Chapter Twenty-One
Finals made it hard to do anything but study. During the history final, Dr. Monroe slipped me a note requesting my presence in his office later in the afternoon. Finishing the test was damn near impossible, but I did it with time to spare. Instead of handing it in right away and bolting, my usual MO, I took Mallory’s advice and reviewed a few of the harder questions. My mind refused to remember when Nixon resigned, and I doubted it was 1963.
I handed in my test, getting the stink eye from the good prof, and strolled out of the room knowing I had a passing grade on the final, even if it was a barely passing grade. My paper was another story. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted Mallory.
Monroe wants to see me.
She didn’t respond, so I decided the best thing to do was get a late lunch and pretend the appointment didn’t exist. The student union was empty except for a few people huddled over their books and laptops at individual tables. I had a Business Ethics final the next day, then my semester was over.
I sat at the usual spot with a plate full of fries and a burger so greasy it soaked the bun. A celebratory piece of perfection. Mixing the ketchup and mayo on my plate with an extra long fry, I lost my thoughts in the red and white swirls turning pink.
Regardless of whether or not I passed history, the semester was over. It was a huge relief.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Trish’s voice rubbed against me like a cheese grater.
I shook my head and kept swirling the fry in the ketchup/mayo mix. Maybe if I ignored her long enough, she’d go away. Trish and I had shared so much, but I didn’t know this girl sitting across from me. Her makeup was too heavy, her clothes too tight, and her eyes too dull. The Trish I knew barely wore makeup, dressed conservatively, and her eyes were bright lights on a dark night.
“Look, I know things are…tense between us, but I was hoping we could ride back home together.” She drummed her nails against the table, each beat making my food less appetizing. “Daddy would appreciate not having to drive to get me.”
“What’s wrong with your car?” I slapped my hands together to get the salt off my fingertips.
Trish slumped in her seat, looking more worn down than I’d ever seen her. “Stupid thing’s in the shop again. You’d think after all the recalls I’d have a completely new car by now.”
A small chuckle escaped. Her father bought her a brand-new car when we left for college. It was a first model year, so it had a ton of recalls over the last three years.
“So, what do you say? Can I hitch a ride?” Her fake charming smile wasn’t going to work on me, but her father was a good man.
“Maybe.”
“Need the girlfriend’s permission first?” She pinched her nose. “Sorry.”
“S’kay. But, yeah, out of respect for Mallory’s feelings, I should clear it with her.” I grabbed my tray and headed toward the trash. Half of the burger had gone cold, and my appetite had disappeared along with the heat. I shoved the tray into the trash, shaking the wasted food free.
“You’re kidding, right?” Her shock made me smile.
“Nope.” I set the tray on top of the trashcan. Mallory entered the student union just then. I waved her over with a smile.
“I’m sorry. I… That was uncalled for.” Trish’s gazed darted to Mallory. “Dad would appreciate it if you’d help him out.”
Mallory stopped beside me and I put my arm over her shoulder. “Yeah, okay. As long as Mallory’s cool with it, I’ll take you home.”
Trish turned her wide eyes toward Mallory. My girlfriend glanced at me, confusion covering her face.
“Yeah, sure. I guess,” Mallory said, her gaze steady on me. “He’s going that way anyway.”
“Thank you,” Trish said. She squeezed Mallory’s arm. “I really appreciate it. And so will Dad.”
Mallory waited until Trish was long out of earshot before rounding on me. “What was that?”
“What? I wasn’t going to say yes unless you were okay with it,” I said.
Mallory shook her head. “That wasn’t fair. You never should’ve put me in that position. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. It was…whatever. It’s done.” She glanced at her watch. “Don’t you have to get to Monroe’s office?”
I grabbed her wrist and checked the time. It was ten till. “Shit. Yes. And I’m sorry. I thought… I didn’t want to piss you off by saying yes to her, but I did it anyway.” I kissed Mallory’s forehead. “I am sorry.”
Mallory nodded, but a haunted look filled her eyes. I’d have to make this one up to her big time.
I knocked on Dr. Monroe’s door at four sharp. The man hated it when people were tardy for class; I could only imagine how pissed he’d be if someone he’d summoned was late.
“Enter,” he ordered.
I pushed the door open and stepped into an office the size of a walk-in closet and filled from floor to ceiling with books. Some were old and others had shiny new covers. Monroe sat behind his desk with his head down and a pencil in his hand. He scribbled something onto the blue book flattened on his coffee-stained calendar. Even from the door, I could see all the red ink splashed like blood over that single page. I prayed it wasn’t mine.
