Extra Credit (The Boys of Elmwood U #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

jason

Light poured through the large front-lawn-facing windows, bathing the living room in shades of newly polished gold. Scents of coffee and fried eggs lured me out of my room and into the chaos of a regular Beta Epsilon Lambda morning.

Peanut skipped over to the bottom of the stairs, rising to his hind legs and missing my nuts by a fraction of an inch. It wouldn’t have been the first time I was incapacitated by our golden retriever like that. His paws hit my legs, and his tongue lolled out, big eyes flashing with excitement.

“Whose turn is it?” I asked, fingers running through Peanut’s fur.

Taylor looked over his bare shoulder from behind the kitchen island, oil dripping from the spatula, and grinned. “Yours, as always.” Something made the oil in the pan sizzle, and Taylor squealed when a tiny drop of it landed on his abs.

“At least put on an apron,” I said, passing by Peanut and pouring myself a big mug of steaming coffee from the large pot on the kitchen counter.

“Live a little,” Taylor teased.

Behind me, Logan and Jacob were in the middle of arm wrestling on the kitchen island, with Sam taking bets from Finn and Greg.

Another pop came from the pan, and Taylor jumped back with a rather high-pitched yelp. “No biggie. Nothing happened.”

The toaster ejected the bread slices, and I snagged one before Tyler could slap my hand away with the oily spatula, stuck it in my mouth, picked up my coffee, and snapped a finger at Peanut, who had always loved clicking noises, to follow along.

The morning air was refreshing on my bare torso as Peanut and I stepped out of the Bel House.

The front porch was still in use, although mist lingered late into the morning, and dew twinkled in the sunshine most days of the week.

Piles of orange and brown leaves were raked neatly for Peanut to run around and jump into, which he did as soon as the door had opened.

I placed my coffee on top of a white wooden table and finished the toast before picking up a rubber bone, whistling at Peanut, and throwing the bone far across the lawn.

My reach was the longest in the house, thanks very much.

Years of football paid off in the most unexpected ways, one of which was making an excitable dog even more hyperactive.

While Peanut raced after the bone, I took a sip of my coffee, feeling the warmth of sunlight kiss my skin.

A few passersby glanced at Peanut as he hurried back across the lawn to bring me the bone.

When I scanned them, the passersby looked away, but not after letting their gazes linger a little longer on the spectacle.

Dogs were the best, and Peanut was their finest representative. People who paused to say hello to Peanut passed my vibe check.

Campus brimmed with life this morning, swelling with chatter, joggers, dog-walkers, hungover fraternity brothers on their walk of shame, colorful punks, glasses-adjusting nerds, cocky jocks, and all the variations of the above.

A couple of girls stopped at the edge of the Bel House lawn and melted over the sight of Peanut’s happy face popping out of a pile of leaves I would have to rake again in a minute.

“Who’s a handsome boy?” one of them asked excitedly.

I scratched the back of my head. “Aw, thanks,” I said, pretending to blush.

They both giggled. They asked about Peanut’s name and if he was mine.

“He’s his own boss, really,” I admitted. “We all just live in his house.” I pointed back at the Bel House with my thumb, taking a sip of coffee. My skin prickled when a cool breeze swept over the lawn.

Peanut got ear scratches and all the attention he could wish for before the girls said goodbye and walked away, heads close and shoulders shaking as they hid their laughter.

Life was good on Elmwood University’s campus.

All was well with the world during these buzzing, golden New England mornings.

Even my life seemed to be taking a turn for the better.

After failing Stats assignments twice so far, I finally submitted a test with confidence a few days ago.

It was only a matter of days before I got the results and the confirmation I needed.

Coach Roberts was rubbing me about my scores, and I got it, but I wasn’t the smartest guy around. I could write you ten strategies to win a football season without losses, but I couldn’t find meaning in a pivot table if my sex life depended on it.

I threw the rubber bone above Peanut’s head, and he leaped into the air, snapping his jaws and missing the bone as usual.

His little tush swayed as he trotted over to the leaves and dug up the bone.

He was soon preoccupied by the revelation that if he kept digging through the leaves, they would keep flying all around him, which was apparently the most fun thing a dog could imagine.

“You keep on digging, old boy,” I said, drinking my coffee and turning to face the house.

It was a sprawling thing in Neo-Colonial style with large front windows, a long porch, a tall roof, and enough rooms not just to let each fraternity brother living here have his own room, but to still have leftover space for parties, lounging, and other activities.

My room was on the far-left side, one lonely cactus drinking in the morning sunlight, a rainbow flag covering the top third of the window, shutters hanging crookedly on each side.

The entire campus was aflame, various shades of fall replacing the lushness of summer.

Junior year promised to be a fun one. I liked the status of having lived here for two years.

With every day, it was less of a place I stayed for a while and more of a home.

Taylor lived here, Sam, Greg, Finn, and the rest of them.

We were the old guard by now, taking over from the legends who shaped our fraternity from a drunken mess into something worth being a part of.

