Sacked (Gridiron #1) (19 page)

It comes out as almost an accusation.

Her breath catches and she turns her face to hide it against the side of my skin. I hear something, or more accurately, feel a mumbling against my chest. When she raises her face to mine, it’s wet with tears.

With a trembling voice, her own words tumble forth. “Oh, Knox, I love you, too. I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve you.”

The real anguish in her voice kills me. I clutch her closer to me. I wish I could squeeze her uneasiness out into the open where I could bash it with my fists. But emotions don’t work like objects.

All I can do is be there for her.

“
Y
ou can stay here
, you know?” Knox says as he tugs on his running shoes in the morning.

“No, you have a lot of team stuff to do and I need to work on a midterm paper for my creative writing class.” None of which I got done yesterday. He grabs my neck and pulls me in for a swift, hard kiss. I want to call him back, extend it longer because I don’t know if it’s the last one I’ll ever get from him.

“Okay. I’ll text you later.” And then he’s off.

I wait for Jack. It’s not the best time to approach him given that he has a game in a few days, but he’ll always have something going on. Today’s Tuesday. He has four days to get his head on straight. And I’m done making excuses for myself.

“What’s up, Ellie Bellie?” Jack asks as he lets himself out of his house. “Don’t tell me that you were at Masters’ until this morning. I think we work best on a Don’t Ask Don’t Tell basis,” he jokes.

“Do you have a little time?”

He checks his phone. “Sure. I planned on going over to the weight room and getting in a little cardio, but I can do that later.”

“I thought we’d go down to the park on Court and Seventh.” It’s a tiny abandoned playground with four swings and a tattered slide. I’ve never seen anyone there.

He raises his eyebrows but gestures toward his Jeep. “Sure, let’s go.”

The drive to the park on the south side of campus doesn’t take more than ten minutes. My hands shake the entire way and I have to press them between my legs to keep from alerting Jack to how upset I am.

“Do you want to get out?” he asks when he pulls onto the broken pavement.

It’s close in here. If there’s an explosion, we should probably be outside. “Yeah.”

We climb out in silence but once the doors close, Jack turns to me. “Want to tell me what is going on?”

I take a deep breath and the chill air sends a bracing shock to my lungs. “I love you, Jack.”

“Love you too, El.” His face is heavy with suspicion but he doesn’t hesitate in his reply.

Grief stings the back of my throat, making my voice hoarse and scratchy. “Do you remember when you go those two Ds in eighth grade and I offered to proof your schoolwork?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never stopped.” I inhale again, searching for the courage to say the rest of it. “I’ve helped you for years, changing answers here and there. Rewriting your papers. Just enough that I hoped no one would notice but you’d never get another D.” I force myself to watch him as the expression on his face moves from confusion to comprehension to outright horror. “I’m auditing your sociology and game theory classes so I know exactly what you have to do to maintain your GPA. I’ve changed answers on your worksheet questions and on your ungraded midterm.”

At first, he doesn’t respond. He merely stares at me like I’m an alien bug that he’s never seen before—an awful ugly one that he’d like to stomp.

“You’re cheating.”

I nod.

“And you’ve been cheating for me since the eighth grade?” There’s a vicious, ugly tone in his voice. Disgust, disappointment, full-on anger. It’s all there. “Fucking middle school?”

I start crying, not because of my pain, but because of the anguish in Jack’s voice. It hits me in the solar plexus like a blow. He turns and slams his hands on the top of the hood of the Jeep. “Since fucking middle school?” he repeats with a shout. “I must be the dumbest fuck in the entire world. I couldn’t even pass out of fucking middle school without your help?”

“No!” I cry and reach for him. He jerks away.

“Why are you telling me?”

Here it is. Jack’s perception of himself demolished and my next suggestion will crush him even more. “I think you should get tested. I think you have a learning disability. If you’re tested,” I rush on even though he starts protesting, “if you’re tested and the results confirm it then you can do alternate things, like take an oral examination or instead of writing a paper, doing a presentation of your findings. You could have more time do your assignments. Have take home exams instead of timed classroom ones.”

“You want me to go and get some test that says I’m retarded? Who needs that when I have you,” he sneers.

It’s my turn to jerk back. “Don’t say that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing’s wrong with anyone like you. If you could see these kids at the center—”

He cuts me off. “Is that why you are doing that grant work? To make you feel better about yourself? About
your
cheating? I never fucking asked you do to this!”

He jerks his hands through his hair, pulling on the ends. As if he can’t stand to look at me, he turns away and stalks over to the slide. I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to keep all my inside parts from falling out through the big gaping holes created by this whole damn mess.

