Page 5 of Shiver
There are rumors that Adak Nemaczekk could have been a great hockey player in his day. As it is, he’s in his thirties and looks like a damn gym rat. Some coaches tend to let their physique go. Not ours. He can probably bench press Jipson. Hell, I’d be surprised if he can’t bench me!
I stand in the doorway and knock. When Coach Nemaczekk looks up, his dark eyes settle on me. For the first time in a long time, I see a frown on his face when he looks at me.
“Come in, Wolf. Have a seat.”
Yep. This isn’t good. As I step inside, he tells me to shut the door. Not good at all.
He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Taking a breath, I try not to let it settle over me in defeat. Ican’tfail. I can’t. “Just stressed. I’m sorry, Coach. I promise I’ll be better tomorrow.”
Nemaczekk nods without speaking. As the seconds tick by and he still doesn’t say anything, I try to find something else to say. With my bottom lip between my teeth, I consider promising him my firstborn if he doesn’t pull me from the first line.
“How are classes?”
His words feel like physical blows. I try to keep the scowl hidden but I know I fail, even without the sympathetic smile that crosses Coach’s face. “Uh. Been better,” I say.
He nods and waits.
“They’re harder this semester. Finding balance has been… difficult.”
Coach nods again.
But I have no idea what he’s looking for me to say. Finally, he sits forward. “You have a lot of promise, Egon. You’re one of the most talented players I’ve had come through my arena.” While his words are praising, I know they’re leading to something not quite so pleasant, though I’m not sure what. At least, in what direction. “I know you don’t have lofty goals to play professionally, though I still believe you should try.”
I’m already shaking my head. “I want to work with the NHL, but I don’t want that kind of stress on my body so I feel like I’m seventy when I’m thirty.”
He chuckles. His arms drop as he leans forward and sighs. “Egon, I’ve received notifications from three of your classes that you’re dangerously close to failing. And if you fail…”
He doesn’t have to say. If I fail, I lose my scholarship. My free ride. I’ll lose hockey. And my chance at an education.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I try to push the frustrated tears away. Before I know what I’m doing, I lean forward and say in the most pathetic and desperate tone I’ve ever heard my voice use, “I don’t know what to do, Coach. I’m trying. I swear I am. I ran out of easy classes to balance the harder ones and now it’s like looking into the barrel of a shotgun. I’m fucked if I do and damned if I don’t.”
Coach sighs. For a long minute, during which I embarrassingly think he’s giving me time to pull myself together, he considers me silently. “Have you tried a tutor?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet. At least, not this year. But over the last two, I’ve tried three.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “I take it that those didn’t go well.”
“Two used most of the session to hit on me. The other spoke so… advanced that I had no idea what she was saying.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “How did you manage to pass those classes when the tutors failed to teach you?”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t failing anything. My understanding of certain topics was a little weak so I’d gone in for isolated subject matter,” I paused, sighing weakly. “I don’t think that’s the issue this time.”
“What’s the issue?”
“I just don’t get it. Any of it. We’re talking chemicals and compounds and molecular shit. Physiology. I’m not sure how I’ve managed a B in psych, but I fear that it’s temporary because it’s like I’m reading a foreign language.”
I hear the whine in my voice. Maybe not a whine so much as it is helplessness.
Coach sighs. “If you’re willing to dedicate 110% of any free time and energy, I may have a solution.”
“Anything,” I say, leaning forward.
He doesn’t continue as he stares at me. Evaluating me. After what feels like a damned day, he leans back and pulls open the top drawer in his desk. I’m holding my breath, unsure what he’s going to pull out. A business card is not the magic I need, but there it is between his fingers.
I am waiting for a miracle. Somehow, I doubt that all the answers to my issues are printed on that tiny card.
