Page 24 of Chasing Headlines
“And Furston, Jesus. That man meddles. Just shows up tossing money around then makes a bunch of demands like he’s the king of the hill around here.”
Oh. Yeah, that was my dad. Meh, what’s he meddling in now?
“I don’t need him meddling! Not any more than he already has. Gonna lose the rest of my God damned hair over that problem child he sent me. Swear to God. Give him a scholarship. Oh yeah, like I just had one in my sock. Had to go make nice with that damned Vachon-Schreiber lady. Scrounging for Booster and NIL funds. Fuck my life with that one.”
My heart twisted. “Um, Coach?”
“What Milline? Can’t a man grouse to himself in peace?”
“Uh. Sure?” I folded my hands into my lap. “Let me know when you’re done? Maybe?”
“Just what I don’t need: another damned stubborn Milline. And here I thought maybe you’d be better. I remember you toddling around when Curt was here. You were about yay high.” He held a hand out like I'd been up to his knees or something.
He was clearly mistaken. “I was twelve?”Toddling?
His eyes narrowed. “You wanna be a baseball scout. Did I hear that right? Thought I was having a nightmare.”
“Yeah.” I straightened. “Yes Coach.”
“Your brother said I should support you in your . . .” He waved a hand like he was shooing something. “efforts. Women baseball scouts. As if that’s a place you need to be.”
“Excuse me?” I shot up from my bleacher seat. “There have been several, outstanding, exceptional women scouts. Robin Wallace and Amanda Hopkins are both?—”
“I have daughters. They’re amazing. Gonna be doctors and lawyers and show Dad how independent they can be. How much smarter. Couldn’t be prouder.” He spit again.
Ugh.
“Not a one of ‘em wants anything to do with baseball.” Watery eyes narrowed.
I stared. “Baseball’s amazing. It’s their loss.”
He sighed. “Your brother says you’ll grow out of it if I just humor you. So, I’ll humor you. But here’s the rules, take ‘em or leave ‘em, I don’t give a shit.”
Wow, thanks Curt. You and Schorr both suck. I put my game face back on. “Yes, Coach.”
“One, don’t start any trouble with my players. Any of my players. The good ones, the not gonna make the team ones, none of them. They better all tell me in a deposition that the Milline girl made their baseball life better, if they can even pick you out of a lineup.” He went on to mutter something I couldn't quite make out, but sounded like: “Furston’d kill me.”
“A good cop would never give up their CI, coach.”
“Yeah, shit, you caught me. I watch Homicide reruns when I can’t sleep. But you get the message.”
“Don’t cause trouble with your players. Got it. I can interview them, still, though, right?”
He scowled. “Don’t get smart with me, Milline.”
“Uh? Sorry?” I ducked my head as I rolled my eyes.
“Two, you’re gonna do actual scout work.”
A helium balloon swelled inside my heart. My feet vibrated and I swallowed the urge to tackle the man into a hug. “What?”
He pointed at me. “You’re gonna deal with all of the recruiting reports I get. Organize them. Make spreadsheets so I don’t have to fill the crap in by hand. Keep track of shit. My calendar. My top ten throughout the season. Who else is talking to them.”
The balloon deflated a bit. “So, basically be your admin.”
“The glamorous life of a scout.”
I folded my hands together and tried to contain my glee. “Will I get to go to showcases or offsite recruiting games?”