Page 50 of The Backup Plan
Five weeks into the semester, she had six more days to drop theory and small ensemble without penalty.
She could drop classes online and not see her advisor. No one had to declare a minor, so she didn’t have to visit her advisor and un-declare it. Whatever Justin said, she was not barging back into Professor Scheer’s office until they figured a few things out.
No one back home would be disappointed or concerned. She only started a minor because everyone said they had a minor, so it seemed like the right thing to do.
She didn’t know if Justin would be supportive, or lecture, or even care. He might tell her never to give up, or he might tell her to focus on the classes that paid the bills and met the requirements—art, and the mandatory general education courses.
Practical big brother.
Playful, silly sister with her crayons and her flute.
The choice was plain, but as she tried to slow her thoughts and quit rushing every change, decisions seemed weightier and worth more attention. Even in her exasperation with major and minor intervals, she squirmed at the idea that giving up felt so easy and obvious when it never had before.
But she’d waited long enough.
She closed the piano app and opened a browser window to review the procedure for dropping her classes. Halfway down the page warning her of all the dire consequences of missing a deadline, she glanced up.
“You stole my couch.” Cam pouted his lower lip. “Scoot.”
Avery slid a notebook off one cushion. “Finders keepers, and you’re late. I’ll share, or you can borrow mine.”
“I was on the phone with my least-favorite person,” he said, stretching as far as Avery’s backpack between them allowed. “Not the kind of call I want overheard. No offense.”
“None taken, but are you going to leave me hanging about who your least-favorite person is? Captain of the Ohio defense?”
He smiled. “It’s the P.R. Chief, but thank you for that. Thank you for being my one non-football person who understands how stupid quarterback rivalries are.”
“You know I was born and raised on defense. Of course, I had to pretend to be the quarterback plenty of times. I’d throw the ball and run around to escape tackles.”
“I bet your brothers tossed you around.”
“I got them good one time.” She leaned toward him, eyes shining. “My mom had these baby oil wipes, and they were super slippery. One night, when I was about eight—so Justin would have been ten and Isaac would have been twelve—I stuck a couple of those in the pocket of my shorts and swiped down my arms and legs while they weren’t looking.”
“Oh no.”
“Justin slipped when he tried to grab my ankles. He landed on a rock or a root or something and split his chin.” Avery snorted. “He’s still got a little-bitty scar. I didn’t get in trouble. They weren’t supposed to really tackle me, anyway.”
“If I ask about his battle wounds, will he fess up to his sister evading tackles?”
Avery opened her mouth to say yes, and her breath caught in her throat. She lowered her head.
“You still haven’t talked to him, have you?” Cam asked.
“I haven’t. I didn’t even go to the game on Saturday. I just wasn’t feeling it.”
“I missed—I noticed you didn’t come out afterward. Isaac said you guys were staying in.”
“I stayed in. He did something with Jase and Marcus, I think. My roommate and I watched movies. I am sorry I missed the game, though.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I watched the highlights. You were incredible. That comeback was unreal.”
“The team was incredible,” he said.
“Collective ‘you,’ then. Y’all were incredible.”
Cam choked out a laugh. “Did he tell you that? He must have.”
“Did he tell me what?”
His face went red with restrained laughter. “I was pretty fired up that second half, obviously. After the game, Isaac informed me that in my hype haze, I was yelling things like ‘Y’all fellas gonna fix this!’ and other Tennesseean motivational speeches.”