Riley turns her hand over and grips mine. “I’m not saying anything. Why’d he take it anyway? Isn’t it supposed to be hard? Every time I mention it to someone they get this haunted look in their eye. It’s like the class causes PTSD.”
I lean my head back against the rolled edge of the sofa. “It’s the name. Politics and Games? People sign up thinking that it’s this fun class that will give them something semi-coherent to talk about at networking parties when we graduate. Instead, it’s this soul-sucking combination of applied mathematics and theoretical behavioral studies. Jack took it because his stupid liaison told him it was math heavy, but it’s not. It’s not about numbers and equations at all, or at least not in a way that he understands it.”
“What are you doing? How much trouble could you get into?”
“I’m changing some of his answers. Not all of them, but he plans to write a paper about the Super Bowl, and the decision that the coach had to make at the end of it whether to run or pass during a short yardage play. I wanted to make sure that his worksheet answers match up with the paper he’ll turn in at the end of the year.”
“How are you substituting your paper for Jack’s?” She nibbles on the side of her thumb. How ironic that she’s studying ethics and I’m detailing the way I’m cheating for Jack.
“I suggested the topic to him. He’ll write it and I’ll proof it.”
“So, you aren’t really cheating.”
“I am.” I hang my head. “He’s got all the concepts down, but he doesn’t articulate them well. So I rewrite sentences or sometimes whole paragraphs…or whole pages.”
“Oh.” She wrinkles her nose. It’s the perfect summary of my terrible situation.
“What do your ethics books say about this?” I try to make a joke of it but it comes out bitter. I regret immediately but Riley doesn’t take offense.
“How long have you done it?”
“When haven’t I? My parents are not the warmest people. Dad has very high expectations of Jack. In eighth grade, Jack came home with two Ds on his report card. One in English and one in history. Dad lit into him. Called him every name in the book. Said he was so dumb that it’d be a shock if he could even get a job pumping gas at the local convenience store. I couldn’t sleep that night. Jack’s face, the terrible expression on his face, like he was worthless, kept me up. I couldn’t let him be a target for Dad again, not if I could do something about it.” My face is wet from tears I didn’t even realize I shed. I dash them away. “My mom found out and suggested—” more like demanded, “—I keep it up.”
“So you’ve covered for him for years.”
I nod.
“I suppose he never got tested because of your father?”
I nod again.
Riley whistles. “Wow. I guess my ethics class would say to look to the harm. Is it affecting the curve of the class? Probably not. Is his getting a passing grade diminishing opportunities for someone else? No, he’s not taking away any academic scholarships. The only person who could be hurt would be…” She pauses, not wanting to say the obvious so I finish for her.
“Jack. Jack’s the one who gets hurt by my doing his work for him. But the entire team would get harmed if it got out.” The hard lump that lives in my stomach travels up to my throat. Hoarsely, I continue, “Not only does the cheating endanger his right to play, but the entire season could be affected. The Warriors could be excluded from bowl contention.”
“This sucks,” Riley sympathizes.
I spend two seconds internally debating the rest of it, but figure if I can talk to anyone, it’s Riley.
“Riley, I’ve been writing this mock grant for the learning center, remember?”
She bobs her head. “You’re writing a proposal for your grade?”
“Yes, that’s the one. So I’ve been doing all this research, and did you know that colleges have to offer accommodations for people who have learning disabilities?”
“I suppose that would make sense.” Her eyes grow wide as she gets exactly where I’m going with this.
“I want to tell Jack, Riley. At Western—or heck at any school—if he’s determined to have any kind of disability, they have to make special arrangements. It’s the law! He could do an oral exam, instead of a written one. Instead of a paper, he does a presentation. We haven’t done anything wrong…yet. I’ve changed some worksheet answers, but nothing’s graded. He gets one grade based on a final paper.”
“But you’re afraid,” she guesses.
I nod slowly. Each time I’ve approached it with Jack he’s shut me down. I don’t want the only member of my family to turn his back on me, but like Riley said. The only person who I’m hurting right now is Jack. “I am scared. He’s the iron at my back. He’s supported me and cared for me. I don’t want to lose his love or respect. And I don’t know what Knox would say either.”
“Oh, honey.” She places an arm around my shoulders. “This is tough. If you keep quiet, you’re hurting Jack. If you tell, you’re hurting him. Any way you slice it, someone is going to be unhappy, including you.”
But that’s no reason to stay silent.
••• Week 9: Warriors 7-0
“You look stressed, baby,” Knox declares over dinner. I tug my sweater down. The late October weather is chilly. “You worried about meeting my brother?”
That’s absolutely the last thing on my mind. Knox’s brother, Ty, is coming to visit him this weekend for the game and he’s staying over for a Halloween costume party that night. Really, I think it’s a test to see whether I can tell the two apart in person. I’m certain I’ll pass, although part of me wants to pretend, for a moment, that I’m confused. So Knox won’t bring it up again. But I won’t because that’s probably over-the-top mean.
"“No,” I answer tersely. I wanted to talk to Jack tonight but he said he had a study group for his stats class. I felt immediately relieved and then guilty for feeling relieved. It’s a vicious circle of awful. The sooner I confront the issue, the better for all of us.
“The game?” he presses.
“Should I be?” I counter.
He shakes his head and leans forward. “Nah, we’ll crush them.”
“They’re the number four team in the country.”
Knox’s unshakeable confidence would probably be irritating if he didn’t back it up every Saturday.
“What is the Warriors’ ranking?” He cups his ear.
“Number one.”
He winks. “That’s right.” A mischievous look crosses his face as he leans forward. “Why don’t we go back to my room and I’ll give you a nice rub down to help get rid of all that stress.”
“The last rub down lasted all of five minutes before you had me plastered against the wall.” I brush a hand over the back of my sweater—the tight red one that Knox likes so much. “I think I still have drywall in my shirt from that.”
His eyes gleam. “I like standing up. Good leverage.”
I should explain how it’s also nice to have a soft mattress at your back, but as long as I have Knox here, I might as well ask him a question that’s burned at the back of my mind all day.
“Knox, if something happened on the team. Like a guy got caught cheating or he got arrested for drunk driving, what would happen?”
“He’d be kicked off,” Knox replies immediately.
“No questions. No second chances?”
“No. Coach Lowe doesn’t tolerate that kind of stuff. If there’s a distraction, the distraction gets eliminated.”
God.
“What about if he had problems making grades?”
Knox leans forward and his face takes on a concerned expression. “You got something to tell me, Ellie?”
“No. I’m just, um, thinking about topics for a creative writing class on team unity.”
The side of his mouth curls up in slight disbelief.
“Really,” I insist.
I don’t think he believes me, but he doesn’t press. “A guy with academic problems would probably get suspended until he could get his grades up.”