Then I looked at Lucy and said, “Was this what you were looking for?” Gauging the space between the booth and pool table, I put my hands straight up over my head, pointed my left toe, and busted out my very best cartwheel.
It didn’t occur to me until much later, after I’d gone home with Ryan, then had sex with him for the third time, then woken up the next day, then had sex with him for the fourth time, that this could be a setup. An ambush. A sick joke Smiley was playing on the girl from Walker. I hadn’t read one printed word about Walker being in trouble with the NCAA, and was sure it would amount to nothing, but maybe Smiley had heard some of the rumblings. Maybe he wanted a reporter with an inside scoop when the dirt really started to hit the fan. I told myself I was just being paranoid. That even if the story did come to light, our name would be cleared—and I’d be the reporter to do it. I told myself that this was my big break. That my life was finally coming together.
Fifteen
On Monday morning, I called Smiley and formally accepted his offer of employment, thanking him so profusely that he sputtered, “Don’t ever thank me again. This isn’t a gift. It’s a job.” Then, to emphasize the point, he went on to explain that Kenny Stone, the guy I was replacing, had sold out to ESPN. “Another one bites the dust to the network that puts entertainment ahead of sports,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “I won’t thank you again. But, seriously, this is my dream job. And the salary is a little lower than what I make now, but I’m fine—happy—with it.”
Smiley made a scoffing sound and said, “For the love of Christmas. Let’s hope your reporting skills are sharper than your negotiating tactics.”
“Yes, sir. They are. Thank you so much,” I said.
“When can you start?”
“When do you need me to start?”
“The sooner the better.”
“I’ll give notice today.”
“You do that. And remember—”
He paused, and I said, “What’s that, sir?”
“No more rah-rah shit. You’re a reporter now.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, squeezing the little teal Walker Nerf ball on my desk before tossing it in the air and catching it with one hand.
Later that day, I found Coach Carr in his office, his door wide open.
“Congratulations,” he said when he saw me, taking a bite of a bagel, then sweeping stray sesame seeds into his trash can.
I smiled my thanks and said, “Smiley told you?”
“Yep. So I guess he thinks you can be objective.”
“Do you think I can?”
“We’ll find out,” he said, taking another bite.
“Maybe we won’t.”
“Oh? How do you figure?”
I swallowed, feeling bold as I lifted one eyebrow and said, “Because you and your program are perfect.”
“That’s a good point,” he said, laughing. “You know that’s not true, though, right? I’ve made a few mistakes along the way.”
“Such as?”
He put his bagel on his napkin, then pushed it aside. “Are you asking me as a reporter or my friend?”
“Um. Reporter.”
“Well, then I plead the Fifth,” he said.
“Okay. And as your friend?” I asked, leaning toward him.
“What’s the question again?”
“Are you as perfect as you seem?”
“Is the pope a bear?” he said, one of his stock expressions.
I smiled. “He must be.”
Coach laughed a big laugh. “So, girl. What are you doing tonight?”
“Um, watching the Cowboys,” I said, leaving out the part about watching the game in person with Ryan’s tickets that were awaiting me at will call at AT&T Stadium. “Why? What are you doing tonight?”
“Same,” he said. “Would you like to watch it together? I’ll go on record for you.”
“On record? About what?” I said, feeling an odd little rush of emotion that only he gave me.
“Oh, I don’t know. The season so far. Injuries. Recruiting. Strategy. Upcoming games. Conference realignments. Your call, girl. Consider it a congratulations-you-got-the-job gift. What do you say? Meet at the Third Rail at eight?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Good. Very good.” Coach Carr smiled his approval. “See you tonight.”
“See you tonight,” I said.
I waited until late afternoon to send Ryan a text, keeping it as simple as possible: So sorry can’t make it tonight. Have to work. Talk soon and good luck!
Very technically it was the truth, but I felt a trace of guilt that caused me to tack on an xo in a separate text. It was silly, really, because I felt certain that Ryan would care remarkably little about my last-minute cancellation, especially given that it was game day, and was surprised and a little flattered when he wrote back: That sucks. Call me afterward. Miss my girl.