Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 116132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I thought about it for a second. "No, just erase his name. I might need the reminders."
…
Friday after practice, Coach Davis called me into her office. Sitting on the opposite side of her desk was a handsome guy dressed in a suit with thick, black-framed glasses. I instantly recognized him. It was Brian King, an ex-professional soccer player that worked at ESPN as a news commentator. He had a face for TV, which is why the network had snatched him up as soon as he'd retired from soccer at the ripe age of 24. He'd torn his ACL for the second time and no amount of surgery could put him back in the game.
"Kinsley, this is Mr. King," Coach Davis introduced us, and I reached forward to shake his hand. I was conscious of the fact that I'd just showered, so at least I didn't smell, but I was dressed in Nike shorts and a t-shirt while he was in a fitted suit. I felt out of my element to say the least.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. King.”
"Oh, please call me Brian," he smiled.
I took a seat next to him and turned my attention back to Coach Davis.
"Brian is here because he'd like to do an interview with you about the upcoming season and your Olympic aspirations."
I glanced quickly to Brian, who was offering me an easy smile. He really didn't seem like a bad guy, but I had no clue why he cared about me when there were probably hundreds of other girls in my same position.
"Ohhkay," I nodded, waiting for more information.
"I tried contacting your parents, but I thought since I was in the Los Angeles area, I might as well come down and meet you face to face," Brian explained.
"So, are you interviewing other people from the team?" I asked.
Brian shifted in his chair so that his body was aimed toward me rather than Coach Davis.
"At this point, you'll be the only person being interviewed from ULA. We'll be covering five young Olympic hopefuls in the months leading up to tryouts. Our audience really enjoys getting to know athletes like yourself. It makes the Games much more fun to watch if fans know some details about their favorite athletes."
"But I haven't made the team yet," I tried to argue. “Why do you want to interview me?”
"You haven’t Googled yourself recently, have you?" Brian asked, clasping his hands on his lap and leaning toward me.
"No," I answered truthfully, looking to Coach Davis for backup. She offered me a supportive smile and a small nod.
Brian chuckled and then reached down into his briefcase.
"Here's my card. I think we should schedule a time to get coffee sometime next week and we can discuss the interview in more detail." Then he stood, effectively ending the meeting.
"Thank you for your time, Coach Davis. And Kinsley, I look forward to meeting with you next week." He smiled, a wide camera-ready smile, and then exited the office. His cologne lingered on the chair next to me and I sat for a moment, trying to let everything sink in.
Coach Davis hopped up from her seat and came around her desk to sit beside me.
"Kinsley, this is all up to you. If you don't want to do the interview, then I can send a polite rejection, claiming a busy practice schedule as an excuse."
I shook my head and flipped Brian's business card over in my hand. His cell phone number, email, and office number were printed in bold black letters.
"I just need to think about. I'm not sure if I'm ready for the spotlight." I wanted to add that I'd never be ready for public scrutiny. I was a private person when it came to most things. Not to mention, I still felt like I hadn't proved myself in the soccer world. I didn't want to have everyone expecting great things from me, especially not when I was already putting so much pressure on myself.
"I think I'm going to go run for a bit," I declared, pushing off the leather seat and giving Coach Davis one final smile.
"Don't push yourself too hard, you've already had a hard practice week," she answered.
Not hard enough.
When I got home after my run, Emily was in our bathroom washing her face.
"Hey, Em," I smiled, sitting down and pulling off my running shoes. My shins hurt from running for so long, but I felt a thousand times better than I had after practice. Nothing cleared my head like running.
"Hey, Kinsley," Emily said, moving into my room and sitting down against my door.
We sat there in silence for a moment. She looked like she was thinking about something but was too scared to bring it up.
"How's it going?" I asked with an encouraging tone.
She chewed on her bottom lip and then finally looked up at me. "It's good... I just wanted to thank you for what you did on Wednesday morning. I know that you were just as tired as Becca and me."