Page 2 of College Hockey Bully

“Sorry for getting you called out earlier,” Tabitha mutters at the end of class. “Don’t let Professor get to you.”

“As if,” I reply. After all I’ve been through—and what I’mstill going through—it’s going to take more than Professor Green’s subtle bullying to break me. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“Yes, my sixth sense has already detected that,” she replies, a tad mysteriously. “I can also tell you don’t want to be strong sometimes.”

I pause jamming my notebook in the tattered backpack I’ve had since high school. There are times when I think Tabitha’s oddness is simply a personality trait, but moments like these make me suspect otherwise. In the year that I’ve been working with her on various course projects, Tabitha and I have never gotten deep. She doesn’t even know where I live.

Then again, my appearance tells her everything she needs to know. Despite losing thirty pounds after an appendectomy two years ago, I still wear my old clothes because I can’t afford new ones. I’m dressed in denim pants that are folded at the waist to keep them from falling off, and a baggy T-shirt that once fit me like a glove. My blonde hair is always worn up because it’s expensive to maintain. I don’t know what it’s like to get my hair styled by a professional, and I won’t find out until I break the generational curse by graduating from college.

So yeah, it’s no sixth sense. One look at me will tell that I’m struggling financially, but my grades are a sign that I’m tougher than I appear.

It takes me a moment to realize Tabitha is still talking. I swing the backpack over my shoulder as she stares at me with concern. “Please, be careful.”

“Huh?”

“I said, be careful. This foreboding is no joke.”

“What foreboding?”

Tabitha presses her stomach with the palm of her hand. “This sensation inside me. All this negative energy that is trained in your direction. There’s something headed your way and it’s wildly unpleasant.”

I smile wryly. “Well, I hope it comes prepared to handle someone even more unpleasant.”

Tabitha doesn’t smile back. My own smile fades as I inch past her, getting chills as I go. God, her weirdness is already rubbing off on me.

“See you tomorrow,” I say, referring to our weekly project meeting, then I hurry off as quickly as my legs can take me. A brown-haired guy scoffs at me as I pass him, but thankfully, he says nothing. It wasn’t always like this. Seven months ago, he would probably try to trip me, or say something derogatory about my appearance. Seven months ago, I was public enemy number one among the hockey fans at Hempton College.

Seven months ago, I got crucified for something I didn’t do.

Brushing the awful memories aside, I take the final step to the front of the class. Professor Green is sifting through some papers and as I walk past his desk, he signals to me. Bracing myself, I turn to face him.

“Sir?”

He keeps sifting through the papers for a moment before directing his focus to me. “We have a problem, Miss Pierce,” he announces.

Of course, we do.

Folding my lips, I wait patiently for him to continue. He pulls out a paper, then hands it to me. My stomach falls as I read the first two lines. “Holy crap.”

“My sentiments exactly, Miss Pierce. And to be brutally honest, I’m quite surprised. For a student of your caliber, I didn’t expect this oversight.”

My eyes are already skimming over the rest of the letter and my stomach bottoms out when I get to the end of the page. “It was not an oversight, Professor. I thought I was exempt, considering I’m on the honor roll.”

A soft smirk brightens his leathery skin. “That exemption is given on a discretionary basis,” he informs me. “Inmyclass,all studentsare required to complete a sixty-hour internship by the first semester of their final year, even those with a 3.9 GPA score. Without it, you can’t graduate.”

Which means I have a month and a half to not only apply and get accepted in an internship program on campus, but to complete sixty hours. As a double science major involved in several clubs, it’s going to be a hard feat.

I take a deep breath while thinking of what I’m working to achieve. I can’t rescue my family from poverty without my college degree. I have no gift beside my passion for orthopedic surgery. I already have my sights set on medical school in Seattle.

“It’s near impossible to secure an internship this time of year, but lucky for you, I know of an available spot,” he’s going on. “It’s yours if you want it. Once you accept, I’ll put a good word in for you.” He shrugs. “Well, you have no choice, really.”

“You’d do that for me?” I ask, flabbergasted. After our face-off last month, I’d expect he’d want me to fail.

He shrugs again. “Was I upset at how you handled the issue with your grade? Yes. Are you an exemplary student who deserves to graduate? Also yes. Considering I’m the grownup and your professor, it’s quite easy to put my feelings on the back burner and focus on what’s best for you.”

And here I thought he hated my guts. I smile. “Thank you. And yes, without a doubt, I’ll take that internship.”

“Great.” He reaches for a pen on his desk and scribbles on a card, then offers it to me. “Tomorrow morning, I want you to take this to the sports department. I’ll call the head to let her know you’re coming.”

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