“I know you didn’t ask.” I say to myself. “I know.” I wait for the rest of it to sink in for him. The minute that it does, he comes charging back, stopping only a few inches from me.

“I could lose my scholarship over this. I could lose my team. Fuck, I could ruin the team’s chances for a National Championship.”

His litany of all the negative repercussions flay me open but he isn’t saying anything that I haven’t already thought about.

“Look, I know I should have told you before. I wanted to stop. I did, but I didn’t want you to lose your eligibility. That’s why I did it.”

He makes a disgusted noise in his throat. “So you’ve wanted to stop cheating for me, but I’m so fucking dumb that you couldn’t.”

The injustice of it made me want to scream but mostly I am tired. Tired of doing the dirty work. Tired of feeling guilty. Tired of everyone not acknowledging the real problem of Jack’s disability. Tired of myself for enabling him.

“You're right. I was wrong to do this. I thought it was the right thing—” I cut myself off. Did I ever think it was the right thing? Yes, probably years ago before I knew better, but not now. It hasn't been right for a long time, but I still did it.

I try to search for another answer, but keep coming up blank. The only answer was to not start in the first place. But when you’re twelve, and your mom comes to you saying that the one thing that you can do that will make her proud is to help your brother? No problem, you think, because your brother hung the stars, and you’re happy to do these seemingly small things. Because you love your family and you want their approval. You want your mom to look at you with the same glow of pride that she gives your brother.

And you don’t think about the consequences until it’s far, far too late.

Jack is tired too. His shoulders slump in defeat and that's what breaks me.

“Do you and Riley sit around and talk about how it's a good thing that I play ball well, because I'm not smart enough to do anything else?”

“No!” I nearly shout. “I never think that.”

His cruel words saw at the bond I didn’t think would ever get broken.

“Jesus, I got to tell Coach.” He drags a rough hand through his disheveled hair.

I hug myself tighter. “What about Knox?”

“What about him?” He scowls. “You chat him up about this too?”

I shake my head miserably. “You’re on his list.”

“What list?”

Oh shit. He doesn’t know. Knox didn’t say anything to him? I close my eyes briefly, gather up what little composure I have left. “He’s got a list of players to check up on. You were on it and I said I’d do it for him.”

“I’m on a fucking watch list?” He starts pacing. “Oh hell, Ellie. You have to break up with him.”

“Why?” I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew it was coming, but it’s still not a blow I’m ready to take.

“Coach Lowe finds out Masters let you do the checking up and he’ll be on Knox’s ass so hard.”

It’s good that Coach Lowe supports me. If he didn’t, I guess I wouldn’t get to go early. I think the scouts rely on his assessment. He’s said I’m mature enough to go early and that I can handle the extra responsibilities.

Jack nods grimly at my moan. “Coach could even think Masters was in on it with you.”

My breath halts at Jack’s words. Because Knox and I are sleeping together, because we’re a couple, Knox could be tainted by my actions. Coach could take away Knox’s captaincy. Scouts will start whispering about his lack of character and he could drop down the draft ranks faster than a concrete block in the pool.

“Oh God.” I cover my mouth. “I’m sorry Jack. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Let’s go. I need to tell Coach. I might need to start sitting out games immediately.”

“You’re going now?” I don’t feel prepared for this. I was only ready to talk to Jack, not tell the world.

“Better get it done with. If I play a game and I’m not eligible, then that win might get taken away.” He guns the engine. There’s so much bitterness in his voice. I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me.

“I’m going with you.”

W
e argue
about it the entire way over to the athletic center, but I tell Jack if he doesn’t let me come with him, I’ll show up anyway. In the end, he gives in. He tries to lecture me on how it’ll all unfold, with him taking the blame and me standing there like an extra piece lettuce on the side that no one wants to eat.

“Hey, Coach,” Jack calls out tentatively as we approach the open door to Coach Lowe’s office. It’s a spacious one, with a desk bigger than my bed back at the dorm room. Lowe himself isn’t much taller than me, and as fit as any one of his players. He has a full head of gray hair and a solemn look on his lined face.

“Come in, Jack.” He gestures for us to have a seat. The two chairs in front of his desk are spartan—all wood and not a speck of cushion. That’s saved for the brown leather tufted sofa, with its back against a wall decorated with plaques, and the big chair behind his desk.

I take one seat, but Jack remains standing, his fingers hooked around the back of the wooden chair. So I stand back up too.

“Coach, this is my sister, Eliot Campbell.”

