the hook-up. {ethma}

chapter 19

AN: HI HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE. LOVE U ALL 💓

ethan dolan

WHEN I ENTERED college my choice of major wasn't a pressing issue. Truthfully, I could have coasted by on a General Education track, doing the minimum requirements, and no one would have batted an eye. Not that I asked; the point was made extremely clear to me. And I made it extremely clear that I didn't want that kind of ride. It went against everything my parents taught me. Granted, I chose English Lit because I'd been raised on it, and I knew it would be easier for me. Football is a full-time job, and I needed every advantage to hold my head above water when it came to academics.

But I work my ass off and manage to maintain a 4.0 grade point average. I am proud of that. Even so, I am looking forward to graduation. Endless studying and too little sleep are getting to me.

In point of fact, my eyelids grow heavy and my head wants to fall forward as my Literature in Film professor drones on about the differences between A Room With a View the movie and the novel. I take deep breaths, try to clear my head, but the stuffy room isn't helping.

The end of class can't come soon enough. I eye the clock as Professor Gephard hands back the quiz we had last week. An honest to God quiz. Like we're still in high school. I'd wanted to laugh when he gave it to us.

"Good work, Mr. Dolan," Gephard says as the quiz lands on my desk. 100 points. Perfect score.

I've been acing this class. Frankly, it's easy and I like the material.

I give him a nod, my eyes scanning the quiz for lack of anything better to do, when I see a mistake. Rubbing my eyes, I read it over again. Yep, I'd answered question number 10 incorrectly.

Hanging back until everyone clears out, I head to Gephard's desk. He looks up as I approach.

"How can I help you, Mr. Dolan?"

"There's a mistake on my quiz, Professor. I have the wrong answer for number 10." I point to the question. "It ought to be Charlotte Bartlett, not Freddy Honeychurch."

Gephard doesn't even glance at the paper but blinks up at me as though I'm speaking gibberish. The back of my neck goes hot. It's just one stupid question. I shouldn't push it. But it bothers me all the same.

I point to the page again. "I wrote that Freddy told Mr. Emerson about Lucy breaking off her engagement with Cecil. But it was Charlotte."

Smiling, Gephard puts his palm over the quiz and slides it back to me. "It was obvious you'd read the work thoroughly, Mr. Dolan. I saw no reason to mark you down for a simple mistake."

Something thick and ugly bolts through my gut. "But I got it wrong."

"Yes, however, it was clear you knew the answer. The fact that you were able to discover the error tells me as much." He smiles again. "Excellent game last week, by the way. Took my granddaughter to see you play."

A pulse starts throbbing at the base of my neck. "That's great..." I look down at the big red 100 scrawled over the top of my quiz. "Are you telling me that when a student answers a question incorrectly, you ignore it if you know they've 'read the work thoroughly?'"

His smile slips a little. "You are an A student. Top of this class."

Bile burns up my throat. I swallow it down but can't control the way my heart is now pounding. "Did I get there on my own, or did I have help?"

Gephard sits up straight, his mouth thinning into a purple line. "Just what are you implying, Mr. Dolan?"

"I'm not implying anything," I say evenly, as though I don't want to grab hold of his lumpy wool sweater and shake him until his dentures rattle. "I am asking if you make the same allowances for the rest of my classmates."