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?”