Page 3 of Most Valuable Players
“No. Don’t leave me alone in here, V. It’s only the first test. We can do this.” My attempt at a pep talk fails miserably. Probably because I’m simultaneously suppressing a groan at my own hostile red letter. Circled and underlined for emphasis. As if I needed more than the large D staring up at me as an indication I hadn’t done well on our first statistics test.
We wait for our classmates to filter out of the large auditorium, and judging by the grim expressions and mutterings about the evil professor, we aren’t the only ones who did poorly. A small comfort, I suppose.
So much for my perfect GPA, and so much for winning over Professor O’Sean. He’s the program coordinator for the accelerated MBA track that I’m applying to next year. It’s just a hunch, but I don’t think failing his class will help me get in. College hasn’t been exactly what I envisioned when Gabby and I planned our futures all those years ago. Actually, that’s too bland a statement. It hasn’t been all bad, but so far, this semester royally sucks. I feel guilty for even thinking those words. It’ll all work out. I just need to buckle down and study harder. Think positive.
Vanessa nudges me while we trudge up the stairs. She leans in to whisper, “My last chance to ogle the man candy.”
I follow her slight head nod to the back row, which is occupied by three members of the university’s basketball team. I’d like to think I would have noticed the trio, built like the nationally ranked athletes they are, even if Vanessa hadn’t pointed them out each and every class. But the last month has been a haze of homework and studying. I'm not sure I would have noticed them even if they'd sat beside me. If it doesn't involve classes, caffeine, or sleep, I don't have time for it.
Their skin tone varies from light to dark, as does their hair color, but each one is tall and muscular. Decked out in athletic gear, they look like they walked off the set of a Nike commercial.
The one on the end closest to the aisle has his foot propped up on the seat in front of him, a black walking boot covering it completely from just below the knee on the right leg. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the blue Valley basketball shirt he’s wearing is bunched up around his muscular arms and pecs. A baseball cap is pulled low so it’s covering his eyes, but it doesn’t matter—it’s obvious whatever lurks below is as good as the rest.
"Why is the line moving so slow?" I step to the right to see what the holdup is. I have places to be, and it’s lunchtime. What’s the hold up?
"Slow down and appreciate the view with the rest of us," Vanessa retorts.
I glance ahead and behind, seeing nothing but necks careening and eyes darting to the back row. The line out of the class moves at rubberneck speed. Has this been going on since classes started three weeks ago? How had I not noticed the ovary explosion they caused? I’d assumed it was just Vanessa being well, Vanessa. Apparently, no one was immune to their beefy muscles and chiseled jaw lines. Except me.
I would be proud of that fact if my grade backed up the time I’d spent not noticing hot guys. I’ve actually been paying attention to the professor. I need this class. Correction. I need an A in this class. Now, I wish I’d used my time more wisely like V.
“Everyone is staring at them.”
“Duh, look at them. They’re the best part of this class,” Vanessa says loud enough that the girl behind us snickers.
She’s right about that. Each one of them is stop-and-stare worthy, but my eyes are pulled back to the guy on the end. The top half of his face is a mystery – always covered by a white university hat. But his lips are fantastic and full in a way that no lip injections could replicate.
I’m still starting at him when his teammate, the one sitting closest to him, reaches over and flips up the baseball hat, revealing a pair of heavy lids. He rights his hat and then reaches for the paper on his desk. My eyes follow his long fingers and bulge at the big red letter A that is underlined and circled just like mine. The underline and circle treatment of my D seems a lot less hostile now, so that’s something.
But what the hell? This guy is sleeping during class and still gets an A?
“Why does he even bother coming to class if he’s going to sleep through it? There’s no way he earned that grade without help. How are the rest of us supposed to compete with the private tutors and special treatment that’s afforded the student athletes?” The words spill from my mouth before I can censor and spin them in a more positive way.
We push out of Stanley Hall and join the rest of the students bustling between classes at Valley University.
“Bitter much? What happened to your peppy optimism and we-can-do-it attitude?”
I wear my positivity like armor. Smile on and words of wisdom on deck, I’m always the first person to look at the bright side to hide the insecurities and fears I don’t dare speak.
“It just had a heavy dose of reality. Even the jocks did better than we did,” I say as I stare down at my yellow chucks.
When I look up, she gives me a sympathetic half-smile and shrugs. “I don’t know about the basketball team, but Mario says the baseball guys get ridden pretty hard about grades.”
“I’m sure they get ridden hard, all right.”
Vanessa’s eyebrows disappear under her long bangs. “That is the weirdest thing you’ve ever said. Never repeat it.”
She’s effectively lightened my mood, and I hip check her playfully. “Speaking of riding them hard. Where is Mario? He’s usually waiting like a puppy out here.”
On cue, Mario comes into view. He’s jogging to get to V as quickly as possible, as if it’s been days since he’s seen her instead of fifty minutes.
“We’re going to lunch at University Hall after I stop by the registration office. Come with?”
Not even a full month into the semester and my roommate has already managed to snag a boyfriend. Mario may be a jock, but he seems different. He doesn’t have any of the asshole, holier-than-thou narcissism I’d expected. He’s pursuing V hard, walking her to and from every class, bringing her flowers, and taking her out on date nights, the works. I’d knock his adoration and classify him as a stage-five clinger if he weren’t so handsome and sweet.
Wearing his practice clothes—a cutoff T-shirt and baseball pants—accentuates the whole all-American, tan, blond-hair, blue-eyed, good-guy thing he has going for him. Bonus points that Vanessa is completely smitten. I know this because she’s trying way too hard to convince me otherwise. Case in point, inviting me to tag along on their lunch date.
“Can’t save you from love today. I’m heading to the library to study.”