Coach Lowe’s hand feels dry as dust and I try hard not to give him a limp wristed shake in return. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“What’s this all about?” Coach Lowe rounds the desk and takes a seat, gesturing for us once again to sit down. His voice is laden with suspicion, which it should be because a player doesn’t show up on Sunday afternoon introducing his sister for shits and giggles. Jack remains standing and so I do too.

Before Jack can open his mouth, I answer Coach Lowe. “I asked Jack to bring me here to tell you that I’ve helped him, unofficially and without him knowing, for years. And by helped, I mean, I’ve done some of his work for him.”

Jack tries to interrupt me. “No. This is not all on Ellie. I should have known what was going on, and I was too happy, passing classes that I probably shouldn’t have passed, so I didn’t question it.”

“No. Jack didn’t know anything about it.” I protest. “It was all my idea.”

“Oh, Mom had nothing to do with it?” Jack raises a furious eyebrow.

Coach Lowe whistles, and Jack and I shut our mouths quick.

“The both of you sit down,” Coach Lowe snaps. The authority in his voice acts like a whip and we both race to take a seat.

“Now I want you to start from the beginning and go slow.” He points at Jack. “Your sister first.”

“Where’s the beginning?” I ask. “From when Jack and I started here at Western or before?”

“How long have you been
helping
?” His emphasis on the word indicates he knows exactly the type of help I’m talking about.

I lick my dry lips. “Eighth grade.”

Jack makes an uncomfortable sound. This has to be terrible for him, and I hate that I’m here, talking about his troubles in front of someone he respects a great deal. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his head dip forward as if his shame weighs him down.

Coach Lowe steeples his fingers together and looks thoughtfully at the both of us.

“You been tested, Jack?” he asks after silent consideration.

“No, sir,” Jack replies, his voice almost inaudible.

“Our dad is a…” I struggle to find the right word so I don’t say something too offensive. “He has high ideals and having a son who isn’t perfect in any way doesn’t fit his world view.”

“This isn’t anyone’s fault but my own,” Jack replies bitterly. His head swings up and there’s fire in his eyes. “Nothing has happened that would put the program in jeopardy, but I’ll have problems passing one class this semester.”

“If nothing has happened, why are you here?” Coach Lowe challenges. Jack’s mouth snaps shut. Lowe’s sharp eyes swivel back toward me and it takes a concerted effort to hold his gaze.

“Because I probably won’t be eligible after finals.” Jack’s regained his composure too.

“All right. Let’s hear from, Eliot, is it?” At my nod, he continues, “What exactly have you done here at Western?”

I detail exactly how I’ve used Jack’s access codes to check his homework, correct worksheets, and help frame an outline for his paper for him in the game theory class. The sociology one Jack didn’t need help with. Like I suspected, he chose to write a paper similar to one he’d produced in junior college.

Coach Lowe takes notes while I talk and Jack stares woodenly at something behind Coach Lowe’s head. When I finish, Coach Lowe presses a button. A girlish voice answers, but I can’t make out exactly what she says.

“Stella, is Ace in the treatment room? When he’s done, tell him to come in here.” He cuts off the connection before Stella responds. His next call is to Brian Newsome, a name I recall that Knox brought up before. He’s the associate director for football student services, but I didn’t know exactly what he did. “Brian, I need you to come down and talk to me about a student issue.”

Brian responds that he’ll be there in five minutes.

Once done making calls, Coach Lowe addresses Jack again. “What happened to your tutor for the class?”

Jack’s cheeks turn a dull red. “She wasn’t real helpful.”

He doesn’t want to get the tutor in trouble.

Coach Lowe harrumphs. He’s fairly insightful and can probably guess the problem from Jack’s lack of words. We don’t exchange any more words until there’s a knock at the door.

“If that’s you, Ace or Newsome, come in. Anyone else, get your ass out of here.”

The door opens and Ace’s face appears. Behind him a trim, eyeglass-wearing man in his mid-forties enters the room and closes the door behind him. He must be Brian Newsome. In one hand he has a coffee cup and the other a notepad. He takes a seat on the sofa. Ace leans against the door, a worried look on his face.

Coach Lowe sketches out the issues without any preliminaries. “Campbell here is in academic trouble. His sister has done work for him, none of it graded, but inappropriate anyway. Campbell feels like he won’t pass a class—what’s it called?”

“Politics and Games,” Jack answers.

Brian lets out a low whistle. “That’s a very difficult class. How’d you end up in it if you aren’t a political science major?”

“I needed an elective and the student liaison assigned to me said it was math heavy and fun.”

Coach Lowe points a finger at Brian. “Get the name of that person and find out if he or she is gaslighting my players. Also get a list of our tutors for that class. Seems we have a jersey chaser on the list.”

