Tyler
The rest of the classes went exactly how you’d expect them to go—kids pretending to be interested in subjects when they clearly wanted to be anywhere else but stuck in a room where strange “words of knowledge” were being forced into their heads.
But me?
My mind was doing a full see-saw, bouncing from Sydney, who was a couple rows from me, and the meeting waiting for me in coach’s office.
Every few seconds I had to stop myself from turning to look at her.
At the same time, I kept wondering what Coach wanted to see me about.
And as expected, I could barely focus on what was being taught.
But before I could snap out of it all, the bell rang.
Chairs scraped across the floor, and everyone rushed for the door like diplomas were being handed out in the hallway.
But I stayed glued to my seat, my hand tapping impatiently on the table, stalling like that might somehow make Coach forget he wanted to see me.
Even though a part of me had an idea what it was about.
Halfway through overthinking it all, I looked up, suddenly acknowledging the burning sensation on my neck.
The class was empty by now—or so I thought.
I turned.
Sydney was sitting there, staring at me.
Her breath hitched the moment our eyes met.
Those soft brown eyes widened slightly.
I smirked.
“Enjoying the view?”
Her face instantly flushed red.
She frowned, quickly packing her books and rushing out of the classroom without another word.
There wasn’t even time to marvel at the way her body bounced as she walked.
But when it was finally just me in the class, I shoved my books into my bag and walked out of the door, heading straight to coach’s office.
I paused as I got to the door, my hand resting on the handle, as a voice reached my ear.
“This weekend will be better.
I take my classes very seriously.”
I turned, my gaze landing on Sydney, standing in the middle of the hallway, just a few steps from the classroom door.
She was in front of Dean.
My blood ran hot.
Dean had that corky grin on his face as he replied her, but I didn’t want to know what he was saying.
I almost stepped forward—’Chemistry.
Remember?’
Oh, right.
What was I going to do, anyway?
Grab her by the arm and pull her away from Dean?
Angel Gabriel?
I turned back toward the office door and knocked lightly before pushing it open.
Coach looked up as soon as I walked in, his reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, making him look about ten years older.
Papers were scattered in front of him on the desk, and he gathered them together, stacking them as one.
The door clicked shut behind me.
“Coach, you wanted to see me?”
”Yes, Tyler.” His voice was calm now—nothing like the sharp tone he used on the court.
“Sit down, please.”
I sank into the chair across his desk.
And even with the neutral look on his face, I already knew the topic of this conversation.
Without saying a word, he reached for a flat file on the table beside him.
He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before setting them aside.
My chest tightened slightly.
Then he focused his keen eyes on me, his voice going low.
“Your mom called, Tyler.”
Of course.
“She calls all the time,” I said, leaning back slightly.
“What’s this one about?”
Coach didn’t look angry.
He looked like he was already used to this.
Like this conversation was an everyday occurrence.
He flipped open the file and took out a single paper.
“Your grade dropped.”
”What?” I nearly scoffed.
“That’s not possible.”
He slid the paper across the desk toward me.
“You got a C in biology, Tyler.
The results came in today.”
I peered into the paper and swallowed.
That was a solid C, ignoring the tiny plus beside it that had never helped me.
I shrugged, avoiding his eyes.
“It was just a slip—”
”Like you continuously did on the court today?”
Great.
Coach took the paper back and slid it into the folder again.
“Look, son,” he said calmly, “I’m not trying to pressure you.
And neither is your mom.”
Yeah right.
“We’re trying to secure your future,” he continued.
“Eventually, in the NBA.
But you need to maintain the standard.”
’Standard.’ I almost laughed.
The same standard that had ruled my entire life, telling me what to do and when.
And let’s not even talk about you partying and being everywhere instead of practicing and reading.”
”My mum approved my Halloween break.”
”I know.” He said patiently.
“I’m not trying to stop you from being a normal teenager.
But you need to learn control and focus.”
A dry chuckle escaped me.
“You mean the same way I’ve been controlled since the day I figured out there was a fucking golden spoon in my mouth?!”
”Language,” he warned calmly.
“This is sick.” I murmured.
Coach lifted a brow.
“You see that energy?” he said.
“I want that on the court, Tyler.
Everyone is watching.
Your mom, the school, college recruiters.” He leaned forward slightly.
“I’m watching.”
He shook his head.
“You can’t slip.”
I wanted to rip out my ears at that point.
Look, I love coach, alright?
We all see him as a father on the team.
But sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who gets to sit and listen to all of this.
Because every time we have one, it just felt like my mom was taking out old batteries from a control button and putting in fresh ones.
And of course the school had been so thoughtful enough to take time out of their very busy schedules to send my biology result to my mom first, and then she’d called coach to organize a freaking pep talk.
Coach relaxed into his seat, and I could tell he was done with that segment.
“We’ve got Redwood in two weeks.”
Redwood.
Those arrogant maniacs from the next city.
“They’ve been training their asses off.
And I want you boys to keep that in mind when you practice.” Coach continued.
“I trust you with this team, Tyler.
And I want everyone else to understand why.”
I exhaled, not wanting to say anymore.
Then I stood.
“I’ll work on it.”
”On what?”
I swallowed, my gaze shifting to the door.
“Everything.”
Coach watched me for a moment, letting the silence sit between us.
Then he nodded slightly.
“Good.” He reached for his glasses again.
“Good luck.”