Page 15 of The Revenge Game
“Were you any good?” Brad asks.
I shrug. “I was okay.”
“You miss it?”
Memories of my football-playing days in high school and college stir up mixed emotions.
The roar of the crowd under Friday night lights. The satisfaction of a perfect spiral throw. The way a well-executed play could make you feel like you were part of something bigger than yourself.
For a while, I lived every Texas high school quarterback’s dream, right down to getting a college scholarship to play ball.
But for me, there was another edge to football.
I was always pretending. Always putting on a front. Trying to desperately pretend I wasn’t any different from all the players.
And it led to me being someone I didn’t like. Someone who valued blending in more than standing up for what I knew was right. I try not to think about who I was in high school in particular because shame always floods my stomach at those memories.
It was a relief to leave the days of the locker room behind.
Of course, I’m not about to confide in the head of purchasing at United Sports about how sometimes being the golden-boy quarterback felt like being in a gilded cage.
“You know what I miss most? The feel of a perfectly balanced ball when everything about its weight and shape feels exactly right in your hands,” I say.
His face splits into a grin. “God, yes, that perfect feel. I know exactly what you mean.”
“Which is exactly why I’m so excited about our new Sport-tec range. Our R&D team has spent two years perfecting the weight distribution. Want to see them?”
“Sure. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
I open up the box of samples I brought and throw a cricket ball across the table at him. He catches it, throwing it from one hand to the other, his smile growing with every juggle.
“You wanna see the velocity data on these balls? It’ll blow you away,” I say.
I reach for my laptop. Last night, I ran through my presentation one final time, ensuring every slide was perfect and every transition was smooth. Which is why my stomach goes into freefall when my screen flickers to life and…what the hell?
My cursor starts dancing across the screen like it’s auditioning forStrictly Come Dancing. I try to wrangle it back under control, but it’s having none of it.
“Just give me one second.” I keep my voice steady even as panic claws at my chest. “I’m just having a minor technical issue.”
I jab desperately at my keyboard, but apparently my laptop has decided today is the day it’s going to live its best life as a disco fever dream. Colors start flashing across my screen and every time I click the mouse I trigger a new and more elaborate visual effect.
Brad has given up waiting for me and has instead reached for some more balls in my sample box, spinning a tennis ball around on his fingertips.
“Sorry, my computer has apparently decided to have a party I didn’t receive an invitation to,” I say.
“Don’t worry about it, happens to the best of us.” Brad chortles. “You can’t trust technology.”
Yes, I’m beginning to agree with that sentiment.
“I’ll send you the uncorrupted presentation with the velocity data as soon as I’m back in the office,” I promise.
Brad waves my assurances away with a hand.
“I don’t need to see the data. I trust you, and I trust what my hands are telling me. What’s the lead time on this range?”
My shoulders relax as I start talking through the logistics of the ordering process.
I walk out of United Sports feeling quite proud of myself. Somehow, I managed to turn my laptop’s dance party into a six-figure order. Sometimes, you just have to embrace the chaos and hope your client has a sense of humor.
