Page 52 of Campus Muscle

“Don’t get used to it,” I said with a strained smile, hoping they’d let it go.

Ethan didn’t say a word, but he watched me intently, and his gaze lingered longer than the others. It sent a chill down my spine. I didn’t know if he was suspicious or just in the same boat with his courses.

“You’re ruining the fry strategy!” Malik said, instantly changing the topic.

The conversation picked back up with Connor and Lucas arguing over the fries, and Malik watching on with a knowing look. He had just saved me from a very awkward situation, and he did it with so much grace that no one picked up on it.

I zipped my bag shut and leaned back in the chair, trying my absolute best to look like I was still part of their lunch, but inside me something had already shifted. I knew he hadn’t just handed me a study guide. Whatever was in that envelope was far more unethical.

*

By the time we hit the field for practice, the envelope was burning into my back. I went through the warm-ups on autopilot with my body doing what it always did while my mind lingered on what had happened.

“Prescott! I need you to focus,” Coach called out.

I shook my head, hoping it would help. Then I reset the line, and the drill started. The ball was passed and handed off before I cut through the gap. I dodged one defender, lowered my shoulder into another and drove forward until Malik wrapped me up and forced me back.

“Again!” Coach said.

I pushed to my feet and reset, but even though my breathing was steady, my lungs felt as though they bracketed against every breath. We did the same play and had the same outcome, but this round my timing was off by half a beat, and the gap closed before I could hit it.

“Reset,” Coach demanded.

The rest of practice blurred into movement, with routes being called, and contact drills being perfected. The repetition stacked until my legs burned and my focus finally settled.

But it never fully stayed that way.

Every time I drifted, my mind circled back to the same thing: the envelope resting in my bag, and the answers I so desperately wanted.

By the time practice wound down, the sky had softened, and the guys peeled off in groups. They headed toward the locker room, and their voices were lighter now that the work was done. I didn’t follow them though, because I wanted to find Coach instead.

He stood near the sideline talking to Tara, but the conversation didn’t last too long. She quickly took off and left him alone, which gave me a chance to move in. I slowed my approach and stopped just short of entering his space.

I hesitated for a moment, thinking I should just leave it, but luckily the word came out on its own. “Coach?”

“Trace. What’s up?”

Once again I reconsidered it, but then I reminded myself that he was probably the only person who would understand my situation at this stage, and decided to push through with it. Coach was the closest thing I had to a role model at that point, and if anyone could help me, it would be him.

“Do you trust Frank Delaney?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted his stance and allowed his hands to rest on his hips while he looked over the empty field. I picked at my fingers as I backtracked yet again. Maybe I was wrong to talk to him. I had no right putting him on the spot. But just as I chose to turn, he spoke.

“That’s not a simple question.”

“I know,” I said honestly.

“Why are you asking?”

I rubbed the back of my neck and took a deep breath. “Because I don’t know if I should. Ask, I mean. Maybe it’s better if I just say nothing.”

That was enough for me to get all his attention. Coach’s expression tightened just enough for me to see the effect my words had, and a blaze ignited in his eyes. There was something there that had all my alarm bells going off but he wasn’t just going to tell me what it was. I’d need to find that out all on my own.

“Why? Has he asked you for something?”

“He’s trying to ‘help,’” I said, putting the word in air quotes.

“How?”