Jack shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He doesn’t like for anyone to get in trouble over his issues. I only want to protect Jack and Knox.

Coach Lowe turns his attention to Ace. “Jack Campbell was on your list. What happened?”

Ace and I exchange a look because we both know that Jack somehow got on Knox’s list. I don’t know what Knox and Ace’s relationship is. The offense and defense don’t mix a lot. Different mindsets and personalities.

“I said that I would check up on Jack.” I don’t say whom I told that too. Jack scowls at being treated like a child. God, this is so awful. I want this to be over five minutes ago. “Obviously I did that because I didn’t want anyone to know about my behavior and how it would adversely affect the team. I pretty much threw a fit about it.” The words are as much for Ace as any one. I don’t want Knox suffering repercussions for my actions, I silently tell Ace, but I can’t tell by his expressionless face whether he’s getting it.

“That true?” Coach Lowe asks.

Ace pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek but nods. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

None of us are lying, exactly, but we aren’t telling the whole truth either. For his own reasons—none of which I know—Ace will back me up here. Jack raises his eyebrows slightly in surprise but keeps his own mouth shut.

Coach Lowe heaves a big sigh. “Here’s what’ll happen. Brian will take you, Jack, to student services or whatever it’s called, and get you tested. Brian, how long will it take?”

“A couple of days, maybe a week at the most.”

“Have it take a couple of days.” He points the tip of his pen at Jack. “We’re putting you on academic probation until the results of those tests come out. If they show you have a learning disability, then we can do stuff for you. Right, Brian?”

“That’s right. If you have a reading or writing disability, Western allows for reasonable accommodations. Those can include oral examinations instead of written ones. Take home tests instead of in-class tests and any other services deemed reasonable and necessary by the administration.” He rattles off a few more ways that Jack can get help, none of which make him feel any better.

“Will I be able to work out with the team?”

“Work out, yes. Play, no.” Coach Lowe levels a hard look at Jack. “If you had come to me sooner, we might not have had to suspend you, but this late in the year it’s safer for the program.”

Meaning any wins that they have won’t get jeopardized by Jack’s academic standing.

“It’s my f—” I start to say again but Coach Lowe cuts me off with a swift slash of the pen.

“And for you, Miss Campbell, starting tomorrow morning you are hereby banned from the Western State football team. I don’t want to see you within fifty feet of anyone wearing a football jersey. If one of them is in your class, you sit as far away as possible. You don’t talk to them. You don’t smile at them. You don’t even breathe the same air as them. You got that?”

I nod. My own cheeks flush red hot with shame as if I’d gotten caught by Coach Lowe having sex with Knox in the locker room.

“If I see you near any player, I’ll kick that player and your brother off the team. I don’t care if it’s Knox Masters or Ace here. Their continuing ability to play depends on you, Ms. Campbell.”

I gasp when the full impact of the ban hits me. I’m supposed to cook dinner for Knox’s brother this Friday.

“What about Jack? He is her brother,” Ace points out.

“Obviously I can’t prevent you from spending time with your family, but on campus, keep it as minimal as possible.”

“So the ban is all players but her family,” Ace presses. I glare at him to shut up before he gets himself in trouble.

Coach Lowe narrows his eyes at Ace but says tersely. “Family is exempt.” He turns away from Ace, done with him.

Jack opens his mouth to protest but Coach Lowe doesn’t want to hear from him either. “You want to stay on this team, you play by my rules. Your sister is a problem and you need to excise problems from your life if they affect your play.”

“With all due respect, sir, my sister has only ever wanted to help me. She’s not the problem. I am for not facing up to my issues before. I never wanted to admit I might have a learning disability. I don’t like it much now either. But it’s there and I’ll do that testing, but Ellie has only ever wanted to help.”

“That’s a nice speech,” Coach Lowe replies coldly. “But this is my team and my rules. You want to play, you’ll have to abide by the punishment I send down.” He points his pen at me again. “I don’t want either of you telling the players about this. I’m not the bad guy here.”

I can see it’s on Jack’s tongue to protest. I catch his arm. “Please,” I beg softly. “If you get kicked off the team, I’ll be sick with guilt for the rest of my life. Please let’s take our lumps. Otherwise I’ll never look at myself again without utter loathing.”

Jack’s face hardens from regret to resolve. With a short nod, he turns to Coach Lowe. “Okay. I want to play.”

Coach Lowe waves his hand. “Get out of here. You’ve all got stuff to do. Ace, how’s the arm.”

“Good, sir. Feels good.”

“Keep icing it.”

“Plan to.”