Page 5 of One on One
Awesome. I planned to cling to Eric like a security blanket until I got acclimated, but he’s already abandoned me.
Two young women arrive a few minutes later. The first strides in carrying a nylon satchel and an open laptop, sits down, and hunches over the screen. As her auburn hair falls into her line of sight, she absently gathers it on one side and twists it into a long spiral away from her face.
The second ambles into the room like it takes all the effort in the world. Her laptop clatters as she drops it on the table a little too roughly, and she plops into a chair and exhales loudly. She rubs her eyes under her thick glasses. A slouchy beanie droops on her forehead.
“Hi, I’m Jess.” Somehow she manages to sigh after every word.
The other woman looks up, fingers hovering above the keyboard. “Wow, missed you there. I’m Taylor. You’re Annie?”
I nod. “Nice to meet you.”
Taylor smiles and pets her hair spiral. “We’re on the media team. We run the athletic department social accounts.”
Jess twists around in her chair. “Is there food at this meeting?”
I take out a notebook and pen. Not a bad idea to look like I’m making an effort. “I didn’t see any. I don’t think I qualify for the continental breakfast treatment.”
“Not even fruit salad?” Jess despairs.
“If anything, I’m probably more on the stale-bagel level.”
Jess snorts. “The future belongs to those who believe they deserve an omelet bar. Eleanor Roosevelt.”
Taylor pounds at the keyboard with a frown. “I told you to eat before we came. You get weird when your blood sugaris low.” She presses one final button and turns her full attention to me, her mouth curving upward. “You know, you’re a legend around here.”
I blink. “Me?” Surely not.
“Don’t get too excited. There are only, like, five of us in the department. But we’ve always wondered who made those old basketball videos. They’re so good.”
“Really good,” Jess adds. “You obviously had a shit camera, but you did awesome work.”
“Wow. Thank you,” I say, my face growing warm. “It was a shit camera. I think I found it in a closet. Our budget was zero dollars.”
Taylor leans forward and rests her chin on her hand. “Did you graduate a semester early? We always wondered why the videos stopped in December instead of at the end of the season.”
“Ah.” I shift in my seat. “Yeah, I had enough AP credits from high school, so I couldn’t justify another semester of tuition.” Not the full truth, but I did meet the requirements to claim my diploma—barely—and head for the hills when I needed to, after the holiday tournament in Florida.
Thankfully, Taylor can’t ask any follow-up questions, because a broad-chested man in a blazer and khakis enters the room. He has gray side-parted hair that sweeps across his forehead like the bristles of a broom.
“Ted!” Jess and Taylor say at the same time.
“How’s everybody doing this morning?” He’s got an open face, an unguarded smile. He turns to me. “Ted Horvath, assistant athletics director,” he says with a firm handshake. “Welcome back to the Ardwyn Family.”
The Ardwyn Family. Three words, an ambush, a homing beacon’s signal activating inside me. An expression so familiar, the cadence, each syllable, like sliding into an ancient pair of shoes from the back of the closet, or remembering all the words to a song from long ago. My heart rate kicks up a notch and the faint stirrings of nausea rise in my gut as I note my symptoms from a distance like I’m my own doctor. Diagnosis: severe allergy to school spirit.
The Ardwyn Family is a family whose former patriarch—a coaching prodigy, a campus hero—got away with being a manipulative, power-abusing narcissist. Forgive me if it doesn’t warm my heart.
“No breakfast, Ted?” Jess asks.
Taylor hoists her bag onto the table. It lands with a thud. “Jess is hangry,” she explains, digging around inside. “Peanut butter or cranberry almond?”
“Peanut butter, please.” Jess holds out a hand until Taylor finds a granola bar and passes it to her. “And do you have my laptop charger?”
She does. I fight a smile. It’s like a diaper bag. She’s probably got her water bottle and wallet and allergy medication too.
“What’s ‘hangry’?” Ted leans forward on his elbows.
Before anyone can answer, the door opens one last time, and a man walks through it.
