Page 7 of The Surprise Play (Nolan U Football #3)

ELIZABETH

This voice is roaring behind me, and I have no idea who it belongs to or who it’s directed at. As soon as the pickup truck screeched to a stop against the curb, I hurried up my pace, not wanting to be anywhere near some kind of argument.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”

Yikes, that man sounds super annoyed. I’m so glad he’s not talking to me.

I walk as fast as my short legs will take me, hoping I don’t slip or trip like I usually do. Whoever this guy is yelling at is in for it, and they’re obviously scared as well, because they haven’t said a word.

“Elizabeth Satchwell!” the man barks.

I suck in a quick breath, realization suddenly dawning.

Oh shit. He’s yelling at me.

Run! Run now!

But of course I freeze, my muscles going rigid as I grip my coffee and steal a quick glance over my shoulder .

Wily Wilson?

I start to pivot.

What are you doing?

Don’t pivot! Run!

But nope, I’m pivoting. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, I don’t really know, but I am turning to face this dragon.

And when I end my spin and take in the giant blond charging toward me, I’m doused with instant regret.

He comes to a stop a few feet away, his eyes flashing wildly. “Remember me?”

“Yes.” My voice is so tiny, I’m sure he can’t even hear it.

Seriously, why am I not dropping my coffee and making a run for it?

I’ve never been approached by a hurricane like this before, and for some reason, I can’t move.

The bullies I usually put up with are all smarmy smiles and cutting comments.

This is just outright rage… or maybe it’s frustration. There is a difference. I think.

Biting my bottom lip, I watch him take another huffing step toward me, then plant his massive feet so he can tower over me with his glacial glare.

“Uh…” I shuffle a few steps back. “Can I help you with something?”

Ugh! Lamest thing to say. Ever.

My eyes dart back to his shoes, and my brain decides to try work out his size. He must be a 12 or 13. Wowzers. I’m in a size 6, which means his feet are twice as big as mine.

“You could have,” he snaps, grabbing my attention.

My eyes dart back up to his angry face. “I asked. I practically fucking begged. I even offered to pay you, and you just walked away. Fed me to the fucking wolves, and now I’m screwed!

” He flicks his arms up and I jolt, each barked syllable feeling like a hit to the face.

“Um. You’re… screwed? I don’t?—”

“I failed my assignment!” He leans down, getting in my face.

I take a nervous step back.

“Shit, I thought you were a genius.”

“I’m not a genius,” I agree quietly, confused by why he would even think that.

“Now I’m going to flunk that class, which means I won’t have enough credits to graduate.”

“Wait, wasn’t the assignment due yesterday? How do you know your grade already?”

“He skimmed it and then refused to grade it.” Wily huffs, resting his hands on his hips and starting to pace. “He told me it’s an instant fail.”

“Is he even allowed to do that? Why would he refuse?”

“I don’t know,” Wily grumbles. “Something about choosing Moby Dick for my character analysis.”

“Wait, you…” I blink, then have to bite my lips together for a second. “You chose… Moby Dick?”

“Yeah, he’s the main character, isn’t he? But Professor Pain in my Ass got all shitty, going on about human experience and how it relates to me and my life. I mean, what the actual fuck!”

I wince. Aw. He thinks Moby Dick’s a man.

This is why you have to read the book.

Wily stops pacing to glare down at me, flicking his hand in my direction. “Why do people keep looking at me like that! ”

My lips twitch, and I don’t know how to break this to him, so I use the gentlest voice I can.

“Moby Dick’s the whale. He doesn’t really have a character arc in the traditional sense.

I mean, I guess you could argue that he’s an important character in the book, which he is…

But if your professor was looking for a human experience, then…

” I cringe. “Moby’s like the enemy of the story.

The force of nature that affects the other character arcs and?—”

“Fuck! Stupid AI bullshit,” he grits out, and understanding quickly dawns.

“Oh, yeah. AI’s only helpful if you’re asking it for the right thing. Did you not notice when you read over?—”

“I didn’t have time to proof it properly! And I didn’t even know what the fuck I was reading, so no! I didn’t notice!”

“Okay.” I raise my palms, trying to calm him down.

Breaths spurt out his nose, his chest heaving as he mutters something under his breath and glares at me again. “It all comes so easy for you, doesn’t it?”

“I—”

“You’re smarter than me. Everybody’s fucking smarter than me!

They don’t get what it’s like to hear something and not understand it.

To read something and not get what the words even mean!

You’ve probably always been a reader, right?

You probably have stacks of books in your room that you pore over.

Just like Blake.” He curses again, then growls and shouts, “Well, not everyone finds it that simple!”

I flinch away from his venom.

This is kind of scary.

I should go.

I should really just turn and go .

But…

Look at his face.

My eyes are transfixed as his expression jumps from anger to desperation to disappointment to pure, clear-cut frustration.

“And it doesn’t matter how many tutors I have, okay? Nothing works! That’s why I was paying extra to get my assignments done for me!” He slaps the back of his hand against his palm. “That worked. That was getting me through.”

