Senior Year, Fall Semester

Chapter 45: Sports Games with their Sports Teams and their Sports Points

"Okay, everyone," Kevin began, writing out a problem on the whiteboard. "We can do this. Remember, we're trying to find the values of x that make the equation true. These are also gonna be the x-intercepts on our graph. What's the best way to solve this?"

Capping his trusty blue Expo marker, he turned around to face his SI attendees. About half of them were paying more attention to the heavy flakes of snow falling outside, and the other half, including Arnold and Connor, were simply staring at him with glazed, vacant expressions.

He waited a few more seconds and then added, "Anyone remember Dr. Chadwick explaining how to solve this?" More silence followed. "Okay then, let's back up a little. What type of equation do we have?"

Again, no response. "Anyone?" he said. "Y'all are sleepy today, aren't you? If no one volunteers, I'm gonna have to call on one of you."

That didn't deter them at all. Fine then; who was he going to pick on today? He quickly scanned the small group. The girl in the corner looked like she was about to burst into tears the moment his eyes met hers, so that was a no-go. The next four were all regulars at his sessions and fairly good at speaking up on occasion, so he'd cut them some slack. The death glare the next guy flashed sent his eyes quickly flitting over to Arnold and Connor. Well, it looked like it would be one of them.

"Arnold," he said. "Help me out, pal. What type of equation is this?"

Arnold shrugged. "A hard one?"

Kevin glanced back at the board. "Perhaps, but we're looking for the mathematical term."

"Oh. I got nothing then," Arnold replied. "I wasn't paying attention."

At least he was honest. Kevin bit back a sigh.

"Quadratic?" One of his regulars suddenly ventured, and he promptly brightened.

"Yes!" he said. "Great job, Sarah. And what formula can be used to solve any quadratic equation?"

"The quadratic formula," Sarah finished.

"Perfect." He uncapped his marker and wrote out the formula above the problem before turning back to the students. "So then, using the quadratic formula, who wants to come up here and tell us what our answer would be?"

As expected, no one volunteered. "Don't be scared; it's okay if you get it wrong," he encouraged. "I know it's snowing out, but we've gotta focus here. There's a lot to get through." Again, nothing. "No one? All right, then. Connor, you're up."

Connor started and stared blankly up at the board. "Um…" he said after a few seconds. "Seven?"

Kevin arched his eyebrows. "How'd you come up with seven?" he asked. "You didn't even work it out."

"I just really feel like it's seven."

"Well, it's not," Kevin said with forced patience, holding out the marker. "Now how about taking a shot at it for real?"

Connor stayed right where he was. "Are you sure it's not seven?" he asked, squinting at the board.

"I'm sure."

"What about seven x?"

"It's not seven x, either. It's not even remotely close to seven x. C'mon, you can do it." This time, Kevin actually tossed the marker toward him.

Connor made no move to grab it, watching as it landed pathetically by his chair. "I think Sarah wants to work it out," he said.

"No, I don't," she quickly interjected.

"Sure you do." Connor twisted around in his seat to face her. "Please?"

"Fine," she huffed, before rolling her eyes and standing up.

"Thanks!" Connor called cheerily, picking up the marker and handing it over. Kevin shot him a withering glare.

The last twenty minutes of the session felt like an eternity. When it was finally over, Kevin waited until all the others had filed out before approaching Arnold and Connor.

"You guys are killing my numbers," he snapped. "You're both getting Ds in the class, and it's raising the DFW rate of my attendees."

"What? We're not killing them," Arnold protested. "How could we? We're only two people. We don't make that big a difference."

"It's still somewhat of a difference," Kevin countered. "As of midterms, there was a positive 0.8 letter-grade difference between my attendees' average GPA and the rest of the class. I want it to be a whole letter by finals, starting with you two. Raise your damn grades."

"Why?" Connor said, unperturbed. "We'll still get gen-ed credit with a D." Beside him, Arnold nodded.

"So? Well how's that gonna look on your transcript?" Kevin challenged.

Connor shrugged. "It can take a hit," he said.

"How do you know? You don't know what you're doing after college; what if you apply to some really selective grad school? What if you decide you want to be a doctor? You won't get into Johns Hopkins."

"Kevin," Connor began with a sigh, sliding back down into his seat. "I'm gonna do some math for you here right now, okay? I'm one hundred percent sure I don't want to go to med school. How's that sound?"

