“Miss Carter, how does it feel to be the first woman to earn a football scholarship to a Division I school?” the first reporter asks. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail and the look on her face is all business. I try to focus on the question, but she’s intimidating as hell. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention to the introductions, because who is this woman?
“Honestly?” I say, resisting the urge to bite my lip. “I try not to think about it most days. Out here, I’m just like any other player on the team. I have a job to do and nothing else matters. It’s just me, the ball, and the upright.” Besides, it’s not like I’m the first woman to ever land a college football scholarship, just the first at a D1 school.
Coach Jackson raises a brow, and I remember what Austin said about having the team at my back. I still don’t want to get close to them, but maybe there’s another way.
“Like I said,” I continue, pasting a bright smile on my face, “I try not to think about it and focus on the team, but I know I’m fortunate to have this opportunity. There are a lot of guys on the team with more experience than me, who are also deserving of scholarships, but everyone’s been really supportive. The team, the trainers, the coaching staff, they’ve all been very welcoming.” Except that asshat Langley. “And I’m honored to be playing for a program with such a distinguished history and wealth of talent.”
A smile pulls at the corner of Jackson’s mouth, and I know I’ve said the right thing. One down…
“Coach Collins has announced you’ll be starting tomorrow against Idaho,” the second reporter, a squat guy with broad shoulders, says. “You’ll be the first woman in history to clock actual game time in D1 football. How are you handling the pressure?”
Okay, then. No easy warm-up questions here. “I don’t let myself get caught up in hype. I’ve been an athlete all my life, so preparing for tomorrow’s game against Idaho is no different from any other week of training. I’ve been really focused on technique, distance, and accuracy.”
“You stated you’ve been an athlete all your life,” he says, cutting off the Collegian reporter before the guy can get a word out, “but you’ve never played football, isn’t that right? You were a soccer player before you tried out for Wildcat football?”
“That’s right,” I say, shifting my weight and keeping an eye fixed on Jackson in case he’s got more nonverbal cues for me. “I played soccer for sixteen years, most recently for the Lady Wildcats, before joining the football team as a placekicker.” I shrug. “The skill isn’t all that different from kicking a long ball in soccer. The same principles apply and my training regimen really isn’t all that different either, although there’s a lot less cardio involved.”
Jackson grins, and I find myself smiling back, a genuine reaction this time. Because, come on, look at me being all funny and charming.
“You stated that the team and coaching staff have been really supportive,” the Collegian reporter says, shoving his iPhone closer to ensure he gets a clear recording of my response, “but there are a lot of folks out there who question whether you’ve got what it take to compete in the Big Ten, arguably one of the toughest conferences in college football. What do you say to the detractors?”
Fuck you? Nope. Jackson would probably keel over. “Like I said, I don’t get caught up in the hype.” Truth. I don’t even know what they’re saying about me online because I don’t have time to worry about it with my crazy-ass schedule. “My focus is on the game and showing up for the team, but I guess I’d tell them not to count me out. The best kickers in the country have a field goal percentage north of eighty-eight percent and so do I.” I hold up a hand before he can argue. “I may not be game tested, but I like my odds.” I nod to the adjacent field where the rest of the team is still running plays. “These guys get me in range on game day, I’ll prove it.”
The Collegian reporter nods, doing his best to look unimpressed—and failing. “Percentages can be misleading,” he says. “Most kickers can put up those kinds of stats inside the thirty. What’s your range like?”
I open my mouth to tell him I’m money from the forty-five, feeling pretty confident, but Jackson answers for me.
“Why doesn’t she just show you?” he says, gesturing to the spot in the center of the field where he’s set up the football and holder.
Why not indeed.
An hour later, I’ve done my best to impress the reporters, but even I know hitting all my kicks in optimal conditions doesn’t exactly carry the wow factor.
We wrap up the interview as practice winds down—thankfully it’s a short one today—and I find myself walking in step with Reid as we leave the field. We haven’t spoken since the other night at the library. I don’t have the first clue what to say to him, even if I wanted to break the ice. Not that I’ve forgiven him, exactly. But after overhearing his conversation with Coach Collins, I can’t help but feel a little bad for the guy. He’s clearly under a lot of pressure.
“How’d the interview go?” Reid asks, a warm smile curving his lips. “Did you wow them with your usual grace and charm?”
A week ago, the comment would’ve had my back up, but I’m starting to get the team’s brand of humor. “Guess we’ll see when the articles come out, but they didn’t seem overly impressed.”
“Then they’re idiots.” He says it completely matter-of-fact. No room for debate. “You’re playing ball for a top-tier school
