Page 2 of Changing the Play

I can’t say that I have. He’s withdrawn and quiet. A little standoffish. I haven’t even really considered talking to him. Not in any real way. Maybe I should have. I wonder if he would offer extra credit or something. “No, sir. But I will.”

I stand, ready to take on just about anything to keep myself on this team and keep my future aspirations alive. “Hale!” Coach barks, so I turn to look at him. “Don’t let me down. I need you on the field.”

My heart stutters in my chest. I need to be on the field too. But not for the reasons he needs me out there. I just hope I can figure it out. I’ll say one thing. The weight of everyone’s expectations is heavy. I can only hope they don’t crush me.

Stepping into Professor Sinclair’s office is nerve-wracking, and I have to swallow down the ball of anxiety building in my throat. I want to do well. I want to succeed. I’m not sure why I didn’t think about doing this before. It would have made things easier on myself.

Maybe if I had stopped in sooner—asked for help sooner—I wouldn’t be so far behind. “Mr. Hale, come have a seat,” Professor Sinclair says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. When I sit down, I wipe my hands on my thighs, trying to clear the anxious sweat from my skin. “What can I do for you today?”

I clear my throat. “Well, I was wondering if there was any way I could do some extra credit in your class to get my grade up.”

He eyes me over the tops of his glasses. He’s younger than most of my professors. There’s an almost boyish look to him, even though he’s clearly an adult. He’s intense, but he doesn’t seem unkind, and I really need that right now. “What are you struggling with?”

I force a long deep breath into my lungs, exhaling slowly like I do on the field. “Well… everything? I think.”

The corners of his lips tilt up in the barest of smiles. “Everything? All of history?”

I almost laugh. I don’t, but I want to because yeah… basically. “Yes, sir,” I say with a resolute nod. “I study. Every night, but I feel like the concepts aren’t sticking. As soon as I sit down to take the test, they all disappear.”

He nods slowly like he’s considering my words, then sits back in his chair and crosses his leg over his knee. “I don’t offer extra credit.”

The words slam into my chest and almost take my breath away. This was my lifeline. I thought maybe I could stop drowning, and instead, I feel like I’m even worse off than I was before. “I understand,” I force myself to say, trying not to let my disappointment seep into my voice. “I’ll um—I’ll try to figure something else out. Thank you for your time.”

He chuckles lightly. “Now hang on. I don’t offer extra credit, but I think I may be able to provide a solution. I’ve spoken with your other professors. They’re all very impressed with you. You’re an exemplary student. You’re hardworking, and it seems my class is the only one you’re having trouble with.”

I nod because my throat feels a little tight, but he’s not wrong. I’m not having issues in any other classes. I’m not sure why I’m struggling so much with his. I had the same issues with history in high school too, so it’s not even like this is new for me.

He watches me for a second. I feel a bit like a bug under a microscope. It’s unnerving. “I don’t think your issues are a lack of commitment or intellect. It’s clear you are very intelligent. My opinion is that the information is not being presented to you in a way you understand.”

I squeeze my hands into fists before releasing them slowly, embarrassment swirling through me. I glance down at my lap, unable to keepmy eyes on his anymore. “I’ve tried so many things. Flashcards, making timelines. I’ve even tried to make stupid rhymes to remember the dates and people. It just doesn’t work. It doesn’t stick.”

I force my eyes to his.

“Have you considered asking for help?”

“I’m here now.”

He smiles. “You are, yes. That counts for something. Asking for extra credit will not give you the tools you need to succeed, though. It’s temporary. It doesn’t fix the root of the issue.”

I nod slowly, even though I’m not really sure what he means by that. “Okay.”

“My son is good at breaking things down in ways that are easier for people to understand. He’s helped many of my students. I can get you his contact information if you’d be interested in talking to him.”

I find myself nodding. I really will do anything at this point. I need to do something—anything—to pass this class. I don’t even need an A. I just need to pass. The thought of asking for help from someone who’s obviously much smarter than I am makes my skin itch a little, but I’ll have to get over that. “I’ll take any help I can get.”

Professor Sinclair nods, then jots down an email address and hands it over to me. “Here’s his email. Set up a time with him. If you can pass your mid-term with at least a seventy-five percent, it will bring your grade back into passing range.”

“Thank you,” I say, standing up and clutching the piece of paper in my hand like it’s my lifeline. It kind of is.

I’m almost to the door when his voice stops me. “And Mr. Hale? Next time, don’t wait so long to ask for help. It may surprise you how willing people are to offer a helping hand. Especially to those who will fight for themselves, hmm?”

“Yes, Professor.Thank you again.”

I’m still not convinced that even a tutor will help. I can hope, at least. That’s more than I had when I stepped foot into this office, and that’s something.

I barely even wait until I’m out of the office before I email Professor Sinclair’s son.

Hey, I’m Weston Hale. Your dad gave me your email and said you may be able to tutor me in history. I’d appreciate it if you can get back to me.

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