At first, he doesn’t respond. He merely stares at me like I’m an alien bug that he’s never seen before—an awful ugly one that he’d like to stomp.

“You’re cheating.”

I nod.

“And you’ve been cheating for me since the eighth grade?” There’s a vicious, ugly tone in his voice. Disgust, disappointment, full-on anger. It’s all there. “Fucking middle school?”

I start crying, not because of my pain, but because of the anguish in Jack’s voice. It hits me in the solar plexus like a blow. He turns and slams his hands on the top of the hood of the Jeep. “Since fucking middle school?” he repeats with a shout. “I must be the dumbest fuck in the entire world. I couldn’t even pass out of fucking middle school without your help?”

“No!” I cry and reach for him. He jerks away.

“Why are you telling me?”

Here it is. Jack’s perception of himself demolished and my next suggestion will crush him even more. “I think you should get tested. I think you have a learning disability. If you’re tested,” I rush on even though he starts protesting, “if you’re tested and the results confirm it then you can do alternate things, like take an oral examination or instead of writing a paper, doing a presentation of your findings. You could have more time do your assignments. Have take home exams instead of timed classroom ones.”

“You want me to go and get some test that says I’m retarded? Who needs that when I have you,” he sneers.

It’s my turn to jerk back. “Don’t say that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing’s wrong with anyone like you. If you could see these kids at the center—”

He cuts me off. “Is that why you are doing that grant work? To make you feel better about yourself? About your cheating? I never fucking asked you do to this!”

He jerks his hands through his hair, pulling on the ends. As if he can’t stand to look at me, he turns away and stalks over to the slide. I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to keep all my inside parts from falling out through the big gaping holes created by this whole damn mess.

“I know you didn’t ask.” I say to myself. “I know.” I wait for the rest of it to sink in for him. The minute that it does, he comes charging back, stopping only a few inches from me.

“I could lose my scholarship over this. I could lose my team. Fuck, I could ruin the team’s chances for a National Championship.”

His litany of all the negative repercussions flay me open but he isn’t saying anything that I haven’t already thought about.

“Look, I know I should have told you before. I wanted to stop. I did, but I didn’t want you to lose your eligibility. That’s why I did it.”

He makes a disgusted noise in his throat. “So you’ve wanted to stop cheating for me, but I’m so fucking dumb that you couldn’t.”

The injustice of it made me want to scream but mostly I am tired. Tired of doing the dirty work. Tired of feeling guilty. Tired of everyone not acknowledging the real problem of Jack’s disability. Tired of myself for enabling him.

“You're right. I was wrong to do this. I thought it was the right thing—” I cut myself off. Did I ever think it was the right thing? Yes, probably years ago before I knew better, but not now. It hasn't been right for a long time, but I still did it.

I try to search for another answer, but keep coming up blank. The only answer was to not start in the first place. But when you’re twelve, and your mom comes to you saying that the one thing that you can do that will make her proud is to help your brother? No problem, you think, because your brother hung the stars, and you’re happy to do these seemingly small things. Because you love your family and you want their approval. You want your mom to look at you with the same glow of pride that she gives your brother.

And you don’t think about the consequences until it’s far, far too late.

Jack is tired too. His shoulders slump in defeat and that's what breaks me.

“Do you and Riley sit around and talk about how it's a good thing that I play ball well, because I'm not smart enough to do anything else?”

“No!” I nearly shout. “I never think that.”

His cruel words saw at the bond I didn’t think would ever get broken.

“Jesus, I got to tell Coach.” He drags a rough hand through his disheveled hair.

I hug myself tighter. “What about Knox?”

“What about him?” He scowls. “You chat him up about this too?”

I shake my head miserably. “You’re on his list.”

“What list?”

Oh shit. He doesn’t know. Knox didn’t say anything to him? I close my eyes briefly, gather up what little composure I have left. “He’s got a list of players to check up on. You were on it and I said I’d do it for him.”

“I’m on a fucking watch list?” He starts pacing. “Oh hell, Ellie. You have to break up with him.”

“Why?” I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew it was coming, but it’s still not a blow I’m ready to take.

“Coach Lowe finds out Masters let you do the checking up and he’ll be on Knox’s ass so hard.”

It’s good that Coach Lowe supports me. If he didn’t, I guess I wouldn’t get to go early. I think the scouts rely on his assessment. He’s said I’m mature enough to go early and that I can handle the extra responsibilities.

Jack nods grimly at my moan. “Coach could even think Masters was in on it with you.”

My breath halts at Jack’s words. Because Knox and I are sleeping together, because we’re a couple, Knox could be tainted by my actions. Coach could take away Knox’s captaincy. Scouts will start whispering about his lack of character and he could drop down the draft ranks faster than a concrete block in the pool.

“Oh God.” I cover my mouth. “I’m sorry Jack. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Let’s go. I need to tell Coach. I might need to start sitting out games immediately.”

“You’re going now?” I don’t feel prepared for this. I was only ready to talk to Jack, not tell the world.

“Better get it done with. If I play a game and I’m not eligible, then that win might get taken away.” He guns the engine. There’s so much bitterness in his voice. I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me.

“I’m going with you.”

29 Ellie

We argue about it the entire way over to the athletic center, but I tell Jack if he doesn’t let me come with him, I’ll show up anyway. In the end, he gives in. He tries to lecture me on how it’ll all unfold, with him taking the blame and me standing there like an extra piece lettuce on the side that no one wants to eat.

“Hey, Coach,” Jack calls out tentatively as we approach the open door to Coach Lowe’s office. It’s a spacious one, with a desk bigger than my bed back at the dorm room. Lowe himself isn’t much taller than me, and as fit as any one of his players. He has a full head of gray hair and a solemn look on his lined face.

“Come in, Jack.” He gestures for us to have a seat. The two chairs in front of his desk are spartan—all wood and not a speck of cushion. That’s saved for the brown leather tufted sofa, with its back against a wall decorated with plaques, and the big chair behind his desk.

I take one seat, but Jack remains standing, his fingers hooked around the back of the wooden chair. So I stand back up too.

“Coach, this is my sister, Eliot Campbell.”

Coach Lowe’s hand feels dry as dust and I try hard not to give him a limp wristed shake in return. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“What’s this all about?” Coach Lowe rounds the desk and takes a seat, gesturing for us once again to sit down. His voice is laden with suspicion, which it should be because a player doesn’t show up on Sunday afternoon introducing his sister for shits and giggles. Jack remains standing and so I do too.