Page 12 of The Surprise Play (Nolan U Football #3)

WILY

Tucking a lock of wet hair behind my ear, I walk over to the door, steeling myself for what’s to come. I fucking hate studying, and that look on Satch’s face is so unreadable. It’s obvious the mess in my room is too much for her, but I don’t even notice it.

I’ve always been a bit of a slob, but our housekeeper came three times a week back home, so it wasn’t too much of a problem. She kept things under control. But I don’t have one of those here, so my room gets a little out of hand sometimes.

All the time.

About once every six weeks or so, it all gets too much for Grady, and he yells at me until we can find the floor and then makes me vacuum and dust this entire space. I hate it, but I kind of need him to keep me in check, so I try not to let my anger show.

I’m good at keeping my emotions even—most of the time. I’m not a naturally angry guy. Not much bothers me, which is why my yell-fest at Satch was so surprising. I should probably apologize again.

Grabbing the door handle, I go to swing my door shut. “Hey, about the other day?—”

“Can you leave your door open, please?” Her voice is soft, and I glance across the room, surprised by the comment.

“Excuse me?”

“The door. I’d prefer you to leave it open.” She bites her lip, her round face flushing pink before she dips her chin and starts squeezing her index finger.

“O…kay.” I can’t help a confused frown. I thought she wanted a distraction-free study session.

Oh wait. Oh shit. Does she think I’m gonna make some kind of move on her?

“You don’t have to worry.” I walk away from the door. “I know this is a study session. I’m not gonna jump your bones or anything. Even though you did try to ask me out.”

She looks up with a gasp, and I wink at her when her cheeks flush an even darker red. “I did not try to?—”

“I’m only teasing,” I cut her off before she gets all flustered on me.

I take a seat with an easy grin, my eyes drifting down her body.

She’s wearing a pleated skirt again. It looks homemade, and I wonder where she gets her clothes from.

Maybe she’s really into sewing. Or maybe she shops at some kind of 1950s memorabilia store, because that shirt and cardigan combo looks like something my grandmother used to wear.

She squirms in her seat, tugging on her clothes, and it’s only then that I realize I must be making her uncomfortable.

I try for a smile, hoping to put her at ease, but her eyebrows dip into a soft frown and she clears her throat, pulling out a copy of Moby Dick along with her laptop and some handwritten notes.

Oh shit. Here we go.

Be grateful, dude. You might be able to graduate after all. Play this nice and don’t fuck it up.

“So, uh…” I clear my throat. “Thanks for helping me with this.”

“That’s okay.” Her voice is soft and sweet as she arranges her stuff.

I watch her fingers move as she opens her pencil case and carefully pulls out a pen, placing the cap on the end of it. She brushes her palm over a fresh sheet of paper before glancing at me, then picks up her notes.

Clearing my throat, I try to explain. “I only took this class because I thought it’d be easy, but it’s kicked my ass… just like everything else has.”

“You’re smart enough to pass this class,” she murmurs, reading over her notes.

I snicker and shake my head. “No, but?—”

“Yes.” She turns to give me a firm look. “Everybody can learn, Wily. You included. We just need to discover the way that you learn best.”

I blink at her, wanting to argue some more, but she starts talking before I can.

“Now, you’re obviously a physical person because you’re very good at sports, so I’m guessing the best way for you to learn is through hands-on things, which is why you probably excel in classes like PE, metalwork, shop, things like that.”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“And reading a book is challenging for you? I’m guessing you prefer graphic novels or movies, stuff where there’s more action and less words?”

I nod again, my chair squeaking when I shift on it.

“So, a book like Moby Dick is a really hard task, and you shouldn’t be beating yourself up over not being able to manage it easily.” Her lips twitch. “Although, I get the sense that you didn’t try to manage any of it at all.”

My laugh is husky and self-deprecating.

“But if you want to graduate, you’re just gonna have to get over it and work with me.

” Digging into her bag, she pulls out a plastic fidget toy.

