The housing inspections were still the talk of the hallways, but Coach Mike had a different kind of pressure to apply. Apparently, our mid-term grades in our shared elective: Philosophy of Ethics , were concerningly inconsistent, and the athletic board was breathing down his neck.
"I don't care if you're the Captain or the new star winger," Coach had barked, slamming a folder onto his desk. "If you don't pass the mid-term, you don't play the playoffs. Period. From now on, every Tuesday and Thursday, you two are in the study hall. Three hours. No phones. Just books."
So, that’s how I found myself sitting in the Quiet Room of the Northwood Library. It was a small, wood-panneled space tucked away in the back, far from the bustling student center.
Jax was sitting across from me. He looked
