Page 7 of Lovely War
He’s lucky I love him. I bite back a rising wave of sarcasm. I can handle a guy like Williams, because he’s like a lot of coaches I’ve known. He only cares about winning, and hebelieves that mindset excuses any number of offenses. His belief is reinforced by the fact that thousands of people stand in the background and cheer while he does his job. All I need to do is tell him what he wants to hear.
I paste on a mild smile. “Let me tell you about how video can help with recruiting.”
Thirty painful minutes later, I leave the meeting with clammy, shaking hands.Three years of this.I have a long way to go. I wish I could say I’m not going to worry about earning anyone’s acceptance here, but I don’t have that luxury.
After that shit show, I need to hustle over to the Church. I’m supposed to meet Donna the admin to fill out HR paperwork and get my ID card at ten thirty, and I’m cutting it close. By the time I get there, halfway across campus, I’m breathing heavily. Sweat dampens the armpits of the white top I’m wearing under my blazer.
It’s a new blazer, in bitchy brick red. I wanted to channel a power suit vibe for my first day—without buying something boring. Mom yanked it from the rack at Aritzia with a gasp. “It’s exactly your color.”
When we shop, she reminds me that I’m a True Autumn. I have hazel eyes, a dusting of freckles across my nose, and what my grandma used to call “a misleadingly dainty mouth.” My wavy brown hair grazes my shoulders, the evidence of last year’s Great Christmas Bangs Debacle thankfully just a memory now. The memory involves my sister, Kat, wielding a pair of scissors after too many cranberry mojitos, telling me, “It’ll look French!”
I can’t blame her. Mom, Kat, and I spent our first Christmas after Dad’s heart attack at home, eating the same turkeywe always ate, decorating the tree with the ornaments Kat and I made as kids, playing the board games we’d played every holiday for years. We were miserable. Apples to Applessuckswhen you only have three players. The next Christmas we overcorrected, fleeing all our familiar traditions for a rental in Florida, where we were equally miserable but drunker. Hence the bangs.
According to the rules of seasonal color analysis, I’m not supposed to wear pastels (valid), black (unreasonable), or anything close to Ardwyn Blue (just another sign from the universe). Mom believes self-categorization is the key to self-understanding. She’s right about the blazer, though.
There should be music playing,I think as I look up at the Church. TheJawstheme, maybe. I could stand outside and reflect on old times and turn this into a whole thing, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to be late for Donna.
Okay. I take one deep, fortifying breath. Let’s get this over with.
THREE
Other than Eric and Ben,Donna is the only person still around from the old days. In fact, Donna will still be here long after the rest of us have gone to meet our maker, even though she’s got twenty-five years on us. Death will be too terrified to ever come for Donna, especially if it tries showing up without making an appointment first.
She’s barking into the phone when I approach her desk. “How many times do I have to tell you? No. Solicitors. Don’t you dare call again.” She hangs up with such force it probably hurts the person on the other end of the line. “Some people need to get their fucking ears cleaned,” she mutters. I worship her in a way that makes me understand why some gods find the vengeful approach effective.
Her glower melts into a beatific smile when she sees me. “My beautiful girl.” She stands to hug me. Donna is wiry and tanned year-round, with cropped hair dyed a shade ofblond that tells people she doesn’t give a shit that they can tell the color is fake.
“It’s good to see you,” I say.
“It’s even better to see you. I missed you, I’m thrilled you’re back, and that’s all the chitchat we have time for, so let’s get down to business.”
Donna zips through the paperwork and slides it into a folder.
“There’s supposed to be a tour, but you don’t need it, and I have to go call a booster about his season tickets. He made one of the girls in Development cry, so now I have to return the favor. Your office is over here.”
I scamper after Donna as she strides through the lobby toward the quietest section of the office, away from the conference room and the kitchen.
“The bathrooms haven’t moved.” She gestures down the hallway. “But there are free tampons now.”
“How revolutionary,” I say.
We turn left. There are only two offices in this stretch of corridor. The one on the left belongs to somebody. There’s a coffee cup next to the computer and a cluster of picture frames on the other side of the desk. A bunch of half-deflated birthday balloons droops in the corner.
Donna deposits me in the other office. The desk is empty, but a massive bulletin board fills one wall, covered in old game programs and crumpled tickets. Evidently, the previous occupant was sentimental enough to save everything, but not sentimental enough to take it when they left. On the opposite wall is a row of pennants, one for each of the major Philly professional sports teams.
“Let me know when you take this stuff down and I’ll have someone come patch the holes,” Donna says. She pauses in the doorway. “Things have changed here. The people in charge are different, and it shows. I never blamed you for leaving for a better opportunity, but I’m glad you’re back, and I think you’ll be happier now.”
“Okay,” I say weakly.She never blamed me for leaving for a better opportunity.What opportunity? And why would she blame me, unless someone else did?
On her way out, she peeks in the room across the hall. “Not here,” she declares loudly. “Wait until he hears about Kyle’s latest fuckup. Lord have mercy.” And then she’s gone.
I need to start churning out a steady stream of preseason content right away. There are people to help with scripts and shooting, but otherwise I’m mostly in charge. Which means I’m the one who has to reach out to Ben for the information I need for my first video, even though I don’t know what to make of this morning’s conversation.
Monday, 11:47a.m.
From: Annie
To: Ben
