Page 3 of Changing the Play

-Weston

I’ve only taken a couple of steps when my phone dings with an email notification.

Yeah, he reached out to me about you. I can do that. Can you meet me on Wednesday at 6:30 p.m. in the library? We can get a feel for what you need help with.

-D. Sinclair

Relief floods me, and it’s so potent and thick it almost brings me to my knees. Maybe everything will be okay after all.

Yes. Thank you.

-Weston

I’ve barely made it two steps and my phone rings with my dad’s call. I want to ignore it, but I can’t. He’ll just call again, and the guilt trip will be much worse when he does. I’m not in the mood for that.

With a sigh, I brace myself for the onslaught and answer. “Hey, Dad.”

“Weston.” His voice is gruff—pissed, actually—and I wish I had just let it go to voicemail instead. “Are you coming home this weekend? I need your hands in the shop.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t, Dad. Practice started. I won’t have time to get home for a while.”

He’s quiet. Too quiet. “Football isn’t going to work long term, kid. You need to ditch that pipe dream and come home. Do what you’re meant to be doing.”

Rotting in a dead-end job I hate? In a town I hate? With people I can’t stand? No. “Iamdoing what I’m meant to be doing, Dad.”

He scoffs. “You think you’re going to make the big leagues? Be some hotshot NFL player?”

Actually, I don’t think that. That’s not what I want for my life at all, and heknowsthis. I’m not sure why he can’t seem to grasp it, though. I can’t stand constantly having to repeat myself. “Idon’t want to be some hotshot football player, Dad. I want to be a teacher. Youknowthis.”

“Teaching.” I can almost feel the contempt dripping from the word. He can’t understand why I don’t want to settle down and get married and have two point five kids and run the shop. He doesn’t understand why coming home covered in motor oil with callused hands doesn’t appeal to me. He never has, and I’m starting to think he never will.

“Yeah, Dad. Teaching. I don’t understand why this is such a big deal to you. It’s been my dream since I was a kid. It’s nothing new.”

“A dream I figured you’d outgrow in time. If I had known this would be how you’d end up, I would have never even let you play football. Not like you could have gotten a scholarship with your grades.”

Ouch. History notwithstanding, I actually have great grades. I always have. “I’m going to go, Dad. I have to study. Besides, I won’t let you talk to me any old way you want to. I’m not a teenager anymore, and I don’t have to put up with it.”

I hang up the phone without another word and shove it in my pocket, ignoring the call when it rings again almost immediately.

I can’t fail. This is my only shot. I need this to go well. I have to prove to him, and more importantly to myself, that I canbemore. That Iammore.

Chapter 2

Darcy

I’m at my wit’s end.

No. I really mean that.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Caleb would focus. He never does, though. He’s perpetually late, which is a waste of my time. And a waste of his too, really. “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath and trying to rein in my irritation. “Let’s try again. Walk me through the reasons for the French Revolution.”

Instead of answering me, he taps his pencil in an incessant rhythm on the table. I have to clasp my hands in my lap for fear that if he doesn’t stop, I’ll rip it out of his hands and throw it across the library. “Caleb.”

“Huh? Oh. Sorry. What was the question?”

This is about to be my thirteenthreason.

I take a deep breath. “Can you walk me through the reasons for the French Revolution?”

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