Page 37 of The Surprise Play

I have half a mind to ask Professor Pilscher if Wily can present his essay orally. He’s so much stronger that way, but I’ve already asked the man for this big favor, and I don’t want to push it. The professor is old-school, and although other teachers are open to creative ways of assessment, I highly doubt Pilscher will be.

“Okay.” I save the document so far and check mynotes for the next question I think he should answer. It’d be great if we could tie in that football story he told me, about how he got tripped up in his first flag football game when he was five years old. He spent the rest of the time trying to get the kid back and ended up with two penalties and missing out on several scoring opportunities. Afterward, his coach told him off for focusing on the wrong thing.

It kind of backs up the whole point, doesn’t it? We can deal with slights against us in a healthy, positive way, or we can make it worse for everyone and get all pissed off and vengeful. If Wily had just left it and gotten over himself, he could have potentially helped win the game for his team. Instead, they lost, and that kid who tripped him got a double-win.

Sure, that seems unfair sometimes, but my parents always taught me that de-escalating conflict by shaking off the other person’s bad behavior is always the safest bet. Which is what I do.

Although, I’m not about to go intomyhistory with this man beside me. Let’s just focus on him and the lessons he had to learn growing up.

“Okay, so, with this flag football story…” My words trail off as I skim my handwritten notes. And then my stomach lets out this totally humiliating growl.

Slapping my hand over it, I bulge my eyes and pray that Wily didn’t notice.

A soft snicker pops out of his mouth, and I curl my shoulders.

Shit! This is so embarrassing!

“I guess it is getting kind of late. Have you had dinner yet?”

I shake my head. I’d been nervous-snacking up to about ten minutes before I was due to meet him, and since arriving at the library, time has flown. He’s so easy to talk to that it took us about forty minutes to even start working on his essay. All he did was ask me how my day was, and I made one little comment about my linguistics class, which led into a story about one of his freshman professors, which made me laugh. He’s too easy to listen to, and I swear I was trying to get on with the essay the whole time, but he kept on saying things that I couldn’tnotrespond to, and yeah… we started late, and now it’s late and he’s probably hungry too.

He came straight from practice, slurping on a protein shake, but now he’s looking at his phone and saying, “Let’s go get something to eat. Bring your stuff. We can work at the diner.”

“You sure?” My face scrunches with uncertainty.

“Yeah, absolutely. It’s on me. A little thank-you for helping me out.”

“You don’t have to do that. You already pay me for these sessions. I can just?—”

“Satch.” He gives me a kind smile, his blue gaze mesmerizing. “Let me buy you dinner.”

I can feel my face flushing again and give him an edgy smile.

“Come on. I know this great place.” He pops out of his seat, helping me to gather up my stuff and talking about Eat Your Faves. I’ve heard of it but never eaten there before. I think it’s quite popular with Nolan U students, which is why I’ve avoided it. I force myself to shuffle after Wily, giving him a polite smile when he steps aside to let me go first down the stairs.

Clunking down to the bottom, I keep my chin tucked in and nearly bang into a table, but he snatches my arm and quickly pulls me to the left. I narrowly avoid scraping my hip on the corner and bite my bottom lip before murmuring a soft “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is cheerful, but I quickly check his face to make sure he’s not laughing at me.

He’s not.

I frown, still trying to figure this jock out.

Saying hi to a few people we pass, he waves and lifts his chin as we head for the exit. We pass through the sliding doors together and pop out into the cold night air. It’s crisp and beautiful. I shove my hands into my pockets and move into step behind him, but he pauses and waits for me, obviously wanting to walk side by side.

Oh man, I’m so not used to this. I don’t know what to do with it!

Can’t I just follow him? Tuck in behind his building of a body and disappear into his shadow?

Stepping into the parking lot, I wonder which car is his and then am not surprised at all when we stop beside an expensive-looking truck. That’s right. He pulled up beside me that morning, and I’m only just remembering.

He said his family was loaded, and I can’t help wondering if this truck was a birthday present or something. It’s all shiny and looks pretty new. The lock beeps, and he moves to the passenger door and opens it for me.

What? He’s opening my door?

I give him an uncertain frown as I shuffle up beside him and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to get into this thing. It’s huge! The tires come up to my waist, and I’d have to go on tiptoes to look through the windows.

This is ridiculous. Why do people even need trucks this big?