SOPHIE BROOKS:
Party, hook-up, hangover, repeat.
I don't do rules, responsibility, or monogamy.
So when the chance to sleep with the hottest Olympian swimmer in the country presents itself, you can be damn sure I take it.
And sneak out before he wa...
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"Do better, Sennels."
I've almost fallen asleep when a stack of papers is slapped down in front of me. I lift my gaze from the table, following the back of my professor as he moves along, handing back papers to my classmates.
This class is seriously boring. I glance down at the table, my eyes drawn to the big red F at the top of the first sheet of paper.
Shit.
I thought this had been okay, but apparently not. The coaches won't be happy about this.
I stuff it in my backpack before any of the students sitting beside me can catch a glimpse. So far, I've been able to keep the fact that I'm failing an embarrassing secret.
I'm getting by in my other classes. Maybe because the subjects make more sense to me, or perhaps because my professors give athletes too much slack. Who knows?
What I do know is that choosing a history class for my second senior year was idiotic. I thought it would be an excuse to sleep in the back of the lecture hall or maybe even skip the classes altogether, but no. This professor takes his job very seriously, and he doesn't like athletes.
Or maybe he just doesn't like me.
That's probably more likely.
I sigh, bending my neck to hide the blush creeping up my neck. I know I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. I've always known that, and it was just emphasized when I befriended Davis freshman year. The guy is a freaking genius.
But I've never felt quite as dumb as I do in this class. The professor is a dick, berating me in front of the others, and I keep failing, despite putting more effort into this class than any of the others.
But come on. History is fucking boring.
When the class ends, I hike my bag over my shoulder and hightail it out of there. I avoid the gaze of any of my classmates and flee.
Normally one failed class wouldn't be this bad. I could just shrug it off, head to the pool, and prove myself in that water.
But that isn't really working for me at the moment.
Lately, it seems small fires are burning all over my life.
The first flame was lit when Antonella announced her move. But I had a plan; go pro and get custody. I could manage that one tiny fire.
Then came the Olympic final. Another fire broke out, bigger this time. But I would go back to college and figure shit out.
Except, I didn't. I came back, and yet, nothing has been figured out.
Then I started failing this class, and paired with my already borderline grades; it began threatening my place on the team.
Performing like a housecat thrown into a tub of water at practice isn't exactly helping, either.
