Cocking his head, he interrupted me. “Can’t … or won’t?”

I paused and sat back in my seat. Five seconds in and he was going for my jugular? “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but I’m here under an international sports scholarship. Not only do I have soccer commitments and a full course load, I have a GPA to maintain in order to keep my place in this country. Even if I wanted to, I simply don’t have the time to tutor anyone.”

“I figured you’d say something like that.” Professor Draper leaned forward and handed me a sheet of a paper. I took it from him, glancing down at a detailed outline of my weekly timetable. “So I took the liberty of reviewing your schedule, Jordan. As you can see, there are three highlighted sections where I feel you can allow an hour of time toward tutoring.”

How presumptuous! I wanted to scrunch the page into a ball and peg it at his head. Those three blocks of time were mine. My spare time to do laundry, scrub soccer cleats, Skype my brother back home, or just blob on the couch and numb my mind with television. Either way, it didn’t matter what I chose to do with it, just that it was mine. Having no free time at all wasn’t healthy, and surely a well-respected professor of this college would know that.

I looked up, ready to plead for my sanity. “Professor, I—” My eyes welled up. Taking a deep breath, I focused on a point somewhere over his shoulder. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry for missing class. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I’m still learning my way around campus so it wasn’t intentional. Is there something else I can do besides tutoring that won’t take up so much time?” His brows rose slowly, and I realized how my question sounded. “Like photocopying or … or …”

“Miss Elliott. Jordan. Can I call you Jordan?”

No, I wanted to snap in a fit of angered pettiness, but when I met his eyes I saw a faint apology in them. “Yes, of course.”

“Jordan, I’m not asking you to do this because you missed the majority of my lecture. While I didn’t appreciate your untimely interruption, I’m really not that much of an ass.” Professor Draper smiled at me but it was so faint I almost missed it. “I’m asking you this as a personal favor. Students don’t fail my course because I simply don’t let them, and this particular student will fail if I don’t provide some form of additional tutelage outside the classroom.”

I sighed internally. How was I supposed to respond to that? Your student can go suck eggs because I need time to blob on the couch? He continued on with his explanation, delivering a blow that saw my free time scatter to the wind like confetti.

“My student has dyslexia. He’s managed to get this far under his own steam, but his grades have been slipping over the past two years, and as they’re already low to begin with. He has no room for them to drop further.” Professor Draper spread his hands wide, revealing his helplessness with the situation. “I don’t know how else to help him, and I figured you might have some clue.”

I stared at my hands where they rested in my lap. “You’re asking me because you know about my brother?”

“Your student transfer information mentioned your experience with tutoring your dyslexic brother.”

And it hadn’t been easy. My brother had been difficult to live with, even after he was diagnosed. Nicky went through it all: sullen attitude, low grades, instigating fights, back chatting teachers. What no one ever saw was just how frustrating and debilitating it was for him. He endured bullying at school, coming home with grazed knuckles, black eyes, and regular detention. I was the only one he’d talk to about it. In one of his classes, his teacher would regularly make him read aloud in class, as if it would help him improve. All it did was make the problem worse, and rile my fury at his teacher’s idiocy.

It was no wonder Nicky didn’t give his tutors the time of day. I spent hours researching dyslexia and instead we studied together.

“I still don’t understand why you’re asking me. I’m not in any way professionally qualified to help. Whatever I did for my brother was done through sheer desperation because he wouldn’t accept help from anyone else.”

“That’s the exact same issue I’m having, but I think this student will be able to relate to you. You’re both athletes and study under the same schedule with the same pressure to perform.” Professor Draper sat back in his seat and studied me carefully. “I’m not expecting miracles, Jordan, not this late in the game. I just need someone he can trust to provide him with some study mechanisms that will get him through his final year.”

I raised my brows. “And you think he’s going to trust me?”

“Yes, I do, because you’re going to give him every reason to.”

I am? Well, okay then.

“I’ll do my best,” I promised, and after running through the details of the general tutelage he wanted me to provide, he gave me a sheet of paper with the student’s contact information.

Swiping my armload of books off the desk, I placed the note on top and stood. And because I hadn’t embarrassed myself enough in front of my professor yet, I tripped over the leg of my chair. Unbelievable. I never stumbled. This added stress had turned me inside out.

“Are you okay?” Professor Draper asked, making his way around his desk, his lips pressed together like he was trying not to laugh.

My reply was muffled because I was crouched on the floor, collecting my books along with some of his papers that were knocked to the ground with them.

“I’m totally fine,” I lied, grabbing at folders randomly, rushing to leave before I did something worse, like accidently setting his desk on fire.

With an awkward wave, I turned to leave. He called out my name and I paused in the doorway.

“Please keep this arrangement confidential. My student is extremely high profile and doesn’t want it known he’s receiving external tutelage for a learning disability.”

“But …”

“Coping with dyslexia is hard enough without having it spread across campus, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” I replied, because I got it. I really did. Bullying was shit, and my brother suffered through all of it, but I had no idea how I was supposed to keep it private.

“Good,” my professor said, giving a short nod. “I’ve arranged your first session for Friday, 4:00 p.m. at your apartment. If you wish to arrange a different location moving forward, you can work that out between yourselves.”

I gave him a nod. “Okay.”

“Oh and, Jordan?” he called out again when I tried leaving once more.

I paused, surreptitiously checking my watch. I was going to be late for my next class. Again.

“Good luck.”

The words sounded ominous, like I was actually going to need it. Rushing from his office, I glanced quickly at the page sitting on top of my armload of books. My brows pulled together. Kyle Davis. It wasn’t a name I readily recognized but then I was new and knowledge of the campus social hierarchy hadn’t been high on my priority list.

“Jordan!” Coach Kerr’s shout snaps me from my recollection. She’s standing on the sidelines beside our assistant coach, waving me over.

Leah jostles my shoulder as we pause from our walk toward the locker room. “So what does your professor have you doing?” she prompts. “Photocopying mammoth volumes of tax law?”

I make a face at Leah. “Something like that,” I reply and quickly change the subject, calling out as I start jogging backwards toward our coach. “Hey, you’re still going straight to Hayden’s from here?”

Leah pauses midstride, cocking her head at me as though I have a screw loose. “Well yeah, that hasn’t changed since you asked me five minutes ago.”

I clear my throat. “Right.” I wave her away and she peels off toward the locker room, shaking her head.