“You take this.” She places it in my palm, and my fingers immediately start flicking the switches on the cube, my thumb spinning the dial before I flip it over and see what else is on this thing.

While I’m messing around, she goes on to tell me all about Moby Dick.

Holding the book in her hands, she thumbs through the pages and describes the basic storyline.

But she doesn’t use any of the language from the book—I can tell because she’s throwing out modern-day words that actually make sense to me, and by the time she’s done, I think I actually fucking understand the story.

“What?” I whisper when she gets to the end. “They all died?”

“Except for Ishmael.”

“But wait…” I shake my head. “That jackass Ahab destroyed everything over a whale?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smiles at me, her head bobbing. “ So, based on that…” Her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. “Which character do you think we should study?”

“It’s got be the Ahab guy. Holy fuck. I mean, he was obsessed. He was treating that whale like some ex-lover who burned him and took everything he had.”

Her lips twitch like she’s pleased with what I just said. “Well, Moby took his leg, so he was pretty pissed off about it.”

I run a hand through my hair. It’s dry now, so it flops right back over my forehead as I lean forward in my chair, tapping the fidget toy on the edge of my desk.

“What can you tell me about him as a person?” Satch asks me. “What kind of man was he?”

“I think he was seriously fucked in the head,” I answer quickly. “I mean, from what you’ve said, he let that whale dominate his life. What started out as simple revenge turned into a destructive nightmare.”

“Do you think he was a good captain?”

“Hell no.” I shake my head, thinking of our team captains and how they’d never lead us down some treacherous path like that. Coach Jones would kill their asses if they let personal vendettas get in the way of the game.

“So, then… what lessons can we learn from what he went through? Is there anything or anyone in your life that you can think of who might have destroyed something good because of anger or revenge? What can you take from the story that we could apply to society today? I mean, whale hunting is a big no-no, right? But are there any examples you can think of where people have taken payback a little too far? And how do we stop that from happening again? ”

I blink at her, my brain scrambling to come up with something good.

Because I want to be good for this girl.

I don’t even know why, but every time I’ve answered her, she gives me this barely there smile or her lips twitch, like she likes what I’m saying.

I want to see that look again. It’s driving me to think and come up with answers that are good enough.

“Sorry.” She winces. “That’s a lot of questions. Let’s take it one at a time.” Angling her pad, she writes down the first question, then gives me an expectant look. “What can we learn from Captain Ahab?”

I blow out a breath. “That trying to kill white sperm whales is a really bad idea.”

She giggles and taps her pen on my knee. “Professor Pilscher is looking for relatable human experience, so try and think about something in your life that you can apply it to. Like…” Her lips twitch again. “Like football. That’s your passion, right?”

“Yeah.” I sit up a little straight, that one word giving me a small confidence boost. I can talk football all damn day.

“Okay, so let’s pretend that another player did something bad—like an illegal play—and you were injured because of it.”

“Don’t even say that,” I mumble.

She giggles again. It’s a cute sound. “We’re just pretending. Now, how would you feel?”

“If I couldn’t play anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“Like my life is over.”

Her eyebrows wrinkle. My answer obviously makes her sad or maybe confuses her, but she doesn’t say anything, just nods and keeps going. “And if a particular person was responsible for… destroying your life that way, what would you want to do about it?”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “What would I want to do, or what should I do?”

“Exactly,” she whispers, her eyes lighting with a bright smile.

“You’ve got the makings of a great essay here, Wily.

We’re going to pretend that Ahab is an injured football player, and we’re going to imagine how he could have messed up his life by being obsessed with revenge against the person who hurt him.

And then we’re going to compare it to how a successful person can overcome their grief and ultimately triumph.

It’d be great if we could find some real-life examples from your history—either from your own experiences with football or maybe a player you’ve looked up to and admired. ”

I sit back, my lips parting as I stare at her.

“Sound good?”

“Sounds… doable.”

And there goes her smile, stretching full and wide across her round face, and making me feel like a million fucking bucks.