Kevin scowled. "Fine," he quipped. "Glad you're all set then, but what about me? I've been doing a really good job here, so maybe you both should try a little harder to help me out and at least raise your grades to a C. Come on, just bump it up one letter grade; I know you both can do it. That's all I'm asking."

Arnold adjusted his glasses and gazed up at the ceiling, mulling it over. "Hmm, a C, huh?" he said. "Okay, I think I can do that. I can get a C, probably. Maybe."

"Great. Thanks." Kevin looked over at Connor. "What about you?"

"I think you're really overestimating my abilities here," Connor replied. When Kevin narrowed his eyes, he sighed again and said, "Okay, okay. I'll try. Happy?"

"Awesome," Arnold chirped as he hurried out the door. "Bye guys! Time for gaming club!"

When the sound of Arnold's footsteps gradually faded. Connor looked back at Kevin. "Don't get your hopes up," he said. "There's no way I'll be able to pass the final. My grade's probably gonna go down, in fact, and then I'll be back here again next semester."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit," Kevin remarked as he began erasing everything off the board. "I feel like you know this stuff better than you think you do. You scored high enough to get into college algebra back when you took the ACT, after all. Obviously you did well at some point."

"That was years ago, and the pace was a lot slower in high school," Connor countered. He slumped down in the desk and buried his head in his arms. "How is the semester already almost over?" he muttered, his voice muffled. "I'm not ready for this. Can we just stop time for a while? Then I wouldn't have worry about math, or my post-graduation plans, or any of that crap. I could just sit around making door decs and mediating roommate conflicts for as long as I want."

He lifted his head as Kevin was putting his marker in the front pocket of his bag. "You're the only person I know who carries around their own whiteboard marker," he added absent-mindedly.

"I hate using the ones sitting here. They always run dry." Kevin averted his eyes when Connor's met his. They'd made good on their promises to distance themselves but still remain civil after their Thanksgiving spat, though the connection was still clearly palpable.

Quickly collecting himself, he slung his bag over his shoulder and gave Connor a wry smile. "Well, I hope your plan isn't to fail math over and over again so that you can avoid graduation and be an RA forever."

Connor laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, I…" he drifted off, realization slowly dawning on him. "Actually, that's not…" Suddenly his eyes widened. "Oh my God, Kevin, you're a genius."

Kevin grinned proudly. "Thanks, I know," he said. Then he realized the full extent of Connor's words, and his smile dropped. "Wait you're not considering that plan now, are you?" When Connor began packing up his things without a response, he added, "Connor. Tell me you're not actually considering that."

"I have to go." Connor stood up and headed out the door. "I've gotta look into some things—thanks, Kev; you've been a huge help."

He rushed out the door, leaving Kevin standing there gaping in shock, at a loss for words. After a few seconds, he found his voice again.

"You better graduate, Connor!"


Later That Afternoon

Naba was in the middle of prepping for tomorrow's clinical when a knock sounded at the front door.

"Easy," she told Sam, who had leapt up from his spot on the couch and spun happily in a little circle. Although much less energetic than Poptart, he still got excited like any other young dog.

She stood up and strode over to the door, opening it up to reveal a beaming Connor.

"I want my boss's job," he declared in lieu of a greeting.

Naba raised an eyebrow, stepping aside to let him in. "Are you going to kill her for it?"

"Ha ha," Connor said dryly. He headed inside and dropped down next to Sam on the couch. "No, I mean, I think I figured it out, and I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner. It was something Kevin said that made me realize it—anyway, I want to do what she does; I want to be a residence hall director."

He bounced a little in his seat as he spoke. "It was right in front of me this whole time. I could run my own building, and supervise RAs and hold conduct meetings and—and then I could eventually work my way up to Director of Residence Life or hell, maybe even Dean of Students one day."

When she joined him on the couch without comment, his smile faded a little and he continued, "I mean, that's just possibility. I'm not sure I'd actually want to be Dean of Students. Most deans have PhDs, don't they? I can't really see myself getting a PhD….uh, why aren't you saying anything? I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You are fine," she said quickly. "I was just listening. And I love it, Connor. This idea sounds like a very good fit."

He brightened once more. "Really?"

"Of course. But I don't think you need me to tell you that. You love helping other students, and you're so enthusiastic about it. It's perfect for you."

"I'm glad you think so," he said as he pat Sam's head. "I just finished talking to my supervisor about it; she said the same thing."

"So how exactly does someone become a hall director?" Naba went on. "Will you have to change your major?"

