Page 153 of Chasing Headlines
Frozen lumps churned inside my stomach, but I managed to nod.
“Great.” She flipped up her screen and went back to typing. “And then you’re going to help cover hockey this winter.”
Oh no. No no no.“Aren’t there plenty of other people who would welcome the opportunity? It’s a big deal with the Olympic guy and Wynter’s dad being a major league . . . guy. I could help cover football?”Maybe?“It’s a large team and playoffs in particular?—”
“You’re in Texas. Football is a religion. Hockey’s a huge NCAA sport for this school, but it’s played on ice and you may have noticed we’re in the desert.”
I ground my teeth together to keep additional protests locked inside. “Women’s soccer? It starts next month? Oh, the men have a big tournament?—”
“Fix the article. Today, Liv.”
“Yes ma’am. I did the interview. Dotty made me come back multiple times because she didn’t feel like it or something. In the end, she answered only what she wanted to, asked me a bunch of personal questions and?—”
Mrs. P's mouth shifted to one side of her face. “You don't know how to handle a difficult interview?”
“Of course I—” Ew. The many, many times I'd tried to interview Coop cropped up in my brain.Do I?
“So what? All baseball players just talk to you?”
“No comment. I can keep this up all year. No comment. No fuckin comment.”
“Well, um, no. Not all of them.” The frozen, churning sensation in my stomach flipped over. “But most seem to appreciate the attention.”
“And the ones that don’t? How do you get them to talk to you?”
His mouth covered mine. I clutched the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer . . .
I cleared my throat.“Well, so far, a head injury has been the only method with any notable progress?”That would just sound like I'm not taking this seriously. Despite being kinda, mostly true. “It’s kind of a process?”
“Right. Connecting with someone, demonstrating kindness or even caring about the individual.” She pulled her glasses off and glared. “Do I really need to explain this? To my reporter?”
I took a step back, away. “No ma’am.”
“Great. Fix the article. I need it today. If it’s good enough, I’ll print it.”
I took a deep breath, trying to thaw the frozen pit that was my stomach. “Yes ma'am, I’ll get right on it.” I spun around and stepped toward the door.
“Not done.”
Dammit.I turned back and summoned my game face.
“If I can't print it, your grade will reflect that your work was incomplete this semester.”
Oh suck.
“I want adynamiterewrite of this Founders’ Day story, today, and Times-worthy exhibition game coverage for next week's publication. Bring me a real story not just stats and who won or lost. Make it human. And if you deliver, I’ll send you to cover one practice each next week—hockey and soccer. Thenyou will get to decidewhich beat to pick up in the offseason.”
“Yes, Mrs. P. I got it. I won’t let you down.”
“Olivia, if you can’t prove to me that you’re already a versatile reporter. Then it’s my job to make you one.”
“I think covering baseball, and another sport is versa?—”
“No. If you can’t deliver on the assignment I gave you almost three months ago? Not only will you receive an incomplete, I’ll have to pull you from baseball coverage and assign you to something . . . less distracting.”
The cold pit inside threatened to swallow me whole. This was epically not good. “Yes ma’am.”
Chapter Forty-Three