Page 43 of The Fake Date Agreement

I knock on my professor’s office door in the faculty building and wait, knowing he’s only called this meeting for today because I told him I was so busy with practice and was only free on the weekend.

As I wait for him to finish up with a phone call, I mentally chew myself out for my own stupidity.

I had big ideas when the professor told us about the paper. I’d salivated over writing an incredible paper that would blow everyone away. My chosen area was going to be the role of media in policymaking. As a future athlete, I thought it would be easy.

Professor Amstutz had been clear. Right from the start, he’d said, “I urge you to e-mail me or see me during office hoursto discuss your topic. I can help you define it and locate data sources.”

And like a fucking idiot, I’d let everythingbutpublic policy become my priority.

I didn’t even think of going to him for help until well after the point I should have already started the paper.

Why the fuck did I choose public policy again?

Everything ate away at my time.

Practice. Trying to get Caleb to chill out as the stress of the looming championships started to consume his life. Anxiety about what’s going to happen with my brother. Daniela texting and calling Javier, stressing him out.

And fear.

Above all else, fear of failure.

A click announces the end of Professor Amstutz’s call, and I stiffen my spine as he calls out, “Come on in, Reid.”

I push open his office door and find the smiling, dark-haired, and gray-eyed professor with a short brown beard sitting behind his desk in one corner of a room he shares with three other professors. It’s just him today, which makes me feel shittier because he should be enjoying his weekend, not using his free time to meet with me.

“You wanted to see me,” I say, playing ignorant.

“About the paper.” He gestures to the chair opposite him, and I sit. “You’re the only student I haven’t touched base with, and I wanted to check in with you and find out if everything is going well.”

Now would be the perfect time to tell him I’m behind, stressed out, could do with more time, or most likely a miracle to get this thing done.

“I’m good,” an idiot with my voice says. “I’ll have it done in the next couple of weeks.”

He crosses his arms and reclines in his seat.

I’m giving him the lazy, confident smile, but he doesn’t look like he’s buying all this shit I’m shoveling.

The corners of his eyes pinch. “That paper is worth sixty percent of your final grade, Reid. The offer for you to discuss your project with me was important.”

“I know that.” I dig my nails into the fleshy part of my palm as I cling to my smile. “And I meant to take you up on the offer before, but practice has gotten intense. I’m on it, though. No need to worry about me.”

“I understand the game is important, but if you need more time to work on your paper, I’m sure your coach will give it to you.”

No, he won’t.

The free time I requested from him weeks ago went toward helping Caleb before he could self-combust with stress. Between Caleb’s stress and Javier trying to hide his anxiety about his parents not letting his sister come to watch him play, it was easier to set aside my problems and focus on theirs.

“Reid…”

I blow out a sigh. “I’m a little behind, but I can catch up.”

“You have two weeks.”

“I can do it,” I say insistently.

And I hope this isn’t blind hope leading me off the edge of a cliff.

He tilts his head as he scrutinizes me. “If you fail, this could jeopardize your scholarship and potentially even your place on the team.”

---