"Actually, no. That's the best part," Connor replied. "I do have to go to grad school, though. Just when I thought I was finished, right?" He chuckled and then added, "She told me most of them have master's degrees, usually in programs like student affairs, or college personnel, or something along those lines. Her degree was in higher education administration."

"Is that something you're willing to do?"

"Getting a master's? Of course," Connor said. "I mean, I'm not thrilled about taking out more loans, but it is what it is, I guess. Besides, a lot of programs have graduate assistantships to waive some of the cost. In fact, she also said the biggest factors in getting your first reslife job is how much experience you have in the area, so I basically have to focus on the schools with GAs, anyway. Apparently I'm supposed apply to a ton of assistantships and interview for them at this placement exchange thing in Wisconsin, and then attend whatever school makes the best offer."

"That sounds complicated," Naba remarked.

"It is. I'll let you know when I figure it out, because I'm still kind of confused."

"Well, I'm confident you will succeed." Naba crossed her legs and smiled. "This is very exciting, even though it means all of my friends are applying to graduate school and leaving me."

"Not everyone. Jami and Toaster aren't," Connor pointed out. "They probably won't move too far out of the area after graduation either, so there's that. And don't forget about Arnold. Actually," he paused and cocked his head. "What are his plans, anyway?"

"He doesn't have any," Naba said dismissively. "He says he's going to stay here with me until I graduate, and then he wants us to move wherever Kevin is and look for jobs there."

Connor snickered. "Why am I not surprised?" he said. "Doesn't your nursing certification vary by state, though?"

"Yes," she sighed. "There's an exam and some other stuff. Luckily we should know where he'll be in the spring, so I will have plenty of time to prepare."

"So you're okay with following Kevin around, then?" Connor said with a smirk.

She shrugged. "I suppose so. I am not picky about where I live, so if it makes Arnold happy then I don't mind. And being around friends is nice." she leaned back against the headrest. "I will miss you, though. We will have to visit each other as much as we can."

"Definitely." Connor's eyes strayed downward, and he suddenly did a double-take when he caught notice of her hands. "Oh my gosh! Did Arnold finally get you a ring?"

"He did," said happily, showing off the small, white gold band on her finger. "He gave it to me this morning. Isn't it beautiful? He said it looked like Galadriel's ring, and he remembered how pretty I thought that was, so he knew it would be perfect."

"It is perfect." Connor smiled as he took her hand and examined the flowery design. "It does kinda look like Galadriel's ring."

"I know. I feel better now about trusting him to pick one out on his own. I know I told him I had full faith, but truth be told I was a little nervous."

Connor laughed, releasing her hand and slumping backward. "I still can't believe you accepted that proposal."

"Why wouldn't I? I want to marry him."

He flashed her a bemused look. "He asked you at his parents' house while you were doing the dishes, hon."

"So?" she challenged. "I do not need a big fancy proposal."

"No, but he could've at least taken you out somewhere. Oh even been helping with the dishes, for that matter. If I were you I would've told him I wasn't accepting until he tried a little harder, and then on round two when he put some huge ordeal together, I would've said no again. Strung him along for a while to make up for my troubles."

"You are cruel," she said with a small shake of her head. "Well, don't worry. When you have a boyfriend that wants to propose to you, I will tell him to go all out. He can do something big and romantic, perhaps take you to a basketball game and get down on one knee in front of everyone."

Connor snorted. "If my boyfriend ever tried to make me watch a stupid sports game with their sports teams and their sports points, I'd break up with him right then and there." He spat out the word sports each time like it was something foul.

"You are not easily satisfied when it comes to these things, aren't you?"

"No." Connor let out a sarcastic little laugh. "I have impossibly high standards, and that's why my love life is shit right now."

Naba's optimistic smile didn't waver. "You will find someone perfect for you soon enough."

"Maybe," Connor said. "Truth be told, I've kind of sworn off men at the moment."

"Does this mean you're straight now?" Naba teased. "Because a girl in one of my classes lived on your floor last year, and she thinks you are cute."

Connor grinned. "It's Lisa, isn't it?" he said knowingly. "She's adorable."

Naba giggled. They were quiet for a few seconds before she spoke again. "So you are taking a break from dating, then?"

"I guess so. For now, at least. It's been, well, kind of a hassle."

Right. More like, Kevin and I broke off our little fling, and I don't feel like dating anyone else. She'd have to be a complete idiot to have spent as much time as she did around them and not pick up on all of their baggage. Still though, she wasn't going to call Connor out on his evasion.

