The waitress stops at the table to let us know our food will be up shortly. My father and Hart order another round of drinks. I order another water. I need to stay hydrated for practice, even if I am desperate to get this over with.
It’s another fifteen minutes until our food arrives. Hart and my dad are still discussing my prospects in Pittsburgh, but I can’t concentrate. Twice Hart has to repeat himself because I’m not paying attention. It’s the longest fucking meal of my life, and yet the minutes continue to tick by, my anxiety increasing each time I check my phone.
There’s a text from Kennedy.
Kennedy: Where are you?
I glance at Hart, confirming he and my father are too deep in their hypothetical draft to care if I’m texting, and shoot her a quick reply.
Austin: Finishing up lunch with my dad and the scout from Pittsburgh. Don’t worry, gorgeous. I’ll be there.
It’s a bit of an exaggeration considering Hart’s only eaten half his entrée, but I don’t want her to worry. I force myself to join the conversation, hoping if I do more of the talking, Hart will do more eating. It works. To a point. Apparently the man’s the slowest eater on the planet. How have I never noticed this before?
I check the time again, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. I’m running out of time. If I don’t get on the road soon, I’m going to miss Kennedy’s presentation. My tapping foot has reached a breakneck pace, but I can’t seem to slow it down.
I can’t be late. I promised her I’d be there. She needs me.
After what feels like an eternity, the server finally clears our plates.
Hallelujah.
When Hart orders another round of drinks for the table, I go into full-on panic mode. I pride myself on staying calm under pressure, but something’s gotta give. Hart excuses himself to hit the head and I turn to my dad, already half out of my chair. “I need to go. If I leave now, I can still make it in time for Kennedy’s presentation.”
His eyes widen in surprise, but his voice is carefully controlled when he speaks. It’s his media voice, the one he always uses when talking to the press. Doesn’t matter if it’s good news or bad news or something in between, he’s mastered the art of playing it cool. “Absolutely not. You leave now, it’s an insult to the organization.” He gestures for me to sit down. “The least you can do is stay until John finishes his drink.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he says, drilling the table with his pointer finger. “What could be more important than achieving your dream?”
I falter. I know he means well. That he wants the best for me, but I’m not entirely sure he knows what that is. Hell, I’m not even sure if I know. “Kennedy needs me.”
“This girl again?” My father arches a disapproving brow, the closest he’ll come to showing displeasure in public. He’s made it clear he thinks a relationship is an unnecessary distraction, but we’ve agreed to disagree. As long as my performance doesn’t suffer. “Look, son, if this girl really cares about you, she’ll understand. This meeting? It’s about securing your future and maybe hers too, if she’s that important to you.”
I slide back into my chair, weighing my father’s words. My entire life he’s been my biggest fan. We may not agree on everything, but he’s always supported me. Without him, I wouldn’t be half the athlete I am. Sure, there are days I wish we could be a normal family, but it’s not in the cards. We’re a football family, and I can’t throw it all away now.
Kennedy will understand, won’t she?
I’m not sure, but in the end, I acquiesce to my father’s wishes. Just as I’ve done for the last twenty-one years. Just as he knew I would. Hart returns and as they continue reminiscing about their glory days, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Kennedy
Where the eff is Austin? He promised he’d be here. I glance at the clock. We’re on in five minutes. I straighten my skirt and smooth my hair. My heart is hammering in my chest and it’s entirely possible I’m going to pass out. I already warned Enzo. He swears he’ll catch me, although, truth be told, if I go down, I might be better off cracking my head open so I have an excuse to leave.
No way I’d be able to get back up and finish the presentation after that kind of humiliation.
The arena is packed, most of the students anxious to check out the competition. Bodies press in on all sides, the hum of conversation an incessant buzz that’s impossible to block out. I follow Enzo’s lead as he shoulders his way to the front of the crowd gathered around ring number three. It’s one of five identical rings that’s been set up for the timed trials. It’s also where we’ll be presenting.
I scan the faces circling the makeshift arena, noting most wear ACME badges around their necks. While I’m verging on a panic attack, everyone else looks so cool and collected. How is that possible?
The idea of facing the judges scares the crap out of me.
I draw a deep breath and blow it out through my nose, trying to channel some of Enzo’s calm. He’s on his own—Emma has a late class—and he’s not freaking out. The difference is, he’s not terrified of speaking in front of a crowd.
Unlike me.
It doesn’t matter if it’s in the classroom or in competition, I hate public speaking. Unfortunately, it’s a key component of the ACME Student Design Competition. All team members must participate in the presentation.
Shit. I really should’ve gotten my prescription for anti-anxiety meds refilled.
Too late now.
I just need to focus. I got
