Page 30 of One on One
“Not at all.” I square up for my next shot, which drops neatly through the basket. Only a few questions left. “What do you love about working for Ardwyn basketball?”
He pulls on the cuff of his shirt. “What do Ilove? Um.” His eyes defocus, and he slips away somewhere in his head. Somewhere heavy. He’s no longer thinking about basketball, he’s about to give an on-screen confession to a cold-case murder. “Pass,” he finally says.
“What? Isn’t that an easy question?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Kind of defeats the purpose of passing if you have to explain yourself.”
“There are so many things you can say. The people, the history, whatever. The ‘Ardwyn Family,’ everyone always likes that one.”
“I’m getting tired.” His voice is gravelly.
I step closer. “Me too, but we’re almost done. Come on, this should be easy for you. The only person who’s worked here longer than you is Donna. You bleed Ardwyn Blue.”
“Jesus Christ. Can you turn the camera off? I want to say something.”
His expression is raw and I want to stop him, sayNever mind,but I don’t. Instead I press the button.
When he speaks, he does so with jagged stops and starts, pausing to select his words with care. “The main reason I’ve been avoiding this interview is I’ve been dreading talking about my job on camera. Sorry I made you think it was personal. I know you and I haven’t been…” He stops and shakes his head. “I’m so frustrated right now, and I’ve been taking it out on you, and that’s not fair. I’m sick of fighting for my job, but that’s not even the most important part. I’m disgusted with how badly this school has screwed up its finances.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He works his jaw. “They’re not just going after thedepartment with a scalpel; they’re using a bludgeon too. Entire sports will be cut. My sister is supposed to come here next year for gymnastics. Competing for Ardwyn has been her dream since she was little, since we started taking her to meets here because I got free tickets. It’s an expensive sport for the school and it brings in no revenue, so it’s probably going to be gone.
“At the same time, I’m here burning out, and I may have nothing to show for it in four months. I’ve been here for, what, a third of my life? I’m still in the same role. The numbers guy. Do you remember when we were in school, and we did anything that had to get done, even if it wasn’t our job?”
I nod silently, my chest tight. I once did Coach Maynard’s annual ethics training for him, sitting through an online seminar, answering the multiple-choice questions when they popped up. I picked out his wife’s birthday present three years in a row.
Ben continues. “Well, I still do that. Kyle is in over his head as director of operations, so I do half of his job during all the free time Idon’thave. Do you know what he did a couple months ago? He booked all of our travel for the first half of the season using last year’s calendar. Hotels, meals, flights. Guess who had to clean that up? Me.”
Kyle screwing up the travel schedule—I knew about that. But nobody told me Ben was the one who fixed it.
“It’s thankless, and I’m tired and angry,” he says. “I don’t have it in me to talk about how much I love being part of the ‘Ardwyn Family’ right now.”
Silence. He’s done.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I hear myself say. I can’t wrap myhead around this information. Ben is a believer. He would wear Ardwyn Blue even if he were a True Autumn. (He’s not. It looks great on him.) But if even he’s jaded enough to use air quotes around “Ardwyn Family,” there’s no hope for anyone else.
“Yeah, so. Should we finish?” His mouth is a flattened coin.
There are a few more questions I’m supposed to ask, but the interview feels over. “I have what I need,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.” I turn off the camera and start unplugging things. Neither of us speaks. I take my time wrapping an extension cord into the neatest possible coil, detaching the microphone and breaking down its stand, trying to process what Ben said.
His behavior makes more sense now. It’s not an excuse, but it’s something, and it’s a relief to learn it hasn’tallbeen personal. He’s under a lot of pressure. His sister’s future hanging in the balance, plus his own. He sounds as drained as I feel when I think about what’s at stake for me.
He sits for a while, apparently not ready to move. When he stands, he reaches for the chair. “Where do you want this?”
“I’ll do it. It’s my job,” I say, waving him off. “It’s late. Go. Thanks for doing this.” He doesn’t move as I nestle the camera in its case, and I’m not sure whether I want him to say something more or leave.
The latches are loud when I click them shut. By the time I look up, he’s gone, and I’m surprised to find myself disappointed.
Say something more,I will him, too late.
The latest seasonof the hottest nonsense on television begins the first Monday in January. Eric and Cassie live farther from campus than I do. It’s a short drive or a long walk. I never remember the door code, so I slip into the building behind a guy carrying a bag of groceries and take the stairs to the third floor.
The layered sounds of multiple conversations happening in the same room float down the hall as I approach their condo. Uh-oh. When Eric invited me over to watchThe Beach House,I assumed it would be just the three of us. Not a party.
I look down at my stretched-out leggings and pull up the waistband, which droops again immediately. A few stray stubby bits poke out of the bun piled on my head, and my sweater is a muddled taupe anti-color. I adjust the neckline so my necklace is visible, dangling over my collarbone, and drag a finger under each eye to wipe away any black smudges. A classic schlump-to-slob transition.
The door is unlocked. I kick my sneakers off and leave them next to the mat. To my relief, the first people I see are Cassie’s law school friends, standing in the kitchen.