"Maybe it will be good for you," she said. "You can focus on your classes and graduation without any extra drama."

"That's what I had in mind."

The corners of her mouth quirked up a little. "How about taking a break from drinking too, while you're at it?"

He made a face. "Okay sweetie, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

She chuckled a little to hide the fact that she hadn't exactly been joking.


One Week Later

Arnold pulled out his favorite cup—a plastic color-changing one he'd been given at some Weber State welcome fair or another that Kevin said was tacky—and filled it to the brim with orange juice. Then he fished a granola bar out of the panty and brought his snack over to the kitchen table, where Kevin was obsessing over his email.

"Naba and I decided to get married this summer," Arnold announced. "We haven't set the exact date yet, but that's when we're doing it. You cool with that, Kev? Since, y'know, you're my best man and all."

Kevin didn't take his eyes off his computer screen. "Oh, am I?" he said coolly. "See, I didn't know that. I figured since you didn't bother with an actual proposal, you were just gonna cut corners the whole way through and not even have a best man."

"Not cool," Arnold muttered, ripping open the wrapper. "How long are you gonna keep bugging me about that?"

"For the rest of your life."

"Whatever," he said through a large bite. "She said yes, so there. So anyway, are you gonna be my best man or not? You don't have to if you don't want to; no worries."

"Don't be silly," Kevin said as he typed. "Of course I'll be your best man. So, is the wedding taking place before or after the Orlando graduation trip?"

Arnold's eyes widened. "Oh yeah, the Orlando trip!" he exclaimed. "I kinda forgot about that; I wasn't really sure if you were serious about that."

Kevin finally tore his eyes away from the screen. "Why would I ever joke about Orlando?" he said. He actually looked a little offended, until suddenly his eyes lit up. "Oh my God; I just had the best idea. What if you got married in Orlando? That would be, like, the greatest place to get married in the entire universe!"

Arnold took a long swig of his juice. "Nah, buddy. Save that for your own wedding," he said once he had swallowed. "Oh, but that's another thing I need to talk to you about. We're actually having two ceremonies."

Kevin frowned. "Two ceremonies, huh? Interesting. Was that Naba's stipulation for having zero real proposals?"

"Shut up." Kevin snickered as Arnold gave him a shove. "We're having the actual wedding with the papers and stuff in Salt Lake. Nothing super fancy, but you know, there'll be cake and dancing and all our friends and family. But we're also gonna go to Uganda and have a traditional ceremony there. You're invited since you're my best man, and Connor's invited since he's Naba's best man. So, um, are you coming?"

Kevin just sat there really still, staring at him, and Arnold began to get a little worried.

"Uganda, huh?" Kevin finally began uncertainly. "Gee, um, I don't know. I really want to. I mean, I miss everyone there and this is a huge deal for you. But, um, the thing is…well, I've kind of got my heart set on Orlando already and plane tickets to Uganda are really expensive so, uh…I mean, I guess we can postpone Orlando if we have to—"

"No, wait! My parents are paying," Arnold cut him off.

Kevin perked up at that. "They are?"

"Yeah!" Probably should've mentioned that earlier, Arnold chastised himself. Duh. "See, the Uganda thing was really important to me and Naba, but my mom's scared of flying and my dad said it was rude to expect everyone to go there. That's why we're doing two ceremonies, kind of like a compromise. Also, that's why it's just you and Connor coming with us. My parents said they'd only pay for four tickets, so if anyone else wants to go they can, but they have to pay for themselves." He cleared his throat after that long-winded explanation. "So, uh, are you going?"

"Hell yeah, I'm going!" Kevin exclaimed happily. "Arnold, that's awesome."

"Yeah, completely awesome." As he thought over what Kevin had said, he gave his friend a wide, happy smile. "And hey. Thanks, buddy."

"For what?" Kevin's eyes shifted back and forth from his screen to Arnold, perplexed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh nothing," he replied coyly. "Just that, you were gonna give up Orlando for me, is all."

"I said postpone," Kevin corrected. "I would never give up Orlando for anyone. Except maybe for Bailey."

"Just Bailey? What about Poptart?"

"No, not for Poptart. He's stupid and doesn't even know how to sit."

"Oh, whatever," Arnold challenged, finishing off the granola bar. "You'd totally give up Orlando for Poptart. And for me."

