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“I’ve only had the class twice.” I shrug, wanting to avoid this subject. His tutor just so happened to be my mother. My father told me he wasn’t much good at English either and needed a tutor when he was in college. I was diagnosed with a mild case of dyslexia in elementary school, and I’ve been struggling with it ever since. I’m not great at writing papers, spelling, reading. It’s a first-year level class that my academic counselor pushed back for me, doing me a favor, until finally, I was forced to take it this semester. The one subject that gives me trouble, the class I’ve been avoiding until I can’t avoid it any longer. “You finally in that English class?” He raises his brows. I’m not that good at certain subjects, and he knows it. “Fine.” My tone is clipped, and he lifts his head, noting it. I handle a lot of shit, day in and day out. “Okay.” I nod, hating the idea of adding one more thing to my plate. I’ll make it happen, and you make sure to coordinate with your schedule, so it doesn’t interfere with your classes.” Not that I’ve been “socializing” much lately anyway.Ĭoach nods, grabbing a notepad and scribbling something across it with a pen he snagged from his polo shirt pocket.

Along with practice and games and everything else that comes with my life, that won’t leave much time for socializing. “You really think I need it?” I definitely need it, but man, my class schedule is heavy this semester. I’ve been going nonstop ever since, and now that it’s my senior year, my last chance to prove myself before I attempt a go at the NFL, of course my knee decides to give me trouble. That I was stronger, both physically and mentally.

I had surgery and once I was ready, started physical therapy four times a week, and I never missed a session. Travel Insurance in Germany: A Complete Overview

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