Page 52 of Red Zone
Megan Talbot, the head of marketing, breezes in a minute later, all business casual confidence and red lipstick. She offers me a kind smile as she sets her tablet down beside my dad, who doesn’t look up from his own notes.
“All right,” Megan says, clicking her pen. “Let’s dig into the mid-season review.”
Dad finally lifts his head, his jaw already tight. “Let’s not waste time. We’re five games in. How are we looking?”
Megan glances at me, then back at him. “Lyla, want to walk us through the social engagement numbers?”
“Sure,” I say, clearing my throat. I open my binder and glance at the neatly color-coded charts I spent all weekend building. “So far, our engagement is up fifteen percent compared to last season. Jaxon’s touchdown post hit twohundred and seventy-two thousand impressions. Carter Hayes—despite barely using his account—is seeing the highest growth in follower count, mostly from reposted highlight reels.”
My dad grunts. “Winning helps.”
Megan ignores the comment. “And video performance?”
I nod. “Reels and TikToks do better than static posts. Fans are responding more to clips with personality—mic’d up practices, sideline reactions, even pre-game rituals. Anything that makes the players seem more real and relatable.”
Megan smiles. “Exactly the kind of insight we need. Which leads me to?—”
“Hold on,” my dad interrupts, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve got a suggestion.”
Here we go.
He laces his fingers together like he’s about to deliver the gospel. “You know, if you’d let me call Coach Douglas with the Titans, he could have you working under a real media team by the end of the year.”
My stomach coils.
Megan looks between us like she’s sensing the shift in air pressure.
“With all due respect, Coach,” I say tightly, “I want to earn my place in this industry. Not be handed one because of my last name.”
His brow creases. “You’ve earned plenty. This would just get your foot in the door.”
I sit straighter. “And when they look at me, all they’ll see is the door you opened. I want more than that. I need more.”
Megan raises her brows and gives me a small, impressed nod. “Spoken like a real strategist.”
My dad doesn’t say anything.
I take a breath, flipping to a new page in my binder. “Which brings me to something I’ve been working on. A new campaign.”
Megan perks up. “Hit me.”
“We’ve focused a lot on stats and curated posts,” I begin. “But what if we pivot a little—to personality? Show who these players are outside the helmet. Their habits, routines, playlists, even what they eat before games. Favorite pregame socks. Anything that makes them feel like someone instead of just a player.”
Megan’s smile grows. “You’re thinking give the audience someone to root for, not just cheer at.”
“Exactly.”
She taps her pen against her tablet. “You’re proposing short-form stories. Maybe build a weekly spotlight series. Could be gold.”
I nod, the idea clicking into place even as I speak. “We start with someone the fans don’t know much about. Maybe someone unexpected.”
Megan glances at my dad, who’s still unreadable.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Just don’t let it become a distraction for the players. I need them focused.”
Megan waves him off. “Just because we don’t get smelly and sweaty, doesn’t mean we aren’t working too, Coach.”
I can’t help the way my lips twitch.