Not that we were above a keg party or a good prank, especially if the prank involved food coloring, water balloons, and the unfortunately named Kappa Gamma Beta house.

We were just a little more responsible and a lot less self-destructive after the rebrand.

I finished my coffee and set the mug back on the table, then grabbed the plastic bags to collect the present Peanut had left for me. I tossed it into the trash can and played with Peanut for half an hour longer.

“That’s it, buddy,” I told him as he brought back the toy for another throw. “You love a good run, and so do I. But you don’t need to pass stupid Stats to get your fill, huh?”

Peanut looked at me curiously, head cocked in wonder.

He never had to think of Stats, let alone click mindlessly through rows of numbers that somehow needed to be turned into a pie chart.

I knew a lot about pies, not so much about charts, and it seemed that my knowledge of the former didn’t help at all with getting the hang of the latter.

The day went on. Lectures made me drowsy, but football practice made me feel alive.

The team’s star receiver with a pride badge on the shoulder of my jersey and with a small and loyal following of football aficionados, I was really in my element here.

This was what I was good at. I could run into the thick of the fight and carry the football through a bunch of beefed-up guys without losing my breath.

I didn’t fear rough contact or an occasional face-plant.

I didn’t worry about oral presentations because I could talk my way into Heaven if you gave me a few minutes.

But my pants shook when I had to sit down and write a full-blown analysis.

Coach Roberts stopped me after practice, complimenting my performance on the field. When that was over, his bushy eyebrows settled over his eyes in concern. “But your grades took a hit from last year,” he said. “And they weren’t anything to write home about last year.”

I laughed it off. “I passed, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” Coach Roberts said. “Time for kidding around is over, Jason. You either get smart about it, or I’ll have to bench you.”

I shrugged. “My sister got all the smarts from the parents,” I said.

“I mean it, Jason. You’re leaving me with no choice.” He folded his trunk-like arms on his barrel chest, the tank of a man that he was. “You know what it is to be an athlete. You have to be exemplary.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be exemplary in Colby’s classes, Coach,” I said regretfully.

Coach Roberts muttered something under his breath.

“But I did great on the last test,” I said.

This didn’t seem to smooth out the lines of concern on his face, but he let me off the hook for today. I could have sworn I heard the words “We’ll see about that” as he walked away.

But my good cheer for the day wasn’t getting swept away so easily. I had done the best job I could, so I didn’t dwell on Coach Roberts’ lack of confidence in me, however justified it was based on past experience.

I showered, joking with the guys as usual, dried myself with a big towel, dressed, and packed my sweaty clothes into a duffel.

Fridays were always fun at the Bel House.

The house was open to all members of the fraternity all the time, but Fridays opened our doors to the outside world, so long as none of the KGBs tried to sneak in to plant a stink bomb or worse.

I’d bring out my guitar and sing until my throat was raw, and then I’d take Peanut into my room to sleep while the party went on.

I had big practice tomorrow morning, so I wasn’t risking boozing up.

Besides, I didn’t need to booze up for a good night at our place.

I got back before anyone had had a chance to stop by. Taylor was in the living room with his laptop open and resting in his lap, legs folded under his ass. “That’s bad posture, that is,” I said.

“No shit,” Taylor said.

“You look like crap. All good?” I asked.

Taylor sucked his teeth and turned the laptop around. “Colby posted the results. I’m screwed.”

Taylor had already known that his last test hadn’t gone well, but I still took a moment to console him, even though there were glowing coals inside my shoes.

After cheering him up about getting an extra year in the Bel House if he had to repeat the semester, I hurried upstairs to check the results on my computer.

I logged in to the submission portal, clicked my way through the courses until I found the latest assignment from Professor Colby, clicked on it, and waited an eternity while it loaded. The progress bar froze at ninety-eight percent, and I called it a lying liar right to its incomplete face.

Taylor’s quick footsteps halted somewhere behind me. “Anything?”

“Waiting,” I said. The screen flashed, and the table appeared. Date of submission, title of the assignment, my name, attachment, notes, grade.

F.

A freaking F.

A goddamn, real-as-hell, state-of-the-art F.

“Fuck,” I groaned in a deep exhale.

I ran my fingers through the rough curls of my dark hair, holding fistfuls as the ringing in my ears quieted a little.

The note next to the glaring F said that I should report to Professor Colby on Monday at four in the afternoon.

He must have known when my practice was because that was just in time for me to sit through his ribbing and make it to Coach Roberts for a hand-washing.

Monday was going to be a day of lectures for me.

I sank into my chair and shrugged. It was supposed to be a good year. The noises from downstairs announced a party. Taylor’s silence was the reminder that there was nothing to be done here. We’d failed Stats like always. If something didn’t change, we were both totally screwed.

Yet I didn’t know how to change anything anymore. I thought I’d done a good job, dammit. I thought I’d studied hard enough and understood the assignment, but I’d done such a poor job that Professor Colby didn’t even bother pointing out all that was wrong with it in the notes.

I knew I wasn’t very smart, but I hadn’t realized just how stupid I was until this sobering moment.