Maybe Swearing Will Help (SWAT Generation 2.0 3)

“Ashe is right,” I said softly. “If I didn’t study, I would’ve failed. And I can’t fail. I have to pass to play, and you know that.”

Linnett pouted.

“And I don’t appreciate you telling her about that kissing thing. You promised if I told you that you wouldn’t say a word. You’re making it to where I can’t trust you.”

Linnett looked contrite.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pushing her body into me.

I curved my arm around her shoulders and tugged her into me.

“You have to be nice to Ashe,” I said. “She’s like a sister to me.”

Linnett snorted. “Some sister. She treats you like trash.”

“She doesn’t,” I said. “She doesn’t do anything to me that I don’t do to her.”

She groaned at my words.

“Whatever,” she said. “You really don’t think you’ll pass that test?”

I shook my head.

“Nope,” I sighed. “Calculus just jumbles up in my brain. I don’t know why, but it just does.”

***

Ashe

“Oh, look,” Linnett sneered. “It’s ol’ slag face.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“I tolerate when Ford calls me Soot, or Slag, or Ember. What I do not tolerate is when you do it. You have no permission to call me names. Please refrain,” I snapped.

“Please refrain?” Linnett laughed with her friends. “Whatever, Soot.”

“Don’t call her that,” Ford ordered as he took his seat between us.

I smiled inwardly, then looked forward when Mr. Humphries came in the room holding a stack of tests in his hands.

“Everybody ready?” he asked as he stood at the first row of desks.

“Yes,” came the droned, monotone responses.

Mr. Humphries’ quick smile had me smiling right back.

And as I breezed through the test, I felt confident that I would pass with flying colors.

One glance at Ford, however, showed me that he was struggling.

Still, at first, I didn’t worry about him.

I was too focused on doing all my problems.

Then, as I was normally always the last one finished, I looked over just as Ford got up, too.

He looked like he was about to throw up.

The teacher nodded his head toward the desk.

“I’m gonna go grab some coffee,” he said. “Place your papers right there.”

Ford tossed his down carelessly and walked back to his seat.

Not being able to help myself, I glanced at the front page of his test and saw that almost all of the answers that Ford had on the page were wrong.

A quick flash of inspiration hit me.

I closed my eyes as I realized what I was about to do.

Get us both in trouble, that’s for sure.

But I had to take the chance.

Because, despite what Ford might think, I didn’t hate him. I wanted him to succeed. I wanted him to pass his classes. And even more, I knew that playing football was important to him.

So I did what I had to do.

Erasing Ford’s name, I put my name on the paper. Then, erasing my name from my test, I quickly wrote Ford’s name. Then tucked them back into the stack, mine on top.

The teacher came in then, a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

“All right,” he said. “Everyone done?”

I smiled at the teacher, feeling my heart take a pounding.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Then I’ll get these graded.”

I licked my lips nervously and sat, my thumbs twitching, as the rest of the class talked in quiet tones around me.

Since I was the only junior in a senior level class, I didn’t have any friends in here. And the one person that I knew never talked to me because he didn’t like me all that much.

The teacher graded the papers and flipped them back over, one by one, until he got to the last in the stack.

I saw it the moment he realized whose paper it was.

Shit.

He marked ‘X’ so many times that I knew that Ford—or actually now I—had failed within the first page and a half.

And by the time he was done recording the grades and handing the tests back to us, I felt sick to my stomach.

Everybody groaned as they got their tests back, but Ford, who blew out a relieved breath beside me.

When Mr. Humphries stopped in front of me, I knew that he was about to say something.

“Ms. Trammel,” the teacher said, looking at me worriedly. “Are you okay today? You don’t usually make grades like this.”

He handed the paper to me, and I didn’t even bother to look at the grade.

I’d failed.

I saw Ford’s head snap up, the smile slowly leeching off of his face as understanding dawned.

“I had a bad morning,” I lied. “My car broke down and I had to run six miles to school. And last night I had a stomach virus… let’s just say I’ll do better next time.”

And I would.

“You can come see me in my office after this,” he said. “We’ll talk about what happened.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I know what happened, Mr. Humphries. I didn’t study. End of story.” I shrugged as if it meant nothing to me, when I’d literally just screwed up my 4.0 GPA.