Dirty Curve

by Meagan Brandy

Tobias

Anatomy. What a fuckin’ joke. This course was supposed to be my free pass, my easy A. My ‘show up late, leave early, do whatever the fuck I want’ class. I mean, come on! It’s anatomy. I know everything there is to know about the human body. I know what makes it tick, how to bring it to the edge and keep it there, teetering, shivering, just before it shatters. I know the human body. This shit, though? Who the fuck is Vesalius?

Positions? I know them well—horizontal, vertical, a ninety-degree angle, bent over a stadium seat. Give me an hour with a gymnast and I’ll invent some never before attempted shit, but distal and proximal? The fuck?

I was only allowed to practice but not play that first season, so that’s what I did. I practiced every fucking day, three times a day, with and without the team. Their then main man knew instantly what was coming, so he did what any smart ballplayer would do and transferred out before his spot on the roster shifted from starting to relief pitcher.

Once the season’s over, I’ll finally be eligible for the draft, and I will be drafted. No damn doubt. Which is why this tutoring bull, while extremely nauseating and sure to be a horrible fucking time, not to mention time suck, is annoyingly necessary. Pretty sure Coach said that, too.

“Tell me this is a joke?” a girl hisses.

“I have other students. I am a student. I have another job, and I have—”

“Priority, wow.” The girl’s voice drops, a little more desperate. “This is the last thing I would have expected.”

A chortled laugh follows, and it’s not a happy one. “I can’t tutor Tobias Cruz.”

Let’s hear it, girl.

“I don’t ask anything of you, but I’m asking you to assign him to another person. Please.”

A gasp yanks me from my thoughts, and I turn to find a chick with a messy ball of hair on her head staring at me, her neck stretched so she can peek out of Coach’s office, body still tucked inside. “Did I say that out loud?” Grinning, I kick off the wall and step forward, but she doesn’t straighten where she stands and serve me her sassiest of smiles. She doesn’t slide farther into the hall and wait for me to come closer or make her way to me.

I put on my best grin and wait for her head to shoot up as she grows closer, for her to peek up at me, flutter her lashes, and apologize for trying to pawn me off, then beg me to let her make it up to me by going down, but she doesn’t do any of those things either. She walks on by, like nothing. Doesn’t try and rub up on me. Doesn’t linger, hoping I’ll grace her with more, be it a quick conversation or impromptu invitation. The girl doesn’t even look my way and then she’s gone.

The fuck just happened here?

Tobias

“Sorry about that. I was hoping to talk to her before you got here, but I forget your internal clock is like an old man’s and you show up a half hour early everywhere you go.” “Yeah.” I frown, subconsciously glancing toward the hall again. “It’s all good, Coach. She, uh, seems like fun.” When I face forward, I find him frowning in my direction, and my lips pull to one side. “Not my fault you read that wrong. Thinking with the head on my shoulders, swear.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, you better be, and don’t worry, she’ll do what she’s told.” “You sure? ‘Cause that sounded like a case of coercion and I didn’t catch the submission part.”

“Why did she take off?” His eyes snap to mine. “What?” “Coach, she legit ran the fuck out. Didn’t say a word to me.” Coach Reid looks to the side as he grabs his keys from the drawer. “What she lacks in social skills, the girl makes up for in brains. That’s all you need to know.” A frown creeps over my face. “All right.” “All right,” he echoes. “Now go, but no calling me to clean up any messes,” the man jokes. “Yeah, you look like you could use a couple days of sleep.” “I’ll sleep in July when the season’s over.” “And I’m on my way to spring training.”

Our place is nice, low key, and we work hard to keep it that way. It’s a three-bedroom bachelor pad directly across from campus, courtesy of Coach Reid, who happens to be the athletic director here at AU, and the man who gave my life purpose when I had none. It’s a real sweet setup with all-expenses paid and a jacuzzi out back. He hooked me up with the spot when I accidentally got myself in a sticky situation that was against frat house rules—who knew the handbook clearly stated, in big ass bold letters, that bikini-Jell-O wrestling wasn’t allowed on campus? Not me, that’s for damn sure. Now, though, we’re in the clear and taking recommendations for this year’s contenders at our annual Memorial Day Jell-O Jamboree.

Having no financial burdens allows me to do that, it’s part of the reason he’s asked me not to accept any sponsorship offers. He says they always ask for more and what I can give is already limited to near nothing. I can’t afford to put my energy anywhere else, and he understands that more than anyone. He’d probably pay someone to do my work for me too if there was a way to go about it that didn’t involve bringing someone else in, and that’s just too risky. It’s like I said, Coach always knows best. He also knows without me, his entire program would be fucked. No joke.

See, I’m a pitcher. The pitcher. Number one in the country, that is, as far as college ball is concerned. I hold the record for the most consecutive strikes thrown and am one of the few pitchers at the D1-level who doesn’t use a designated hitter.

