Page 6 of Call the Shots
“I’m okay!” Montoya yelled in a high-pitched squeak.
Slowly, I breathed through my nose, trying to remain calm. “Fuck.”
“Fuck,” Denali agreed.
“Hisballshaven’t dropped.” I turned around. “That’s the most I’ve seen somebody eat shit and I saw you at the Philly Dome last spring.”
Denali turned, joining me in facing away from the embarrassment of Montoya offering apologies to the giggling figure skaters.
So this was it. The Colo. The Texas Ice Hockey Collegiate Conference. The upgraded Marrs hockey team we were promised during orientation.
Denali and I shared a long look.
“Denali?”
“Yeah?”
I thumbed towards the rink. “What the fuck are we going to do?”
CHAPTER 3
JUNE
YOU CONNIVING LITTLE FUCK WEASEL
There wassomething ironic about being summoned for a behavioral meeting in the same room I designed to be ‘nonthreatening.’ While three student workers shuffled papers across the desk, I could see the effort we put in to make this room a safe place. Soft pastel colors, fluffy pillows on the couches, and a poster on the wall with a kitten hanging off a tree branch—hang in there, buddy!
I resisted the urge to dig my nails into my palm.
“I know I haven’t been myself,” I said when no one else said anything.
The three of them nodded awkwardly, which wasn't something they were supposed to nod to. I would know, I trained them.
“I’m sorry,” I continued. “I’ve been going through a—um—mental health crisis, and I didn’t mean to crash the golf cart?—”
“That’s not why you’re here, June,” Brammhi admitted. “You’ve been brought in to talk about your…academic performance.”
My stomach dropped. Summer classes hadn’t started yet, but once they did, I was determined to do well in them. I had to. They were the classes I’d failed spring semester. Me, JuneBasil, known for checking off every extra credit opportunity, who showed up early to class, who made treat bags for the professors who preemptively wrote me recommendation letters on the off chance I needed them…
Now, June Basil, class-failer. Semester-failer.
I skipped class constantly, hiding from Xavier, and holed myself up in my sanctuary, my beloved house. But my ex wouldn’t be around for my retake classes, because he still had his name on the dean’s list—I didn’t.
“Okay.” I sighed. “I’m ready to create a plan of action.”
The three of them winced.
“A plan of action?” I repeated. “The paperwork’s in the file cabinet?—”
“June,” Allyson said softly. “Your GPA was a one-point-two.”
I flushed, embarrassed. “For one semester. The rest of the time, I’ve been a four-point-oh student?—”
“I’m sorry—um—” Brammhi could barely look me in the eye. “The department is only looking at the previous semester’s grades.”
“For what?”
“Students need to have a two-point-five to…continue in the housing department. The rules have changed.”