I should nod and just agree with him. He’s ranting. He doesn’t need me to say anything.

So, of course I open my mouth. “But that’s not teaching you?—”

“Did you not just hear what I fucking said?” He spreads his arms wide. “I can’t learn, okay?” His expression bunches. “Fuck! I’m never gonna graduate.”

His growls and foul language are doing nothing to hide the disappointment in his voice.

Oh my gosh, look at his face.

He honestly believes he can’t learn.

No wonder he’s been having trouble with his tutors. If he can’t get past that belief, he’s always going to struggle.

I stand there, drinking in his unrest and feeling this pull inside me.

“You’re not stupid, Wily. And you can graduate. I’d help you if you were willing to let me.”

“You can’t help me. You don’t get it! I’m not smart enough!”

“You are. I can teach you so that you can take that knowledge and apply it in your life. It’s pointless trying to graduate otherwise.

And you’ve been passing so far, which means you must have been picking up something along the way.

Your tutors can’t take your exams for you, so you must have done okay with those. ”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “I’ve barely been scraping by. In fact, I wouldn’t be shocked if the teachers have been going easy on me just so I won’t get benched.”

I ignore that last comment and try to focus on the positive. “But you are passing.”

“Not anymore,” he grumbles, his heated tone fizzling out. “I just wanted to graduate, Brainiac. That’s all I wanted.”

My eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. I got the impression that he didn’t actually care too much. He’s getting drafted. He’ll be rich. Who needs a degree, right?

But that must have just been bravado.

A wave of sympathy courses through me, and I try to make him feel better. “Look, I’m sorry the professor wouldn’t even grade your paper for you, but maybe there’s another class you can take over the summer.”

He looks up from the icy concrete to glare at me like I’ve lost my mind.

I swallow and stupidly keep going. “Maybe we could talk to Ms. Bigsby. It’s early enough in the semester that we could find one more class for you to take. That’ll get you over the credit line, right?”

“You want me to take more classes? Are you fucking insane?”

His tone is so cutting, and itchy, scratchy ants start to crawl across my skin. I resist the urge to scratch my stomach.

Just go. Turn and walk away.

But I don’t. I keep standing there, staring up at the big man and quietly asking, “You said the football season was wrapping up, so you’ll have more time, right?”

Now he’s gaping at me like I’ve lost every one of my marbles.

“How were your classes yesterday? I mean, you’ve gotten your syllabi for those ones, and you’ll get some more today, so you’ll be able to figure out how much you can manage and then?—”

“I didn’t go to my classes yesterday,” he mutters, scuffing the concrete with his big sneaker.

“What? Why?”

“Because I didn’t see the point having just failed Pilscher’s class!”

I blink, surprised that he’s being so scathing about Professor Pilscher. I had him last year, and he was amazing! Sure, he’s old-school, but I really liked that about him. He was fair and kind and… he made nineteenth-century literature so much fun.

“That guy is such an asshole,” Wily grumbles.

I frown, hating the way he’s insulting one of my favorite professors.

Crossing his arms, he shakes his head, looking so angsty that I’m not even sure what to say.

Biting my lip, I try to form the right words and end up with a lame “You really shouldn’t be skipping class. That’s not going to help your cause, you know?”

“Whatever.” He scoffs. “Like you even care anyway.”

I open my mouth to protest that of course I care. I’m a very caring person.

Not enough to help the poor guy out when he needed it.

Guilt slices through me, but I defend my actions with some sound logic. I wasn’t about to do his work for him. That wouldn’t have helped him at all.

“This is such a fucking waste of time,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair and throwing me another hot glare.

“I…” With a soft huff, I give in and say what I think he wants to hear. “I’m sorry I didn’t do things the way you wanted, but?—”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” He rolls his eyes. “Just forget it, Elizabeth Satchwell.” He flicks his hand up. “Go on and enjoy your damn day. Attend your fucking classes and pass with straight A’s.”

“Just as long as you attend your classes too,” I shoot back.

What? I did not just say that!

Seriously, this guy makes me say things I never normally would.

I bulge my eyes, waiting for the backlash.

He gives me a hard laugh and spits out, “So fucking helpful!” He spreads his arms wide, that scathing look morphing into a pained frown before he spins on his heels and storms back to his truck.

My shoulders slump, my insides starting to tremble as I watch him go.

I’ve never been yelled at like that before, and it’s really unsettling.

My eyes start to burn as I spin and shuffle toward Buckley Hall. I don’t want to cry. Like, I really don’t want to cry. That big oaf is not allowed to make me feel bad for not digging him out of the colossal hole he made for himself.

So why do I feel so bad, then ?

I can sense eyes on me, and I glance up and notice a guy with messy blond hair. He has his arm around his gorgeous Black girlfriend. Ugh, she’s so pretty… and she’s no doubt watching me waddle past and judging me the way every other pretty girl does.

Dipping my head, I avoid her gaze, hoping she’s not a gossip queen as well. The last thing I need is rumors flying through Buckley Hall about the waddling hippo who got into a fight with the superstar football player.