Page 85 of The Game Plan

I just don’t know why.

I thought we were good. We were a team, a partnership. Us against the world. I thought we were happy.

Never in a million years did I think he would dump me. And for trying to help him!

“So you really like this guy,” Tamar says idly, and I glare at her.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Okay, but didn’t you say he had a big hearing today, for punching that volleyball asshole?”

I shove another chunk of ice cream into my mouth.

“Oh, honey. No. Tell me he didn’t get expelled,” she says quickly.

“He didn’t. One-game suspension. Barely a slap on the wrist.”

“And we’re upset about this?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sam…”

“My life revolves around more than a stupid guy who doesn’t understand that I was only trying to help him.” My chest aches, and I sigh. “He’s not stupid. He’s just being really stubborn.”

“And you like him?”

Slowly I nod. “Until today, I thought we were solid. Until today, I thought we had something special.”

“And now?”

I blow out a breath. “And now my boyfriend suddenly hates me, and I’m second guessing my statistics exam, and I might get kicked off the team and drop out of school, and—”

“Woah, there,” Tamar interrupts. “You might get kicked off the team?”

“If I didn’t get a good enough grade on that stats test,” I explain. “I’m teetering the line of academic ineligibility. Miles—he was tutoring me. We studied together.”

“And did it help?”

“I thought it was.” I sigh. “But now that I’ve had some space from the test, I know I could have done more. I didn’t study near enough as I could have. I prioritized helping Miles over studying.”

“Forget about that,” she says. “What’s done is done. How do you feel about your performance? Do you think it was enough?”

“I don’t know.” Pitifully, I eye the ice cream melting in my hand. “I really don’t know.”

“Why would you have to drop out of school?” Lex pushes. “You can take out a loan and—”

“I can’t. I won’t qualify, and my parents won’t co-sign for me,” I tell her. “It’s more than I can afford, it’s more than my parents can afford even if they agreed to it. If I don’t pass this class, I’m academically ineligible, and I lose my scholarship for next semester. I don’t have the kind of cash I’d need to make it work. And I can’t raise my GPA without taking more classes, but I can’t take more classes without the scholarship.”

“Shit,” Tamar says. “It’s that bad?”

There’s a lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s that bad.”

“Oh, honey…” She rubs my back. “We’ll figure it out. You’ll pass this class and stay eligible, and you’ll be back at second base next semester like nothing ever happened.”

“I hope so. I really hope so,” I admit.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Lex asks.

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