Since Forever

Chapter 5

Camden

"You're failing," our counselor, Mr. Wright, says to me, folding his hands together and leaning into the desk.

"It's barely the first month of school," I reply, falling back into my chair. It's the same shit every year. They monitor our grades like fucking prison guards, standing in their pristine tower waiting to shoot us down.

"I'm well aware of the timeline, Camden. Last year we let too much time pass and you nearly missed the beginning of the season. If it weren't for Ms. Sullivan creating that extra credit assignment for you, you would have found a new home on the bench."

Baseball. It always comes down to baseball. Don't get me wrong, I love the sport. Heck, the only reason I try at all in class is to be able to play. There's something about standing on that mound. It's more than the way everything else in my life fades away, it's a feeling of freedom.

But the only reason I'm sitting in this office getting the serious eye from Mr. Wright is because baseball is the air this town breathes. Since I'm the starting pitcher, it's his sole responsibility to make sure my ass is on that field opening day. Something our principal made glaringly clear when I nearly failed Creative Writing last year.

"So, if I don't bring my grades up, I'll do another extra credit assignment. It's not a big deal." I shrug, playing it off as exactly what it is. They won't let me miss a single game. He knows it just as well as I do.

He reaches for his glasses, pulling them slowly from his face before setting them gently on the desk in front of him. He takes one long breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it and leveling me with a look.

"Listen, I'm going to be frank with you. You've been handed a lot of favors since you started here. Favors that not everyone is privy to. But Mr. Farris is not one for favors. His grades are final. You fail his class, you won't be starting the spring semester on the field."

"You really think anyone here will let that slide?"

"This is your senior year, Mr. Beck. Next year is college. I know your talent will get you places, but grades still matter. I've been telling you this for years. You want to go to your top pick, you will have to bring your grades up."

He's not fucking wrong. I know because it's the same shit Jare always hounded me on. And to be honest, grades were never really an issue. Not until last year when Ms. Sullivan's Creative Writing class bit me in the ass. To see the way the school jumped into action to help me bring my grade up was almost comical.

This year it's chemistry. A foreign fucking language. I've always been good at math. Balancing a formula is just math, right? Wrong. It's a puzzle built to tear down the underqualified and call out the weak.

"You might want to consider a tutor," he continues. "We've got a program here at Vista with plenty of qualified—"

"No thanks," I cut him off, sitting up in my chair and standing to leave.

"Camden—"

"Bring my grade up," I acknowledge. "Got it. I'll work on it."

He stands, dropping his head to the side as I sling my backpack over my shoulder. "This is serious. It could affect not only your playing time this year but your choice in college."

"Yep, I got it. No failing the semester." I offer a frantic salute on my way out, catching a glimpse of his small eye roll.

Well, this fucking sucks. I'm not failing on purpose. I'm completing the homework, haven't missed a day, minus the tardies, and I am actually trying. It's the damn quizzes that don't make a lick of sense.