“Hi, Reggie,” I said, surprised that he remembered me, although we’d talked a few times during my old job. “What are you working on?” I pointed down at his notebook.
“Huckleberry Finn,” he said, smiling as he shut his books and slid them into a nylon messenger bag at his feet.
“You like it?” I said.
“The CliffsNotes are real good,” he said, nodding seriously before breaking into a big grin. “Nah. I’m just playin’. I do like it. We were just discussing that scene where Huck plays the trick on Jim with the leaves on the raft. You know, making him think he was dreaming everything?”
I nodded although I only vaguely recalled the scene.
“And then Jim says that part about how trash is what people are who put dirt on the heads of their friends and make them feel ashamed?” Reggie shook his head. “And then Huck works himself up to go apologize, humble himself to a … excuse my language … nigger?”
I flinched, hearing the vile word spoken aloud, but was able to maintain eye contact, transfixed by Reggie’s take on the scene and impressed by his ability to engage an adult, talk about literature instead of himself. I nodded, waiting for him to continue.
He whistled and said, “Man. That’s some powerful stuff right there. Powerful. You can see how Twain humanizes Jim. It’s so good.”
I smiled, thinking that we were just a few minutes in and I could understand why everyone liked Reggie. He was so easy to talk to—and so humble.
“So,” I said. “Can we talk about you for a bit? Your experience so far at Walker?”
He nodded and said sure.
“Let’s start with why you chose to come to college here. You had a lot of choices … So why Walker?”
His face became somber as he gave me the answer that I wanted. “I came to Walker for a lot of reasons. The education. How nice everyone was to me. How pretty the campus is. All that stuff … But I ain’t gonna lie, I mostly came to Walker so I could play for Coach Carr. He’s the man. Always keeps it a hundred percent real. For me, it really came down to that, ya know?”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
The day after my interview with Rhodes, as I was putting the finishing touches on the story, Smiley called me into his office. I was all jazzed up, on the verge of telling him about all the great stuff I got, when he gave me a long, accusatory look. Then he whipped off his reading glasses, tossed them onto his desk, and said, “Have you heard anything about Walker being in trouble with the NCAA?”
I opened my mouth, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve heard … rumblings.”
“Rumblings?” Smiley demanded, slapping his desk. “Define rumblings.”
“You know … rumors.”
“Rumors from rednecks at your local bar or rumors from the inside down there at Walker?”
“Um. Both, I guess,” I hedged.
“And? You didn’t think that was something to discuss with your editor?” Smiley was now shouting, and I could see beads of sweat on his upper lip.
“I guess I should have,” I said, looking down at my lap.
Smiley nodded, now pacing. He was hot. Hotter than I’d ever seen him. “Yes. You should have. Your ass should have been all over that story. And you better hope that we run something on it before anyone else does!”
“Yes, sir,” I said, deflated, and a little worried about my job. “I mean—I have, sort of, stayed on top of it …”
“And? What’s the status?”
“Well … I’m not sure exactly.”
“You’re not sure?” he said, rolling up one sleeve. “That’s your definition of ‘staying on top of it’?”
“Not ordinarily. No, sir. You’re right—”
Smiley cut me off. “Who have you talked to? What sources have you lined up?”
“Well. I’ve, um,” I stuttered. “I’ve talked to our enforcement guy. Ernie Galli.”
“Our?” Smiley roared, rolling up his other sleeve.
“Walker’s,” I said, correcting myself. “I meant Walker’s …”
“Look, Shea. We need a story,” he fumed. “Because this is a story. You have twenty-four hours to get me something. Got it?”
I nodded briskly and said I’d get right on it, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to report bad news about my school. I walked out of his office, remembering something Coach Carr said to me a long time ago. It was in the context of another school, a different set of problems, but I never forgot it. “When the local media turns its guns on you,” he had said, “you’re toast.”