Page 41 of Chasing Headlines
“I shouldn't have to remind you that part of your financial aid is NIL money. Supporters won’t contribute if you can’t give interviews and make public appearances.”
“So, I'll have to take out loans.”
“You can do that.”
“Once I'm in the majors I can pay it all back. It's fine. Are we done?”
“We have twenty minutes left. Is there a reason you . . .”
I sat back down and folded my hands together. My left leg bounced. “Reason I what?”
She frowned. Deep ridges formed along her brow. “You seem very resistant to talk about your teammates, classmates. Your father.”
I was on my feet and pacing again.
“And yet your former teammates, according to statements you’ve made in the past—you intimated they were a great source of strength and support.”
“They’re not here now,” I said.
“I'm coming for you, Cooper.”
Tommy the Knox-his-blox off said it, but they were all thinking it. I could feel it in the locker room that day. Meyers, Jimenez, Hester. Their sights were too low. We were all gunning for spots on the roster, which had more to do with Schorr's perception of each of us as players.
“No. They’re not, butyouare. And do you think this school, the coaches and administration, the reporter, me, Deputy Reegan . . . Do you think any of us are here because we want front row seats to watch a talented young man fail at his dreams?”
I looked up. My stomach un-knotted itself and I don’t know why . . . I wanted to believe her.
“I think. It’s actually the opposite.”
I shook my head. “That girl knew all our stats. I wasn’t special to her.” Except she called me number one. And she was wearingmyshirt. Maybe wore it more than once. With nothing else on underneath . . .
In her bed at night. Her mouth open in a silent cry as she moaned my name.
“Uh. Ah. Breslin, yes.” Rally Girl gasped and panted.
“So? Aren’t you more than some numbers on a page?”
The words grated against my eardrum, dispelling the sexually-charged image in my head. Again.
“How would your mother describe you, if she were here? Would she say: my son is a great baseball player.”
“Don’t.” I shook my head and turned away. “Just don't.” My blood turned cold. I shivered. Gripped the edge of the couch. “Don't go there,” I rasped.Please.
“Breslin, honey. Promise me.”
I raked a hand through my hair. “What? What are you asking me? To stop playing baseball? Are you serious?” Not this. I'd do anything . . . anything.
“It consumes too much of you.”
“It’s not what she’d say is it?”
“No, it's not.” I closed my eyes as the pain rolled through my spine, my abdomen, my neck. Then there was nothing. Just a vague, hazy emptiness. It hummed in the air around me.
Because she didn’t believe in me.
“Let's talk about your life outside of baseball next time. Hobbies, interests. Anything.”
No.