Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (107)
The word hate slips past her lips as if my aversion to the sport is completely fabricated. Considering she’s one of the few people who know why I stay far away from the icy rink and the similarly icy men skating on it, I barely keep my composure. Sticking me right in the center of that blue circle with an empirical research study that determines the fate of my future is pure evil. An evil only Dr. Langston and her molten heart can manage.
“But why hockey? I’ll choose football. Basketball. Even curling. I don’t care.” Does Dalton even have a curling team?
“Exactly. You don’t care. I need you to do something you care about. Something you feel strongly about. Hence, hockey.”
I hate that she’s right. Sweeping aside her overall ominous nature, she is a smart woman. I mean, she didn’t get her Ph.D. for nothing, but being her student is a double-edged sword.
“But—”
She lifts a hand. “I won’t approve anything else. Do this or lose your spot. The choice is yours.” It’s like the universe sent me my very own Fuck You in the form of my professor. Years of working my ass off in undergrad only to be told hockey is my saving grace. What a joke. Clenching my fists, I swallow the urge to scream. “That isn’t much of a choice, Dr. Langston.”
“If you can’t do this, then I overestimated your potential, Summer.” Her voice grows sharp. “I have four students who would kill to have your spot, but I took you under my wing. Don’t make me regret this.”
She didn’t exactly choose to take me under her wing. I had a 4.2 GPA and killer reference letters. Not to mention the extremely difficult advisor’s exam she implemented last year to pick out the best students. I got food poisoning from the campus cafeteria that week, but I still dragged myself to the exam. I beat every student, and I’ll be damned if they take my spot now.
“I understand what you’re saying, but as you know, I’m not very fond of hockey. For good reason, might I add, and I doubt my research will be an accurate representation, considering that.”
“Either you get over your apprehension or lose what you’ve worked for.”
Apprehension?
Ignoring the pointed jab feels like trying to ignore a bullet lodged in my sternum. “There’s no reason why I can’t choose basketball. Coach Walker would happily let me collaborate with one of his players.”
“Coach Kilner has already agreed to allow one of my students to work with his players. Get me your completed proposal by the end of the week or forfeit your spot, Ms. Preston.” Her dismissal is clear when she twists away from me in her chair.
If I could commit one crime and get away with it, I have a feeling it would include Dr. Langston.
“Okay. Thank you,” I mutter. She’s typing aggressively on her computer, probably making another student’s life a living hell. I imagine she goes home and crosses off the names of students she has successfully tormented. My name and the doll she sticks pins into are at the top of that list today.
I’ve successfully avoided everything to do with hockey for the past three years, only for it to be my front and center for the next few months. I’m beyond screwed, and I have to suck up my distaste for the sport of my Canadian ancestors.
I use all my willpower to not slam her door on the way out.
“You look pissed.” The voice comes from the hallway leading to the advisor’s lounge. Donny stands against the wall, dressed in cashmere and his brown eyes focused on me.
I’ve made a few mistakes since I got to college. Donny Rai is one of them.
An exhausting two-year relationship later, we have no choice but to see each other every day because we’re both getting the same degree and applying to the same post-grad program. It doesn’t feel like a competition between us, but I know Donny wants that co-op spot just as bad as I do.
He falls into step with me. “An ultimatum?”
“Exactly.” I look over at him. “How did you know?”
“She gave one to Shannon Lee an hour ago. Shannon’s thinking of dropping out now.”
My eyes widen. Shannon is one of the smartest students on campus. Her work in clinical psychology was sent for review, making her the youngest student considered for publication.
“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head, knowing how screwed I am. “You’re so lucky you submitted your application early. The rest of us are stuck completing this new requirement.”
He shrugs. “It’s only a conditional acceptance.”
“Right, like you would ever let your 4.0 drop.”
“4.3,” he corrects.
Donny is at the top of the dean’s list every year; he’s in every club and committee imaginable. He is the poster child for the Ivy League, so it’s no surprise he managed to carve his way into this competitive program. I like to think I’m academically gifted too, but I might as well wear a dunce cap in comparison.
“I have a meeting right now. But I’ll help with your application; we both know you’ll need it.”
The insult stings, but Donny just smiles and peels away to head to his meeting with the Dalton Royal Press. Yeah, he works on the school paper, too.
When I finally stomp into my dorm, I fall flat on the living room couch. “If I gave you a shovel, would you hit me over the head with it?” I ask Amara.
“Depends. Am I getting paid?” I groan into the throw pillow, but she pulls it away. “What did she do now?”