, Medieval History, Contemporary Lit, Feminist Studies, Statistics
Thanks,
Dr. Diane Ambrose
Chair, Education Department
The fact that my request has been granted is a miracle. I should be relieved. Maybe even overjoyed.
Instead, I’m anxious as hell. And for good reason. I look down at my phone again and my eyes zero in on the root cause of the stress I’m feeling.
Beckett Vandaele.
There’s no way he’s the student I’m supposed to tutor. There are nearly 6,000 people on campus. What are the odds?
And, ok, statistically speaking, taking into account the number of student tutors, the hours we’re available that are compatible with an athlete’s schedule, and the number ofstudents who seek tutoring in general…, the odds are roughly one in 562.
But fuck statistics right now because there is no way that I can actually tutor Van.
I can’t be in the same room with him.
It’s hard enough being on the same campus.
So sitting together at a little study carrell in the library is going to be torture.
I reread Dr. Ambrose’s email again, checking to see if maybe there’s some hidden alternative woven into the message.
There’s not.
The timer on my phone dings, signaling the end of my break and the beginning of my impending doom. If Dr. Ambrose arranged it so that our session starts at 8:00 tonight, then I have fifteen minutes to either get my shit together or move to another state and change my identity.
