24. Can't Be Bought

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They say patience is a virtue

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They say patience is a virtue.

I was beginning to believe that it was just a jumble of words.

Gazing at my watch and wagging my pen between my thumb and forefinger, I wait for the last minute to be released from one of my elective courses.

It's been a week since the first game of the season and it was not as I expected. I was so used to being the star of my team that I didn't think too much about how much I had to fight for the title to remain attached to me.

But college was different. There was no one to lead the team.

It was then that I realized that the team had to build up a plan. We all came from different backgrounds and some of the members were here longer than others. We had to find a middle ground.

"And that is all the time we have left for today. Make sure you read the next chapter and do the homework before the next class. Remember to come prepared." Mrs. Williams, an English teacher with a PhD in literature, had said.

Packing up my belongings with swiftness, I walked out of the classroom and headed straight to the dorm. With my mind heading straight to my dorm, I noticed a familiar face the second I stepped outside of Kaplan Hall.

Harlow stepped off to the side when she saw that I was walking in her direction, a smile on her face.

"Afternoon, Mercer."

"Harlow." I nod, making my way further outside.

"Glad I ran into you." She quickly opens her tote bag, pulling out a vanilla folder. "This is Coach Reynolds schedule for the week."

My eyes widen slightly while scanning the paper. "How'd you get this?"

"My uncle," she says sheepishly. "It shouldn't be a problem. As long as I get back to the comfort of his desk within two hours." She raises her hands, and I hear keys chiming in unison.

Monday: Cafe, then athletic department
Tuesday: Athletic department
Wednesday: Board meeting/ athletic department
Thursday: Personal affairs/ athletic department
Friday: Athletic department
Saturday: Athletic department
Sunday: Athletic department

My brows furrow together. Now it's making sense as to why he's the first one on the field. I mean, the guy must live for being a coach.

"He's always here." I muttered.

"Huh?" My head lifts from the black print, meeting Harlow's gaze. She stares at me with a look of curiosity.

"Nothing," I say, giving her the folder back. "I can use this."

"Great to hear," she smiles. "I can see if I can find out more. I mean, the man has to have a life outside of football, right?"

Perhaps.

"Anyways," she shrugs. "What are you doing later? I know you don't have practice."

"How do you..." My voice trails before I realize quickly that her uncle is my coach. "Nothing. I'm going to catch up on some homework and chill for the rest of the day."

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