Bottom line, the team needs me, the school wants me, and coach fought damn hard to get me, so if there’s ever a pass to be given, it’s mine. If you ask the world around me, I’m handed things on a silver fucking platter with a side of ass-kissing. Guess the day in, day out ache in my muscles from over-exertion means nothing.

I pull my phone from my pocket and open up the message Coach sent to me with my tutor’s email address, quickly jumping over to the other two messages now lighting up the screen, one from Melanie and the other from Vivian ... who is sitting on the couch in my living room. I lift my eyes to Echo, showing him my screen, and he chuckles. “Fuckin’ knew she was waiting on you,” he says quietly. “Neo’s been laying it on thick, but that girl has yet to bite.” “Funny, as far as I remember, she’s fond of biting.” My mouth lifts in the corner. “You gonna take her up on her offer?” I nod, knowing I likely will. Echo shakes his head, smiling like a dick. “You better be careful with that one or she’s gonna think you like her.” “I like her.”

Meyer

I’ve shared with her what I could never tell anyone else, but where she holds nothing back from me, I have had to keep a couple details to myself. I love and trust her, but when you’re at war with your own decisions, it’s not smart to share your sword. “I don’t know how I’ll get through this year, let alone another one.” I swallow my sigh. “I’m already exhausted and we’re still in the first part of the semester. It’s only going to get worse.”

Bianca winks when a soft hum calls for me. I pull myself up, walk toward that tiny room in the corner, and slowly push the door the rest of the way open. My gloomy mood disappears instantly, and I step inside with a smile that matches the one staring back at me. “Hi, baby girl.”

Tobias

So, yeah. I’m feeling good ... that is until I’ve reached the top step of the stairs leading to the library, and no messy-looking bun is in sight. Stuffing the last bite of my breakfast burrito into my mouth, I look at my watch, and a frown builds along my forehead. Okay, to be fair, it’s seven fifteen as of this second. Technically, I’m exactly on time when I should have been earlier, but my body felt good this morning, so I went for those two extra miles.

His face is a little tenser, a bit more focused, and a lot more tell me she’s not spending hours alone with this god of a guy. It all becomes clear right then and there. He shakes his head. “She never works before twelve and she would never miss an appointment.” My left brow lifts slightly, and I grin. “She your girl?” His white skin turns as pink as his polo, and he defends, “no!” “But you want her to be.” “She’s my friend, that’s all,” he swears, as if it really matters. “I bet you’ve got your friend’s number.” I cock my head and I think he might be ready to hyperventilate. “Can you tell her to come here, now? I need—” Shit. I can’t tell him and risk my eligibility. “I need to talk to her. Quick.”

“Sorry, Tobias, but you’ll need to come back this afternoon, and even then, it might be hard. She doesn’t work in the office, only comes in to print and grab things. I can email her and ask her to get in touch with you, but that’s all I can do.” “Yeah.” I shake my head slowly. “That’s not gonna work for me, my man. Can you write her number down for me?”

“I can’t give out her personal information. Her preference is set as email. I can offer you that, but like I said, her mornings are blocked out. No tutoring. No—” I tsk with my tongue. “Look” —I glance at his name badge, reading Jonny— “Jonny Boy, I need...

And Tobias Cruz wins again. I snatch it up, pointing on my way out. “Thanks, Jonny Boy.” Outside, I send a text to my tutor. Me: It’s Tobias. I’ve been waiting, Tutor Girl. Where you at? I stare at my phone and then stare some more. I scroll up, make sure it was sent, double-check the number, and then lift my phone in the air just in case. Nothing happens. A full minute passes and still, no text back. What’s that about? Did I pay my phone bill? Yup, I did. Coach responded instantly, like he’s supposed to. Like they all do.

“Cruz.” “Yeah, sorry.” I face forward. “I got it, but I think it’s the wrong number.” There’s some shifting before he speaks again. “Why do you say that?” “She didn’t respond and it’s been ...” I look to my screen. “Almost five minutes. Weird, right?” “Five whole minutes, huh, kid?” He chuckles. “Why’d you need her so early, you have a test today or something?” “Nah, no test.” I run my fingertips over my fade. “She sorta … has my work.” “... what do you mean she has your work?” When I don’t respond, he sighs into the line. “Damn it, Tobias.” A sour tang coats my mouth, and I squint at the sun. “Sorry, Coach.”

I hang up and walk off with an extra pep in my giant ass step. I knew Coach would have my back. He always does. Strike one, little tutor.

Meyer

I close my eyes for a single deep breath, wishing for a moment of calm, but the twenty seconds of silence I’ve had in the last thirty hours is interrupted by a buzzing sound. With a sigh, I set the pouring cup in the sink, and slide over to where my phone is plugged into the charger. There are dozens of missed calls and texts, several from Tobias, one from Bianca, and another from Garret Jones.

