Page 125 of Every Move You Make

“Oh, no, no, darling, I’m only joking. No, never. All right now, Marguerite will take you to your private dressing room, then Monica and Quillian will be in shortly after for makeup and hair. Any questions?”

Relieved nudity is definitely off the table, I exhale forcefully and shake my head. “No. Let’s do this.”

Three hours and four outfit changes later, my stomach growls as I pose wearing next season’s orange track suit and matching sports bra. Even with music playing in the background, the entire crew can hear it.

Are they going to feed me? Oh, god, I’m not cut out for this model life. Like a baby, I need to eat every couple hours, and I’m sorry, but the eggs benedict, strawberry smoothie, greek yogurt, and hashbrowns just weren't enough this morning.

Miraculously, as I turn into another pose, I catch several carts of food being wheeled in, and my tense cheeks relax. I don’t care if that food isn’t for me,it will be.

“Beautiful,” Ingrid says from behind her lens as she crouches to capture an up-angle. Like a stage mom from one of those crazy children’s pageant shows, my “agent” stands behind the crew but always in my line of sight, making sure I position myself the way she wants. I mostly ignore her, but throw her a bone once in a while.

Ingrid takes a few more clicks and looks at her camera screen. With a pleased nod, she stands. “So much to work with,” she says to herself before addressing me. “You’re a natural, Robyn. All right, take your… agent, and go have lunch before everyone else.”

“Thank you,” I exhale, my voice an octave too low. “Should I…” I trail off and gesture to my outfit.

“We’re done with it, so you can keepit on if you’d like. It’s yours by the way. Everything you wear here today is yours to take home.”

“Ohmygod thank you,” I giggle because, as I am proving, I’m a total professional and can keep my shit together.

When we sit at one of the tables with our food, she wastes no time and cuts to it. “Birdie, be careful how much you eat, you don’t want to look bloated.”

“Mom, I’m starving,” I say around a mouthful of sandwich. There’s no way I’m letting this woman make me feel bad for what I’m about to eat.

Placing her fork on the table, she shakes her head and reaches for her large purse on the ground. “Fine. At least I planned ahead and brought you a toothbrush.” While she fiddles in her bag I get lost in my food.

Suddenly, her quiet but harsh tone comes out. “Robyn. Eleanor. Cassidy.” Immediately my heart stops because she just pulled out my middle name, and that means business. She’s looking at her phone with flames in her eyes and her jaw clenches. “Care to explain this?”

Taking her phone, I press play on the social media video but not before my gut drops. It’s clearly footage from a Ring camera of a beautiful front porch. A familiar front porch.

The front porch of our rental vacation house in the Outer Banks.

The front porch where I stand with Isaiah, his suitcasesitting next to him.

The front porch where he looks around before pressing me against the post and kisses me.

It’s a video from ChadSports, a creator I’ve seen before who reports on sports news. He’s never been a fan of mine. I’ve never seen him speak nicely about any female athletes for that matter.

The video was posted forty-five minutes ago and there’s over one hundred thousand likes. Eight thousand comments. Six thousand shares.

I can’t breathe.

“Don’t know who that man kissingfemaleOlympic rugby player, Robyn Cassidy, is?” Chad asks. “That’s Isaiah Johanssen.Head CoachIsaiah Johanssen for the women’s USA Valor. Robyn’s coach,” he clarifies, and his condescendinggotchatone wraps around me like a blanket of thorns.

“Seems the two of them spent some alone time recently. And if you’re wondering, can players and coaches date?” A screen grab of an email pops up behind his talking head and he continues, “The answer, directly from the offices of the USA Valor, sayNo.”

Oh god, I’m fully dead.

“Since Coach Johanssen took over this summer, they’ve lost every game.”

“That’s not fair, it’s only been two games!” I interrupt, like he can hear me.

“Clearly fucking your coach isn’t gonna help put the points on the board, eh, Robyn?” he laughs. “I’ll be posting more on this as it comes out, so follow me for more.”

With violently shaking hands, I fumble with the phone and shut it off before I toss it on the table and run to my dressing room where my own phone awaits. My mom’s voice is muffled through my panicked sprint, but before I get there, I notice everyone in the crew looking at their phones. Some of them have their mouths covered. People are leaning over to the person next to them and whispering. Eyes are tracking me.

Shit!

Whipping open the door, my phone lays on the vanity next to makeup brushes and hair styling tools and I grab it.

---