The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,20

tests and oral reports, and I did try, but when you just can’t get the written word, most of them let you slide by. I’m not dogging teachers. Our world needs good people who love kids—and they did care about me—but when you have a classroom of rowdy students and there’s that one kid who can’t focus, sit still, or read well, you do what you have to do.

“Ever consider a reading coach? I’ve heard of those before.” He scrolls on his laptop.

I can fucking read. It just takes me being in a quiet place with no distractions—and time. My finger spins the ring on my hand faster and faster. “I listen to the books on audio, but I…” I pause, again bemoaning the fact that I took this class. My eyes go to the window in his office as a bird flies by. A red cardinal. Do they mate for life? I wonder where that hawk is now…

“Your ADHD takes over, right? There are drugs.”

The meds make me dizzy. My parents tried them all. “They mess with my equilibrium. Not good for football,” I say curtly. He and I have been down this road before, and it ticks me off that I have to refresh him.

“Right. I knew that.” He leans back and considers me. “Let’s nix the student learning center. It’s a busy place, lots of people coming and going. You need quiet. No other people around to distract you. I suggest a private tutor. We have a list of students who do one-on-ones. They won’t do your work, but they’ll help. Take a look.” He prints out a list of names and slides it over to me.

Dread inches up my spine that I have to read this in front of him. My throat tightens, and the paper shakes as panic claws at me. Fuck. Focus. I inhale a deep breath and glance through the names, not really reading, then stop. The A at the beginning is branded in my brain. I trace my fingers over it. “I know this girl. Anastasia.”

“Excellent. She helped one of the tennis players last year when he was flunking biology. Also helped a volleyball player with algebra. She’s a natural.”

“She isn’t a fan of mine.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I thought everyone was a fan of yours.”

He hasn’t seen us…together. It’s like throwing water on a grease fire.

“I don’t want her to know about…” my issues.

He shrugs. “You want me to email her?”

My face flattens.

He exhales. “River, if you can’t get this grade up, you won’t be eligible to play next year. You need help with this class. And next time, take the classes I pick out for you.”

I sit there quietly, my jaw popping. Me and Anastasia. Working together. Probably in the library in one of those private rooms.

Alone.

Fuck no.

“Sound like a plan?” he says, extending a fist in my direction.

Edward says the same thing at the end of all his meetings. It’s his polite way of saying, ‘Now get the hell out of my office. I’m busy.’

“I’ll talk to her,” I say as I stand and return his fist bump.

But I know I won’t.

Can’t.

Mustn’t.

Shouldn’t.

6

“My brothers, your king has arrived!” I yell as I walk in the back door of the Kappa house a few hours later. I’ve decompressed from my meeting with Edward and I’ve talked to Mom. I’m loose and feeling good, especially after a workout with my guys and my second shower.

Music thumps from the speakers overhead, and I hear pledges yelling from various parts of the house as they greet me in the way they’ve been taught. “Welcome home, Mr. President! May we get you anything?”

“I’m good!” I shout back, smiling. Damn, I love pledges and the bonding experiences. Last week I gave them an exercise. You have twenty-four hours to bring a stick to the house. Whoever brings the smallest stick is fucked. Parker rolled in with a log on a tractor trailer. We gave him his own special recliner in the basement.

My freshman year, I was the “backpack pledge” and had to carry a kid’s SpongeBob Squarepants bag to class for an entire semester. It had to remain unzipped at all times. My brothers packed it full of condoms, KY jelly, and leaflets about safe sex. When I walked into class, people swarmed me. I probably saved hundreds from STDs and dry intercourse.

Crew was the “fruit pledge.” It started with taking grapes everywhere he went, like they were his baby. Oranges were next, then cucumbers,