Page 128 of Against the Clock

“Yes,” she says, and I stare at her, my thoughts racing a mile a minute.

“Cameron, I don’t know why you’re on this call, but absolutely not. I don’t want you to do it, I want Kelsey to do it.”

“The Hot Dams want to literally murder me over the cheerleader report,” I tell him. “The last thing I want to do is serve myself up on a silver platter for them.”

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone wants. I only give a fuck about what the ratings want, and no one is going to flip to the other channel if you’re the one out there on the sidelines. I don’t care if they hate your guts, they’ll watch you.”

“I don’t know enough about football—”

“That’s total bullshit and we both know it. I know who your dad is. We all know who your boyfriend is. Fuck, Kelsey, you’re from Texas, where they hold your eyelids open and make you watch Friday Night Lights until you’ve memorized it.”

“That’s so far from reality I’m not sure how to even respond to it.” Well, it’s not that far from reality, seeing as how schools in Texas are as big as they can make them just so they have a bigger pool of athletes, but the eyelid thing is a stretch.

“It was a fucking joke, Kelsey.”

“You know, you could find a different adjective, John,” Cameron says drily. “You’re overusing that one.”

“You try keeping everything running and then tell me about adjectives,” he retorts. “Kelsey, you need to do this for me. I need you on the sidelines. You do a good job and I’ll try to get you on air more. I promise not on the sports beat. Well, I mostly promise that. Maybe.”

Cameron rolls her eyes at me.

“You do a good enough job on the sidelines and maybe the stupid Hot Dams won’t be able to hate you so much. Flirt with the quarterback after the game, sex sells, blah blah blah.”

“Gross,” Cameron says. “Please never say that again.”

“Seconded,” I agree.

“Then we’re agreed,” he says airily, even though I’ve agreed to exactly nothing. “Be at the station in an hour and we’ll take the van down to Wilmington.”

He hangs up and I chuck my phone across the room, where it hits Cameron’s favorite chair before clunking to the ground.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Cameron says, then snorts.

“Fuck,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face. “I need to call my dad.”

We both stare at the phone like it’s going to walk back to me.

I take a long drink of my coffee.

“He’s right, though, about a couple things.”

“John?” I ask, incredulous.

She nods, sipping her coffee, too. “He’s a total dick, but you do well on camera and the Hot Dams aren’t going to want to click away from your reporting.”

“I don’t know enough about football.”

“That’s not true.”

I take another long drink of coffee. “I would like to be on camera more. But damn it, Cameron, I didn’t want to even watch this game today, let alone be there in person.”

“I know,” she says quietly, tucking an errant strand of hair back into her bun. “Maybe it will end up being a good thing. You two didn’t break up. Right? You just needed some space.”

My chest straight up hurts from the force of my deep sigh, and I retrieve my phone, plunking into her uncomfortable chair. I take a long swig of my coffee and Cameron hops up, refilling both our cups as I stare at my reflection in the screen.

I tap my favorites, then my dad’s number.

He picks up on the fourth ring, just as I’m starting to lose hope.

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