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“Mr. Simpson isn’t taking English Literature.” His eyebrow ticked up as he studied me. “Wouldn’t it be better to reach out to a student in your own class?”

Shit.

Logically, yes it would. But if I was going to get under Andy’s skin, I needed him to be forced to help me. Forced to do my work for me. For all his faults, Andy was fucking smart. And definitely pliable. He’d let me push him around in high school, and after our meeting in the library, I just knew he’d continue to do so here.

“You’re probably right.” I pushed against the arms of the chair to stand up. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Sit down, Mr. Hix,” Monsignor O’Shea said firmly.

I lowered myself back into my seat, nervousness gnawing at my insides as O’Shea locked his gaze on mine.

Priests couldn’t read minds…could they?

“It actually happens that Mr. Simpson is required to complete a fair number of public service hours. So it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility. However, I have to wonder why you would choose him of all people.”

Public service hours? That was odd. Had he gotten into some kind of trouble? I really couldn’t imagine that. But I didn’t know how to ask without being told it was none of my business, so I guess that was one more thing Andy was going to have to give me when I got my way.

“Well, I’m not sure if you know, but we went to high school together,” I said. “And I ran into him yesterday in the library, and we got to talking about As I Lay Dying, which is the current reading assignment, and he just seemed to understand it more clearly than I did.”

“Did he?” A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Would you mind telling me about that conversation?”

“He just mentioned that I reminded him of Anse,” I admitted.

“Indeed.” The monsignor’s eyes actually sparkled as he broke into a full grin and I knew for sure in that moment that I’d been right and Andy had been insulting me with that comparison.

And damnit, I really wanted to understand what he’d meant.

“Look,” I said, realizing that none of this was working. “I’m smart. Really, I am. But not about stuff like this.”

“School stuff?”

“This school stuff.” I fought not to glare at him. “I had a very different vision of what Lit class was going to be like. And obviously I was incorrect. So if we can’t move me to something else, can you please help me convince Andy to keep me from failing out and losing my place on the football team?”

Monsignor O’Shea studied my face for a moment and I thought for sure he was going to tell me to get out of his office. But instead, he just sighed softly and turned to his computer, his fingers chicken-pecking on the keyboard for a minute before he picked up his phone.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said softly. “But would it be possible for you to ask Andy Simpson to come to my office?” He paused for a moment. “Thank you.”

He returned the phone to its cradle and looked back over at me.

“I sincerely hope you do not make me regret this intervention,” he said firmly.

“I don’t intend to.” I didn’t intend for him to hear anything about it again after this meeting.

Knowing Andy the way that I did, I knew that no matter what I did or said to him, he would never complain about it. No one other than the two of us would ever know the full extent of my plan.

“The team is looking very strong this season,” O’Shea said.

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I was a little worried about being named starter already, but we’re all working well together.”

“Well, it’s a small school,” he reminded me. “It’s not as if a sophomore starter is so unusual in this situation. And Coach Tine is quite impressed with your leadership skills.”

“Thank you, sir.” That was nice to hear. Coach wasn’t big on vocal praise, so it was a relief to hear that at least he talked well about me to others.

“Come in!” Monsignor O’Shea called as a soft knock hit his door.

Andy stepped inside, his eyes going wide when he saw me sitting with the monsignor.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” He stood in the doorway, as if unwilling to step fully into the office.