Page 12 of Untouchable Player

I take the bus to the library before practise to check out some of the books on the massive reading list prof posted on the course page at the end of last year. I don’t even think I looked at it when she posted it. It was just one of the many group emails I ignored.

At the start of the season last year, I got a shoulder injury and wasn’t allowed to train and had to go through rehabilitation for nearly six months before I could play again. My dad still swears the injury is the only reason I didn’t make the draft in my final eligible year, though there’s no evidence that’s the case. I didn’t exactly have scouts sniffing around before the injury.

I realise now that I could have spent that time getting a better grade, if I hadn’t been too busy sulking and getting chewed out by my dad and playingGrand Theft Auto.

Now it’s coming back to bite me in the ass and part of me is shouting in my head that it’s too late and I should just give up, and another part is telling me to grow the fuck up and do something about it. If it was too late, prof would have told me that in our meeting.

Every time I think about Jones saying he’d sort it, I die a little. I don’t want to even know what he means by that. Is his family rich enough to bribe someone to let me stay on the team? Surely they couldn’t bribe prof? She just doesn’t seem like the kind. On the other hand, I have been thinking about how Petroski stuck up for her and how he’s never in class, but he still passes. Ishebribing her? Are they having an affair? No way. Prof has the perfect family, I’ve seen them in those pictures on her desk. Why would she fuck that up? I wouldn’t, and I’m a dumbass.

My phone makes a loud noise and a few people look up from their desks and give me a dirty look.

“Sorry.”

They shake their heads like I’m the dumbest person alive and I feel my face get hot as I turn the volume down.

Jones is blowing up my phone, asking where I am.

‘I’m at the library. I’ll see you at practise.’

‘I’ve sorted your problem.’He messages back, ‘don’t worry about the library, get here now.’

I check out the books I’d picked up anyway and rush over to the rink. I can read them in the player’s lounge after practise where some of the guys do their schoolwork.

Jones is waiting for me outside the arena. He gives me a big grin when he sees me and I know I’m probably not going to like whatever this is.

He puts his arm around me and slaps me on the back. Even though I’m at least two inches taller than him, he does a good job at appearing taller than he really is.

“I found you a tutor.”

“Who?”

I’m expecting someone from the team, or maybe some private tutor Jones is paying for, which I don’t like the idea of. I don’t need his charity.

“My little brother.”

My stomach drops. I wait for him to say he’s joking.

“Nate?”

Jones breaks away and looks at me, hard. “Yeah, he’s smart and he wants to be a teacher, so it’s good practise.”

“Does he take sport’s nutrition?”

“No, but he does science stuff, chemistry I think, it’s the same thing right?”

No, not at all, it’s a totally different subject.

“Um…”

“Don’t worry about it, all you need is someone to read the material and know how to explain it to you in a way you’ll understand.”

And what makes him think his little brother will be any better at it than prof? Who has like, a PhD in the subject and wrote a literal fucking book on it?

“And if you don’t get it, then he can just… help you a little more than your professor would.”

Ah. Cheat.Has Nate agreed to this? I don’t know much about the guy, but he doesn’t strike me as a cheater.

I’m off in practise and Petroski screams at me for not defending the net well enough (and swears at me in Russian I think), and then Jones and Coach tell me I need to get my head in the game before we hit the showers.

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