Page 11 of Sidelined By Love

This is ridiculous. But everything Caro said was right.

And now I know exactly why Jen and Margot want to be part of this project. It’s all the stuff the Academy loves. It has all the things audiences eat up.

I read theTimesarticle about it again, and I can’t help but smile at the picture of the Texas State Champions lifting their coach high on their shoulders—their very female coach.

In 1980s Texas, where Friday night lights ruled and everything came second to God and football, Cortez High School suffered a terrible tragedy. On a trip to a continuing educationseminar, the entire coaching staff was killed two weeks into the school year. But without a school sponsor, the rag-tag team—half the size of most Texas high school teams—couldn’t play. Enter Evelyn Simpkins, an English teacher with zero knowledge of the game but a fierce love for her students.

With a lot of grit, determination, and support from their community, Cortez began to win. Until wealthy schools began trying to get the team of mostly Hispanic players to drop out.

What’s not to love? It’s the American dream. An entire team—most of them children of immigrants—making good in an arena everyone said they had no business being in.

My chest feels warmer just reading about it.

This story is begging for a film adaptation. And if the writer has an ounce of talent, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into it.

Except, Cyndi told me I need to take a break.

Actually, it was more like, “There isn’t another producer willing to take a chance on you.”

I let my face fall into my hands and scrub my cheeks. There has to be someone. Somewhere.

I didn’t blow up my last set. It wasnotmy fault.

Okay, I could have been more diligent in my research. But when a man tells you he’s single, when he asks you to go out with him every day for two weeks, when he waits outside your trailer begging for a chance . . . Well, at some point you start believing him.

At least I did.

Stupid mistake.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I love my job. And I’m good at it.

Even if the world at large thinks I’m a homewrecker. The studios think I’m a liability now, and I don’t know if I can prove them wrong.

“Morning, sweetie.” Nan shuffles past me and presses her hand to the top of my head, as though she knows it feels like it’s about to fly off. “Sleep okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” I haven’t told her about Bronco’s unpleasant morning routine. Or bumping into Grant. And I’m not going to.

“What are you reading about?”

“Nothing.” I quickly close my laptop but not before Nan looks over my shoulder.

“The 1982 Cortez Commanders, huh?”

I spin around in the metal chair. “You’ve heard of them?”

Nan opens the pantry door and pulls out a canister of oatmeal. “’Course I have. That was big news at the time.”

I bite my tongue, not sure if I should tell her about the movie. More afraid to reveal my interest in it and get her hopes up.

“Are you going to audition for it?”

My head snaps in her direction. “How did you . . . what do you know?”

Nan sets her water to boiling and measures out a scoop of oats. “You’re clearly researching a role. What was her name? Evelyn something?”

Whoever said that mental sharpness slows down with age never met Agatha Peebles. Her poofy white hair and polyester track-suit is no indication of her acuity.

“Yes.”

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