Читать книгу Her Secret, His Child - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

“WE’D LIKE YOU to make things a little easier on him.”

Pulling off his glasses, Kyle peered up at the coach standing in the doorway of his office. For a Monday, the day was going stereotypically true to form.

“You want me to doctor his grade.”

Coach Lippert, the head coach of Gunnison’s football team, slipped his bulky frame into the room and closed the door.

“Brad Miller’s good. Better than good.”

Kyle nodded. He could appreciate that. Talent was a valuable commodity. As was integrity.

“He’s star material. Scouts are already looking at him. Another year at the university and he’s sure to get the offer of a lifetime.” Coach Lippert came closer, leaning his beefy hands on Kyle’s desk.

“I hope he gets it.”

“He’s already on academic probation. If he doesn’t pass your lit class, he’s out.”

“I’ve offered to tutor him.”

“Come on, Professor.” Coach Lippert pushed away from the desk. “The boy shows up for every class. He attempts all the homework. And he’s still failing. You really think a little tutoring’s gonna help?”

Kyle shrugged. “I can only give him the grade he earns.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.” The coach paced in front of Kyle’s desk, his shoulders bunched until his neck disappeared beneath a face getting redder by the minute. “Your tests are mostly essay questions, they’re subjective. You control the grades.”

“On the basis of preset criteria.”

“But it’s your opinion as to whether or not he meets those criteria.”

“To date, Brad Miller hasn’t met any of them. If he reads this stuff at all—” Kyle held up a copy of Twain’s Huckleberry Finn “—he doesn’t comprehend a single sentence.”

“It’s a little late in the boy’s life to be diagnosing reading disorders, Professor. All he needs is one more semester. Two at the most, and he’s home free. Without football he doesn’t have a hope in hell of making something of himself.”

“Most of the essay questions are also discussed in class. If he can’t figure out what a novel or a poem’s about, he could learn it in class.”

The coach slammed his palm against Kyle’s desk. “You’re not going to budge on this, are you?”

“I’ll tutor him. Every afternoon if you like.”

“He’s got a workout schedule!”

“I guess he needs to decide what’s most important.”

“To Brad Miller, football is the most important. It’s all he knows. And that’s what bugs you, isn’t it?” There was a sneer on Coach Lippert’s face as he headed for the door. “You’re so caught up in your fairy tales you can’t stand it that someone else doesn’t love your imaginary people as much as you do.”

Steepling his fingers across his chest, Kyle half smiled. “I can’t stand it that a poor boy has an opportunity to get a fully funded college education and is gaining nothing more than what he knew before he came here—football.”

With a few choice words, Coach Lippert wrenched open the door, then slammed it behind him.

Kyle picked up his glasses and carefully positioned them across the bridge of his nose, glad no one could see how his hands were trembling.

NERVOUS, JAMIE knocked on the door of Ashley’s classroom early Monday morning. The kids were all in another room for story time, and Miss Peters had suggested this might be a good moment for her and Jamie to talk.

“Come in, Ms. Archer.” A warm smile on her face, Miss Peters ushered Jamie over to the art center. “Hope you don’t mind sitting on a table,” she said, perching on the corner of one herself. “The chairs are all a bit small in here.”

Attempting a grin, Jamie sat. Even at table level, her knees were hugging her chest.

“Ashley told me about Nathan,” she said in a rush, determined to meet the situation head-on. “And I’m really sorry she’s so rigid in her expectations. But I’ll work with her.”

“So you know she slapped him?” The compassion on Miss Peters’s face was the only thing that kept Jamie from sliding right off her seat.

“Slapped him?” she squeaked out. “You mean as in hitting another little child?”

Jamie’s heart caught in her throat as Miss Peters nodded.

“Is he hurt?”

“Not really,” the preschool teacher said. “She hit him hard enough to leave red fingerprints on his face, but they were gone by lunchtime.”

“I can’t believe it!” Jamie felt light-headed, confused. Scared. “I’ve never hit Ashley in her life.”

“I wasn’t sure...”

Eyes open wide, Jamie stared at the other woman. “Never!” After the way she’d grown up, Jamie could hardly bear to speak harshly to her daughter, let alone spank her. Had never needed to. “Ashley’s been a model child,” she added. “Loving. Almost too good.”

“I must say I was quite surprised.”

“What’d you do to her?”