Page 12

Hartley

Sophomore Year

“Knox! In my office. Everyone else, get in the shower because you stink on and off the field.” Coach walks off the field, ending another grueling summer practice in the Florida heat.

His face sports a permanent scowl of disgust for our on-field performance.

We had a decent season last year, but we’re competitors, and it’s never good enough.

We always want more , for ourselves, our team, and our program.

I managed to make a splash with impressive receiving yards and acting just nutty enough during my interviews to earn a few Sportscenter clips.

NIL deals rolled in, and I shamelessly accepted one for sports headbands.

I'm glad I play at a time where college athletes can be paid for brand deals.

Apparently, I made a fashion statement last season with my colorful headbands to push back my flow.

“What did you do now?” Ryan hits me with a disappointed look and scolds me like a father would—if I had one worth anything.

“You know, just being my star-studded self.” I glance over at him with a wry smile, downplaying the knots in my stomach at Coach’s tone.

“Would you take something seriously for once? Coach was fuming.”

“No need to worry until I have to.” I wink as Ryan shakes his head and turns into the locker room. I continue down the vacant hall and knock on Coach’s office door.

“Come in,” he says.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I paint on my best charming persona and remind myself that nothing can get to me.

“Sit.”

Yep. He’s definitely mad.

He rustles with a packet of papers on his desk before slipping on his reading glasses. Flipping an official-looking document toward me he says, “Care to explain this?”

I reach over his wood grain desk and lift off the cushioned chair to grab the paper from his hands.

Typed on it is my official college transcript and my stomach bottoms out, raising bile up my throat to the tip of my tongue.

I’m aware that I didn’t light the world on fire academically during my freshman year of college, but it’s never warranted a meeting.

Sophomore level classes will hit me hard.

I haven’t checked my averages from last year, but most of my quizzes were returned with failing grades.

I cross my leg over my other and lean back in the chair.

“It looks to me like this is all the evidence I need to confirm that football is my future.”

“Funny, Knox. I’m glad you’re taking this so seriously.

” He guffaws before wrapping his hands together and leaning over the desk.

“The dean of this university brought this to my desk this morning. He wants to know why the Springs U breakout star has a 2.0 GPA.” He doesn’t scream or flail his arms around.

His tone is flat and his eyes dark, making this a scarier conversation.

“The dean doesn’t peruse in my office all that often, Knox. ”

“I’ll do better this year,” I assure my coach. “It’s the first grade check.”

“You better hope so, because you’re on academic probation.”

“Probation?! What does that mean?” My voice raises as I grip the arms of my chair tighter, veins undoubtedly popping from my forehead.

“It means that if you don’t bring your GPA up to a 2.3 by December, you’ll be off the team.” Coach levels me with a hard look as he leans over his desk.

“I. . . I. . . can’t. Football is everything. What. . .” My breaths quicken and a weight the size of an elephant is planted directly on my chest. Dark circles creep into my vision making it haze in the fluorescent light of the office.

“I’ve referred you to the Department of Academic Excellence.

I suggest you pay them a visit before the semester begins and secure a tutor.

” He slides a class schedule across the desk to me.

“And I’ve worked with the dean to tweak your schedule.

You shouldn’t have a problem getting higher grades in these courses. ”

“Thank you, Coach. I won’t let you down.” I nod, grab my new schedule, and turn my back to exit his office.

As I crack the heavy wooden door open to skirt out, Coach says, “Don’t let yourself down.” Gulping the freshly rising bile, I throw a silent head nod over my shoulder, not stopping at the locker room for my equipment on the way out the facility.

I drive home in silence, processing the breaking news Coach laid on me.

Probation isn’t an option, so I need to figure out how to start strong this semester, grades wise.

Sliding my keys into the pocket of my athleisure shorts, I take a deep breath and fold my new schedule into a tiny square to shove in the same pocket.

I try my best to sneak in without alerting Violet, but she’s got the senses of a cat, and swarms me the minute I walk through the door.

“How was practice?” she asks all giddy, still sporting her polka dot pajama set.

“Same old, same old. Sweaty, hot, and grueling.” I run my hand down my face in an attempt to convince Violet that my mood is because practice maxed me out.

“I don’t know how you do it.” She purses her lips and rocks back and forth on her feet. “I cooked sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits this morning and saved one for you.”

“You’re the best, Vi.” I drop my keys on the side table and thrust the fridge open to retrieve Violet’s mouth-watering concoction.

Being away from her last year was rough.

I missed moments like these. It reminds me that she’s my family.

Unrolling the sandwich from the paper towel wrap and popping it in the microwave buys me a few seconds to gather myself before heading back into the main room.

I slap the greasy goodness on a paper plate and meet Violet on our worn-down couch to eat.

She sits criss-crossed with a blanket curled over her body.

“Get this.” She taps my shoulder, signaling she wants my full attention on whatever excites her.

“I’ll technically be classified as a sophomore this fall!

” She squeals in excitement and jiggles on the couch cushion.

She continues, “With the credits I took online this summer and my dual-enrollment credit from last year, I have enough hours to qualify.”

“I’m so proud of you, Vi.” I put my plate on the ground to hook my arm around her neck and pull her closer, messing up her hair in the process. “You’re a genius.”

Laughing while pushing me away, she says, “Not a genius, just determined not to fail.” There's that sick feeling rising from my belly, again. She’s working her butt off to make sure she has a bright future, and I’m screwing mine up.

Not wanting to burst her bubble, I decide now isn’t the time to bring up my academic woes and potential football probation status.

Besides, Violet doesn’t need any extra worry or stress on her plate.

I’m supposed to take care of her, not the other way around. I’ll figure it out.

I pick my paper plate up and stuff the last bit of the delicious breakfast sandwich in my mouth before tossing it into the trash. “I think I’m gonna take a nap. Holler if you need anything, sis.”

She nods vigorously and hightails it to her room to continue working on whatever assignment is currently on her mind.

Slamming the door shut, I throw my aching body on my queen-sized bed and shove my face into the cotton pillow to muffle my groans.

Why can’t I buckle down and make better grades?

For as long as I could remember, school has always been a source of frustration in my life.

It’s always been difficult for me to complete anything or hold my focus long enough to comprehend.

I piled up a collection of notes home from my teachers, but after years of receiving D’s and F’s, I was sent an official note from the principal.

To Whom it May Concern:

After data collected throughout the school year, your child, Hartley Knox is in danger of failing. He is frequently inattentive in class and fails to complete his work.

My dad never cared about school forms, so I brought it to the most important man in my life: Violet’s grandpa.

I’ll never forget him patting me on the back and giving me a speech about how this doesn’t define me.

He did hours’ worth of research to conclude that I had all the traits of ADHD and did his best to help me cope.

I always knew what I needed to get in class to stay on the football team, but I got cut a lot of slack in high school for being the resident star wide receiver.

Blowing air out of my mouth, I grab my phone to make an appointment with the Academic Center that Coach set me up with. I need to swallow my pride and find a tutor, or my dream of playing professionally will go up in flames before it starts.