It’s easy to see where he went from semi-normal human to egomaniac—four minutes and three texts in. I definitely can’t handle the heavy that comes along with him right now, not when I’m running on no sleep and a few spoonfuls of peanut butter.

Next, I pull up Garret’s message, but right as I start typing, the phone rings and I accidentally answer, freezing when a deep voice begins to speak. Crapola! Squeezing my eyes shut, I lift it to my ear. “Are you trying to lose this job, Meyer? Because as you know, I can make that happen.” I hate when he threatens my position like this, as if I didn’t get this tutoring job on my own merit, but being he pulled me into his department, he does now have complete control over my main source of income. Keep your claws sharp but hidden. “I only had two appointments today and both were rescheduled last night.” “Cut the shit, Meyer, all right? You know exactly what I’m talking about. You listen good, when Tobias Cruz calls, answer. If he texts, respond. Wants an impromptu session, make it happen.” “You act like I’m the one who canceled our first session, and I didn’t even know he tried to call until five minutes ago.”

“Do we hear each other?” I flick my gaze to the ceiling. “Yes, Coach.” He’s silent a moment before speaking again. “Good.” “I’ll call him and tell him you’re ill, just this once, and you will get a hold of him tomorrow.”

Bailey wheezes from the living room, a cry from the pain her barky little cough causes her inflamed airway following. My sick baby girl.

I ease myself onto the bed beside where she lies and lift her into my arms, rocking her as she cries into my ear. She’s barely able to keep her eyes open, she’s so restless. Poor thing can’t stop coughing long enough to truly sleep. I hug her to me and take a deep breath. School and work can wait. She’s all that matters. Exhaustion be damned.

Tobias

“You’re a dick, gettin’ some poor chick in trouble. You should have just sat down with her and knocked it out.” “Yeah, I’m gettin’ that now.” I frown ahead. “Did you even ask her to do your shit for you or did you tell her to?” “Same shit, man. It’s her job to make sure I pass, and I won’t pass without my work.” I chuckle, but Echo doesn’t follow, so I turn off my treadmill and face him.

“It’s being handled, and as far as the draft, we’re fuckin’ golden.” I step closer, widening my eyes. “We got years of this shit ahead of us, on the same team, if these scouts know what’s good for them. Dynamic fucking duo, bro. It’s me and you.” I nod, my grin growing, but he’s not biting on my chill pill and pops off again. “That’s the shit I’m talking about, Cruz.” He shakes his head, stuck in his. “Anything can happen today, tomorrow—nothing’s for fucking certain. Nothing. It’s time to get shit straight and at least pretend baseball might not be around forever.” He backs away, grabs his shit and heads for the exit, but not before he adds, “The season is all we have right now, so don’t fuck it up.”

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Baseball’s all there is. All that matters.

I’ve got this. I won’t fucking fail.

“You’re failing.” Coach Reid glares. Fuck. “I wouldn’t say I’m failing.” I grin. “I might be behind by a week or two, but Coach—” “You’re sitting Friday’s game.”

“Come again, Coach? Shower must have gotten water in my ears or something, ‘cause no way I heard you right.” I shake my head, adding to my own bullshit and sending the remnant droplets from my hair flying all over. He leans forward, unfazed. “It’s been two weeks and you haven’t met with that tutor of yours yet. Why?” “Haven’t needed to.” He nods. “Interesting, because I got an email from your professor that says you never made up the assignments you missed. You know, the ones that I promised him you would when I covered for your ass two weeks ago?” “I’m playing on Friday, Coach.” He lifts his chin, clicking and unclicking his pen. “Your grade’s at a sixty-six percent, you have to have at least a seventy to hit the field. You know this. My team, my standards.”

“You’d sit me, Coach?” He hesitates a second, then narrows his eyes. “Get the shit done, son, and get it in so you can be on that field.” “It’s Wednesday.” “I’m aware.” “That only gives me tonight to do it, and tomorrow to turn ‘em in.” “That’s right.” He nods. “Don’t worry. I’ve made it clear your professors are to grade everything immediately and make the necessary updates. All you gotta do is get the work in by noon.” “You said professors.” “I did.” He glares. “Says here not only are you struggling in anatomy, but you’re failing history and you bombed your English essay.” “Don’t plan on becoming a teacher.” “You plan on finishing the season on the field or the bench?” he counters. “You know, once you get below a certain point, my hands are tied.”

My senior year of high school, my parents dropped a bomb; they decided they wouldn’t allow me to use the college savings they set up for me a decade earlier if I went as an athlete. They knew that was all I wanted, and my grades wouldn’t get me a scholarship, so that was how they intended to trap me into a life they wanted for me.

I was on the brink of expulsion, at risk of failing my senior year. That’s when Coach Reid showed up. He offered me a branch no one else was willing to give me, not even my parents, and I grabbed onto that bitch at the root. He had my back when everyone in my life had turned theirs, my parents included, and he’s been here for me ever since, even when I didn’t deserve him to be.