“Sit.” He pointed to the lone empty chair in front of his desk. The one beside it was filled with dusty volumes of worn leather books.
I eased into the hard wooden seat, and my mind shifted from the problem before me to Mallory. She’d love this office with all the historical texts and the musty smell of old books. For a moment, I could imagine her sitting across from me.
Dr. Monroe looked up from his grading and glared. He tilted his head to the left, then to the right. “Mr. Betts, I must admit your paper was impressive.” He reached down behind the desk and lifted a leather messenger bag onto his lap. I waited while he dug around and found my now crumpled paper. He set it on his desk, smoothing out the pages. “Now, when I first read this, I concluded someone else must have written it for you.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he held his finger to shut me up. “In fact, I’d held onto the notion until you turned in your final. Surprise is not quite the right word, but it will have to do in this case.” He slid the test back to me and dropped my paper on top.
I reached for them, half afraid of what I’d find. In the upper left side of the paper was a scratched out F, beside it was an A. I shuffled the final to the top and opened the bluebook to find a B. My grin made my cheeks ache.
“Based on the style of your test, you wrote that paper, Mr. Betts. While I’m not 100 percent certain it deserved the A, your work ethic shows a clear academic progression. Hiring Miss Fine as a tutor was probably one of your wisest decisions.” Dr. Monroe slapped the worn vinyl arms of his chair as he leaned back. The squeak sent a shudder down my spine. “History is to be learned from as well as to learn. It is not common knowledge on this campus, but I believe this is something you should know.”
I felt a long story coming on and extended my legs in front of me. The tightness in my muscles welcomed the stretch.
“When I was your age, I played triple-A baseball.”
“Seriously?” The question shot from my mouth like an aboriginal dart.
“Yes, quite seriously. About a week before Labor Day, I got the call.” His eyes glazed over as he went back to that time. “Being there was a dream come true. The lights of Fulton County Stadium were never brighter. I stayed with the team for three days, never making it out of the bullpen, before I was sent back to the minors.”
“Wow. I never…” Even the idea that this man played pro ball struck me as incredible. Looking at him now, I could see only the snooty old professor.
Dr. Monroe smiled, something else I never expected. “Most people wouldn’t guess. I blew out my elbow before the season was over and that ended my career.” Monroe sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “My point is you already know your body is fragile, Aaron. At any moment, your baseball career could end. Just be prepared for the moment it does, and you’ll be fine.”
“Do you think…do you think I can make it out of the minors? Can I get to the Show?”
“Yes.” He smiled even brighter. “I’ve never missed a game, and you’re better than you realize. You have doubts?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I mean a lot of guys toil away for decades in AAA. The chance to play in the Majors is slim. I’d do anything to get there.”
“Sounds logical.” Monroe nodded. “But sometimes life requires us to be illogical. You’ve got the skills. You just need the same determination you used to get the grade you earned. But you must be prepared if you don’t make it. And you’re right. The percentage of guys who do against guys who don’t…” Monroe tapped the table. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got more finals to grade. Good luck, Mr. Betts.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I hurried out of his tiny office and closed the door quietly behind me. The fresh scent of disinfectant washed away the musty books from Monroe’s world. I replayed the conversation in my mind as I left the building and headed back toward the dorms. It was almost four thirty when my stomach growled. The too-greasy burger had stolen my appetite, but it was back tenfold. As soon as I got to my room, I grabbed a protein bar from my desk and a bottle of water from the fridge. My phone vibrated in my pocket as I finished the last chug of water.
What did Monroe want?
I read the text after fishing my phone out.
You’re fired.
I smiled as I hit send, knowing she’d take it the wrong way.
What? Don’t tell me you failed.
How about I tell you over dinner?
Sure. What time do you want to come over?
I almost typed “now” but thought better of it. I didn’t want to celebrate passing my hardest class at Mallory’s house.
I’ll pick you up in thirty. We’ll go out.
It took her several minutes to respond, but when she did, I wasn’t sure what was going on.
Like a real date?
I smiled.
We’ve never actually had a real date, so yeah.
At least tell me where we’re going so I know how to dress.
The best place for a romantic meal to celebrate our success was Peking Palace. But she might prefer something low-key like O’Malley’s.
Wear whatever you want to define our plans. Then I’ll pick a place.
We were celebrating in style tonight.