Unpopular: An Unloved Ones Prequel #3 (The Unloved Ones) Read Online Free PDF Page A

victory. I know that isn't going to happen now.
    I get my backpack and walk through the empty hall with the office duty girl. She doesn't talk to me and that's just as well with me. I've got my own thoughts.
    When we get to his door, she knocks for me. I hear my dad’s chair creak, and he limps his way to the door. I have trouble meeting his eyes, and the office duty girl gets the hell out of there. I envy her.
    My dad stands in the doorway glaring at me. Under the harsh light of his office, the bags under his eyes are amplified, as well as his bulldog lips. He moves aside, and I come into his office and take a chair in front of his desk. He shuts the door. That is not a good sign.
    He makes his way back to his chair and sits down. He doesn’t say anything for so long that I look up to make sure he’s still there.
    He is. He’s got that look on his face like he wants to kill me again, but when he speaks, his voice is eerily calm.
    “I spent the morning ignoring my better judgment and pleading with my contact at Vanderbilt to give you a second chance.”
    My eyes widen, and my chest fills with hope. “Another chance?” I say. This whole horrible experience could be forgotten—forgiven, even—if I can still get in.
    “I don’t think you deserve it,” he says, “but your whole life is getting things easy that you don’t deserve, so why should this be any different?”
    I don’t respond. I can tell he’s not done yet. He just wants to take his time so that I feel as bad as possible.
    “And what happens as soon as I hang up the phone? I get a visit from Mr. Tosh, letting me know that my son has decided the world of sociology is no longer relevant to him. That
my son
would rather spend his time
sleeping
than paying attention.”
    His voice is getting louder, and the vein on his forehead flashes. I notice the sweat stains under his armpits, and the half-eaten bottle of Tums. As bad as my morning has been, his hasn’t been any better.
    “I’m sorry, sir.”
    “Sorry?” he yells, and slams his palm against the desk. It knocks over a mug of pens, and he doesn’t bother to pick it up. “You disappear for two days, practically give your mother a heart condition while you’re gone, show up again without so much as an excuse, and then start sleeping through your classes on your first day back. You’re
sorry
? You’d damn right better be sorry. You should be on your knees thanking me for keeping your ass from getting suspended.”
    He shakes his head, too angry to continue, and I just wait, staring at my shoelaces.
    It takes a few minutes before his breathing returns to normal. “We play Merryweather next Tuesday,” he says. “The scout comes to the game after that against Washington. I’d rather he came to see us fight Jackson, that would have been an easy win. But you weren’t there.” He stops talking, trying to control his rage. He takes a deep breath. Then he loses it again and snaps, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
    I look up. I let him see the tears in my eyes. It doesn’t soften him at all. If anything, it makes his expression harder.
     “You’ve got a chance to redeem yourself, boy,” he says slowly. “Once with the team next Tuesday, and once with the scouts at the game after that.” He lifts up his hand and points to me. “You’ve already struck out once. You screw this up and I
swear
.”
    He doesn’t bother to finish his threat. He doesn’t need to.
    “I won’t let you down, sir,” I say, and I mean it. “I won’t let the team down. I promise.”
    This placates him. He folds his arms over his chest, and leans back in his chair. “Merryweather’s an easy win,” he says after a moment. His eyes flash with a greedy excitement. “You hit them with your fastball, they won’t know what’s coming.”
    I take this as my cue to leave his office, and he doesn’t stop me. He’s at his desk, running through plays in his head when I close the door.
    I walk back to class,