Chapter 23 #2
I couldn’t leave it there.
I needed to talk to someone. Someone who wouldn’t know that I was probably the last person in this whole school who should have taken that phone call.
I dropped everything I was doing, so eager to leave my shed and find a fellow liaison grad student. Then, at the door, I reminded myself that my project was still more important to me than finding out if I needed to remove a certain quarterback’s ballsack.
So I went back, cleaned my tools, tidied my shed, and waited until I convinced myself I was calm. I wasn’t, but I was ready to get some answers.
I headed straight to the library. I knew which meeting rooms were booked in advance by the Academic Association. I’d booked meeting room C for Dante and me for the foreseeable future.
In the library, I quickly checked the booking calendar to see who was in session and who I knew well enough to ask, but not well enough that I couldn’t play dumb with them — David Kantor, one of the ‘snobbier’ graduate tutors.
I hesitated. Was he likely to let them fudge it?
He was quite stiff, on his second PhD, I think, so was also kind of up himself and would be like Dad, thinking an athlete’s intellect was beneath him.
I decided I had nothing to lose. I made my way up the stairs and lingered outside the meeting room like a crazy person, biting my nails and wondering what I’d say if I got caught.
Then reality hit me in the face when someone walked past me and didn’t even look my way. I was hardly a spy.
A spy.
A prickle of realization made my scalp tighten.
My dad did know. He’d asked me to keep him updated if anything was untoward. He wanted to know if Dante was going to fail because then he’d know when Dante passed, it was fake.
I sank down onto the nearest bench; my nerves were so fraught that I felt like crying.
All I’d done was minor in a subject that was a little more interesting than my major.
All I really wanted to do was art. But here I was wrapped up in some kind of academic subterfuge, and I wasn’t cut out for this crap.
The door to the meeting room opened, and I looked up just as David walked out.
“Savannah?” He looked pleased to see me. Baggy sweater, chinos, loafers, and rimless glasses, he was the very definition of PhD stereotype. I looked down at my own clothes, realizing I wasn’t that far behind him.
“Fancy meeting you here.” He laughed at his own joke, and I forced a smile.
“Hi, David,” I greeted him as I stood, my gaze landing on the girl who was still gathering her stuff up in the room behind him. She looked traumatized, like she’d just sat her finals with no preparation and knew she was fucked.
“Going well?” I asked him, keeping my voice low.
He rolled his eyes as he walked over to me. “Honestly, Savannah.” He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “I think they send me the dumbest ones just to see if I’ll start banging my head off a wall or quit.”
“Bye, David.” The girl said as she left the room.
He turned and gave her a patronizing smile. “Same time on Thursday. Try not to worry that you didn’t get it this time, Thursday’s a new day!” I’d never heard encouragement spoken so insincerely before.
She looked ready to burst into tears, but she forced a wobbly smile and then practically bolted down the stairs.
“Dumb as a board, that one,” he said the second she was out of earshot. “Summer school for her, mark my words.” He sighed. “Did admissions lower the GPA? Do you know?”
Asshole.
“Couldn’t say.” I wanted to walk away, but I knew I had to do this. “What subject are you helping her with?”
“Ugh, there’s no helping her,” he said, checking his watch. “She can’t even grasp basic physics.” David looked at where we were. “Why are you in the sciences section? You’re not tutoring in that? Are you?” He looked offended at the thought.
“No.” God no. “I was looking for one of my students.” He nodded like that made more sense. “Three years here and I got my first athlete,” I added, keeping my tone neutral.
David snorted. “And you thought you’d find them in sciences?”
Biggest asshole.
“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” I hoped my smile didn’t look too fake. “Ever had to tutor an athlete, like a football player, before?”
He gave me a dry smile. “Football players? Once. Don’t expect them to suddenly impress you.” He checked his watch again, and I knew my time was limited.
“I should maybe lower my expectations then,” I said, biting my lip as I pretended to look concerned.
David shrugged. “Do that,” he said with a nod. “You’ll do your job, write up your notes, no one wants them filed, and the rest, well . . .” He waved it off.
“The rest?” I hoped I looked appropriately baffled and intrigued for him to part with his superior knowledge.
David looked at his watch again and shouldered his satchel. “Look, Savannah, let’s just say the athletic department has its own way of making sure players stay eligible.”
My pulse jumped. “What does that mean?”
He hesitated, then lowered his voice. “It means you won’t need to lose sleep over whether your guy or girl passes or fails. Don’t waste energy thinking otherwise.”
“So why am I bothering?” I heard the bite in my tone and hoped David didn’t.
He didn’t. Instead, he gave me the same patronizing look he reserved for his student. “You don’t bother with them, Savannah. They’re a gift. Your academic record looks good, and they pass. It’s a win-win. I need to go. Great to catch up.”
He left, but his words didn’t. They unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. I hadn’t wanted my suspicions confirmed, and now I didn’t know what to do with the information.
What game had I been dragged into without even knowing it?