Page 29 of Hate to Love You

“Sure thing.” I glance at Natalie. “Wait for me?”

She nods. Her expression looks like it’s been carved in stone. That, coupled with the fact that she hasn’t spoken one single word throughout the entire fifty-minute class, has me concerned.

“I won’t be long,” I add.

Girls, as a rule, have never made me nervous. Maybe when I was fifteen they did, but certainly not since. There have always been too many clamoring for my attention to get hung up on anyone in particular. Nor have I ever had to work to gain a female’s attention.

Natalie is the exception.

If I don’t engage her, it’s like I’m not even there. Which, I suppose, is why I start acting like a fifth-grade boy with his first crush and tease her mercilessly. What I said to her before is true. I wouldn’t bother her if I didn’t like her.

It might be time to reassess my tactics.

Gathering up her stuff, Natalie leaves the lecture hall without a backward glance. Guess nothing has changed in that regard.

With my backpack thrown over my shoulder, I head to the front of the room. Dr. Miller has been my advisor since I first stepped foot on campus. She has a laid-back demeanor, and the students love her.

“What’s up, Dr. M?”

Her lips curve into a smile. “Hello, Brody. I wanted to check in with you and see how everything is going.” Glasses sinking low on her nose, she shuffles around a few papers at the lectern.

“Everything’s good.” Could it be better? Hell yeah. But that’s neither here nor there.

Her green eyes meet mine as she tucks a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. “Did your father mention that we talked last week?”

“Yup.” He sure did.

She nods, looking relieved. “Good. I don’t want you to feel like I’m going behind your back when I discuss your grades with your father.”

I shrug and state the truth. “He’s been overly involved the whole time I’ve been here. Why would that change now?”

The edges of her lips curl with amusement. “That is certainly true. And while I understand his rationale, I want to make sure you’re aware of what was discussed.”

“I appreciate that.”

Most people are intimidated by my father. Dr. Miller seems oddly unfazed by him.

“I looked over your test from last week more closely to see what kind of errors you were making and noticed that you had a hard time with some of the key concepts. I think it’s because they’re more abstract in nature. You do well with more concrete ideas. Your last test was a seventy-five percent.” Her tone gentles. “The subject matter will continue to become more challenging in nature. You’re hovering at a mid-level C. I’m concerned that your test scores will take a hit. You don’t have much in the way of padding to allow for that.”

She pauses and searches my eyes for understanding. The last two weeks of class have been more problematic. I stay on top of all the reading and assignments, but sometimes I don’t absorb the concepts as quickly as I need to. I’m not in over my head yet, but if this class continues to become progressively more difficult at the rate it’s going, then I might be.

“We’re both aware of the standards Whitmore has set for its student athletes. If one of your classes drops below a C, you’ll be forced to sit out until the grade is once again at C level.”

“That won’t happen,” I cut in swiftly, mostly because I can’t fathom the possibility. This is my last year at Whitmore. My last season playing with these guys. It’s paramount that we bring home a National Championship. I’m also team captain. It would be a huge embarrassment to sit out for any period of time. My heart hitches at the thought.

Dr. Miller reaches out and squeezes my shoulder for a fleeting moment. “I know you’re working hard, Brody. I can’t say that about all the student athletes here at Whitmore. You and I are meeting as much as we can, but I believe it might be time to get a tutor. I took the liberty of checking with your other professors. You’re borderline in your statistics class as well. I think at this point, it would be a proactive step to take.” Opening a manila folder, she grabs the top sheet from her pile of notes and presses it into my hand. “These are a few names of tutors I think you would work well with. You’ll need to email each one to check their availability and see if it works with your schedule.”

A pit settles in my gut as I stare at the paper in my hand. “These are student tutors?”

“Graduate students, yes. I think it would be beneficial to work with someone twice a week. You and I will continue to meet during office hours, of course, but I think this would help.”

I’m not opposed to working with a tutor, but I know how people love to gossip around here. Most of the time, there’s nothing I can do about that, but I’ve always tried to keep my academic struggles under wraps.

So far, I’ve done my best to hold it together, but these upper-level courses are killing me. If I hadn’t made a promise to my mom that I would finish college before entering the NHL, I would have gone straight to Milwaukee after juniors. But this is my last year. I’m in the homestretch now. I just have to work a little harder and I’ll have my degree when I skate onto the ice with the Mavericks.

Dr. Miller is right. I need help. Getting benched isn’t an option. An idea forms in my head. I stuff the list of tutors into the pocket of my khakis, hoping I won’t have to contact them.

“Thanks, Dr. M. I’ll look into it.”

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