Kevin grumbled something that sounded like if you say so under his breath, and then turned back to his email with pursed lips.

"You think your parents can adopt me so that they'll pay for all my travel?" he said. "As if the OAT and my application fees weren't enough, three of my five schools want me to come to campus for interviews in the next couple months."

"Really?" Arnold stood up to peer over Kevin's shoulder, bringing his juice with him. "Which ones?"

"Berkeley, Ohio State, and NECO. Houston and IU aren't doing interviews."

"Oh, well that's good then!" he took another sip. "You're still in the running for all of 'em."

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's great, really." Kevin stared at the email from Berkeley Optometry with his chin in his hand. "It's gonna be really stressful, though. That's a lot of flying and prep work right in the middle of next semester. Ugh, just kill me now; I don't know how—"

The cup in Arnold's hand tumbled down to the floor with a thunk before he even registered dropping it. Kevin started and glanced down at the orange juice spreading across the tile before turning to look up at him, blinking in confusion. Arnold was surprised to find he was actually trembling a little.

"Don't say that," he told Kevin, voice small and shaky.

Kevin's eyes crinkled a little. "Say what?" he said. "It is stressful; I…oh. Oh, that." He sighed. "Arn, look, I didn't mean it. It was a figure of speech okay?"

The thing was, Arnold knew that. He knew it, but still he couldn't shake the horrible, sick feeling in his stomach. He stepped back and sank down into his chair.

"You can't say things like that," he insisted. "Not…not after you actually tried to do it."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," Kevin replied. "But that was over a year ago and, well, you can't spend your whole life being afraid I'm gonna kill myself."

Arnold winced at how casually the words came out of his mouth. "Why not?" he protested, because Kevin just didn't get it; Arnold had seen him being loaded into that ambulance and he didn't want something like that to happen to any of his friends ever again—

"Well for starters, it kind of makes me feel like shit," Kevin muttered. "How am I supposed to move on when everyone's acting like I'm gonna fall apart any second?"

"Well how am I supposed to act?" Arnold cried. "I did start to worry less, but then you relapsed and cut yourself." He shuddered a little at the memory. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Kevin."

Kevin gave him a sad little smile. "I know that," he said. "And it means a lot to me that you care. But Arnold, here's the thing: I'm never going to get better."

Well, not with that kind of attitude you aren't. "Don't think like that," Arnold told him. "Of course you are!"

"No, I'm not." There was nothing argumentative in his tone; it was like he was talking about something as frivolous as the weather. "I have depression and anxiety. It's something I can manage, but it's not just gonna magically disappear. It's taken me a while to accept that, but now I have. I'm gonna have to live with this, and I'm gonna have some bad days, and hell, I might even relapse again someday. But you know what? It doesn't seem hopeless anymore. Therapy and Zoloft have helped a ton. Yeah, there's bad days, but there's also days I feel completely fine. It's so much easier to manage now. So, um," he shrugged. "Can you just trust me to be okay?"

Feeling torn, Arnold studied his friend for a few seconds before reaching down to pick up his beloved cup.

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Okay, sure. You're my best friend, Kevin, I guess I'll trust you."

"Thank you." Kevin stood up to grab some paper towels and tile cleaner. Arnold would've offered to clean up the juice himself, but Kevin would have just deemed his attempt insufficient and done it again himself anyway.

"I have no idea what I'm gonna say in these interviews," Kevin said as he began blotting up the spill. "If I start prattling on about how I want to help people, it'll just sound cliché."

"Maybe something like, Ever since I was a small child, I've had a passion for asking people to read the letter E," Arnold suggested.

Kevin laughed. "That'll get me really far," he remarked. "How about I just send you in my absence? You clearly have better ideas than I do."

"Well okay, but you'll feel real dumb when I get admitted to optometry school and you don't," he teased. "Hmm, Dr. Cunningham. I like the sound of that. Dr. Arnold Cunningham, PhD, Esquire."

"First of all, you either say doctor at the beginning of your name or list your degree at the end; you don't put both unless you want to sound like a pretentious asshole." Kevin finished cleaning up all the excess juice and sprayed some cleaner on the floor. "Second, optometrists don't have PhDs, and they aren't called Esquire."

"Close enough," Arnold said, watching as Kevin wiped up the last of the cleaner and threw all the used paper towels in the trash. Truth be told, he already knew all of that. However, he also knew Kevin loved correcting people, so he figured he could indulge him every once in a while.


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