Page 66 of Off Camera
“Are you scared about how she might retaliate?”
I sit in her chair and open a drawer, setting one of the ducks on top of a stack of sticky notes. “I’m absolutelyterrifiedof the stuffed animals she could fill my office with.”
Maverick and I work in silence. We freeze every time we hear voices outside the door, wondering if it could be her. She could walk in at any moment, and knowing we could get caught makes me hide the last dozen ducks quick as hell.
“Done.” Maverick dusts off his hands and fixes his black baseball cap. “It’s too bad we don’t have a camera set up to see her reaction. What other ideas do you have?”
I arrange her pens and planner back in their original position. “I can’t tell you everything. What if she interrogates you?”
“Yeah, because Avery and I hang out all the time,” he says dryly. “I would do damn well in an interrogation. I?—”
A laugh travels down the hall and interrupts him.
It’s followed by footsteps and two people talking, and I panic.
“Shit.Fuck. That’s her,” I hiss.
We hear a muffled, “I’m going to get my water bottle and planner and I’ll be right there, Marjorie.”
I look around the room, frantic. There’s a door to the left of her desk, and I grab Maverick by the collar. I shove him inside the closet and slip in after him, cracking the door just as she walks inside.
It’s so dark in here, I can’t see a damn thing.
It’s small, too, and Maverick and I are practically on top of each other. He pulls out his phone and holds up his screen, looking at me.
Oh my god,he mouths.What do we do?
Wait,I mouth back.She said she’s going somewhere else.
I have to pee.
I narrow my eyes and run my hand across my neck, telling him to cut it the fuck out. He flips me off and I ignore him, peering out the small sliver of space between the door and the door jamb.
I spy Avery on her computer. She clicks into a folder, humming a tune under her breath that sounds reminiscent of “Heroes” by David Bowie. When she closes out of the document, her background comes to life, and it’s a punch to the gut.
It’s her sitting next to a hospital bed occupied by a man who’s the spitting image of her; the same cheekbones. The same wrinkles around their eyes. The same dimple, and I canheartheir laughter through their matching smiles.
It must be her dad, and suddenly, this all seems stupid as hell.
She powers down her computer and grabs her phone. I watch her pull up a text thread, and she drums her finger along the curve of the screen, deep in thought. She types out a handful of sentences before she deletes them, stares at the ceiling, then starts again.
Maverick taps my shoulder and points at the door. I shake my head and hold up a finger, letting him know it’s going to be another minute.
What is she doing?he mouths.
Texting someone.
Tell her to hurry up.
Avery finally finishes her text and stands. My phone buzzes in my pocket and my heart jumps in my chest. I check to make sure she hasn’t heard us and open the message.
Avery
Does your stadium have headphones available to fans?
I frown and type out a response.
Me
