Cheap Shot

five: max

MAX

Wes stumbled - yes, literally stumbled - into class halfway through our lecture.

Professor Davis was frustratingly boring as she read directly from her PowerPoint presentation when Wes pushed the door to class open as if he was doing his best Hulk impersonation. Development psychology was in a moderately sized classroom; big enough that, if you did show up late to a lecture, you could still sneak your way in relatively unnoticed. It wasn't a hard thing to do. To enter as dramatically as Wes had done seemed like more of a challenge.

The door flew open and Wes walked in, an apologetic smile on his face that had no chance of standing up to the daggers Professor Davis was shooting him. For someone who was an athlete, I had never seen a better display of clumsiness than when Wes tripped on his untied shoe laces and barely caught himself from tumbling straight to the ground.

I could barely contain my laughter as he slid into the seat next to me, keeping his head ducked down to avoid the death glare Davis was sending him. Professor Davis didn't deduct points for missing class or showing up late, but I bet she was seriously considering changing her policy now.

"That's why you shouldn't walk around with untied laces," I said quietly, biting my lip to keep from smiling. "Helps avoids incidents like that."

I hadn't actually seen Wes since our conversation in the library and when he dropped the bomb of his bet idea on me, but I wasn't ready to bring up that topic of conversation. I had pretty much made up my mind after talking to Sofia - who adamantly pushed yes as much as she could - but I still had doubt lingering in the back of my mind.

Wes leaned over and turned my laptop in his direction, reading the notes I had taken. "That's profound, really," he mumbled, copying what I had written onto his own document. "Have you thought about changing your blog from ripping athletes apart to life advice?"

Any conversation about my blog was inevitably going to lead into a conversation about his bet, so I kept my mouth shut at Wes's remark. I had walked to class knowing that it was going to end with a conversation where I told him my decision, but actually doing that was proving more difficult than I imagined.

I turned my laptop back towards me, quickly copying down what was on the PowerPoint. I stretched out my stiff legs and winced in pain, slowly easing them back into their position under my desk. It had started snowing this morning, which was earlier than the weathermen had been predicting, but not surprising considering North Dakota snowed more than anything else. The only problem was that the snow made my knee hurt worse than it typically did, and the pain was not taking it easy on me currently.

I reached down and rubbed my knee, digging my fingers into the long-healed scar tissue. It had been years and the scar had long faded to a small, jagged white line, but sometimes I swore I could feel the same pain I felt my first day post-op. My surgeon assured me it was normal, but that didn't really make it much better.

My head snapped up as Wes turned my laptop towards himself again, but began typing - uninvited, might I add - onto my document. I slapped his hand away and pulled my laptop closer to me, rolling my eyes when he snickered loudly.

Pay attention so I can keep copying your notes please

I snorted and deleted what he had typed. Looking up at the PowerPoint and back down at my notes, I had fallen behind enough that it didn't really matter at this point. I was going to have to spend the night catching up on what I missed, but class was almost over, my leg had fallen into a dull, consistent pain, and I couldn't find it in myself to care as much as I should have.

"I said please," Wes whispered, tapping his pen against my desk and tracing invisible shapes. "I'm pretty sure saying please means you have to do what I asked, otherwise me inevitably failing this class kinda falls on your shoulders."