“Don’t be nervous, Andi,” Tom Michaels was saying. “We’re taping this, so if you stumble or don’t feel comfortable with a question, we’ll just stop tape and start again. Remember, you’re the good guy in this story.”
Andi smiled and nodded her head.
She was standing in front of the camera that Mr. Michaels’s cameraman had set up on a tripod. Behind her, about twenty-five yards away, the Merion–Ben Franklin soccer game was just beginning. She kind of wished Jeff was next to her to be her cheerleader, but he was sitting on the bench, in uniform, watching the game.
He had told her before the game that he expected to play exactly five minutes—the public-school rule in Montgomery County was that everyone in uniform had to play at least five minutes—and that would probably come late in the second half.
When the news team had arrived, as scheduled, at three fifteen, Mr. Michaels had told Andi and her mom that he had already interviewed the school principal.
“Principal Block said on camera that if he were the coach, you would be on the team,” Mr. Michaels said. “That sets things up perfectly for us.”
“Have you spoken with the coach?” Andi’s mom asked.
Mr. Michaels shook his head. “I left him a couple of phone messages saying I’d like to talk to him after the game. Mr. Block gave me his cell number, and I texted him. We’ll see what happens when the game’s over. If he’s smart, he’ll talk. He can’t hide forever. This story’s making some waves in town.”
He gestured with his left hand in the direction of another camera crew.
“I wish I was the only one here, but I’m not,” he said. “The guys from Channel Three are here and I think the Inquirer’s got someone out here, too. Plus, some internet sites.”
“Would you prefer Andi not talk to anyone else?” Jeannie Carillo asked. “I mean, we owe you.”
Mr. Michaels laughed. “Would I prefer you not talk to anyone else?—of course. But you need to talk to anyone who asks. The more people who are aware of this story, the better it is for your cause. Besides, we’ll do a better job with it than anyone else anyway.”
He turned to his camera guy. “John, you ready?”
The camera guy gave him a thumbs-up. “Count yourself in,” he said.
“Ready, Andi?
“Ready,” Andi said, though she wasn’t really sure if that was the case when it came to being on TV.
“Okay then, three, two, one.” He paused for a split second and then asked: “Andi, when tryouts ended for the team, were you confident that you’d earned a spot on the team?”
“Honestly I thought I’d made the team after the tryouts,” she said, looking at the camera and not Mr. Michaels as instructed. “Several of the boys told me they thought I was one of the best players. Plus, by the third day, a lot of them were being very encouraging whenever I made a good play. I thought that was a positive sign.”
“So what was your reaction when you saw you weren’t on the team?”
“At first I thought it was a mistake—so I went to see Coach Johnston. I knew he hadn’t been thrilled about me trying out, but I thought I’d proven myself to him.”
“And what did he say?”
“Well, I think to him, it didn’t matter whether I was good or not—a girl on the team would be bad for morale.”
“Do you think the boys on the team feel that way?”
She hesitated before answering that one. “Maybe a couple,” she said. “But I think most would like to see me on the team.”
Mr. Michaels smiled. “Perfect, Andi,” he said. “You did great.”
Andi noticed someone dressed like a reporter—shirt and tie, no jacket in the hot weather—talking to her mother. Then he walked up and shook hands with Mr. Michaels.
“Andi, this is Steve Bucci from Channel Three,” Mr. Michaels said as Bucci walked over to shake her hand. “He’d like to ask you a few questions, too, if you’re up for it.”
Andi shrugged. Mr. Michaels had said it was okay with him, so it was okay with her.
“Sure,” she said.
“Just give me a minute to get my crew set up,” Bucci said. “I’m sure my questions will be pretty much the same as Tom’s. Won’t take long.”
Andi nodded. Her mother came over with a towel.
“You’re sweating,” she said. “Let’s sit in the shade for a moment so you can cool down.”
Mr. Michaels was nodding. “That’s a good idea,” he said.
“What happens now?” her mom asked.
“We’ll get some tape during the game, then see if we can talk to Coach Johnston and some of the players when the game’s over.”
“I’m sure Jeff will talk to you,” Andi said, smiling.
“I’m sure you’re right about that,” Mr. Michaels said. “But interviewing my son is probably not the best idea. Don’t worry, though. Even if nobody talks to us, I’ve got plenty for the story. And, like I said, with Steve and the other reporters being here, there’s going to be a lot of pressure on the school to get this right.”
Bucci was back. “Ready for your next close-up?” he asked with a friendly smile.
Andi’s mother laughed.
“Give her one more minute to cool down,” she said. “Then she’ll be ready for a close-up or anything else.”
Bucci hadn’t been kidding about his questions being similar to Mr. Michaels’s. He did ask a few more background questions, like “How much soccer have you played?” and “Did you learn to play from your two older brothers?” but the basic premise was pretty much the same.
After that, a newspaper reporter with a tape recorder and notebook asked if she had a few minutes. Her mom insisted they sit down on a bench in the shade of a large oak tree that wasn’t that far from the entrances to the locker room.
More questions—all pretty much the same. The reporter did ask if the family planned to go to court if Coach Johnston didn’t relent and allow her to join the team.
“That would be up to my mom and dad,” Andi said. “They’re both lawyers.”
“So no legal fees then?”
“I hope not,” she said.
They heard some whooping coming from the direction of the Ben Franklin bench. Andi glanced at the scoreboard. The game was ten minutes old and Ben Franklin had just taken a 1–0 lead.
“Looks like Merion could use you,” the reporter said.
“I sure hope so,” Andi said, then stopped. She didn’t want to sound like she was hoping the team would lose without her.
But she knew, deep down, that was exactly what she was hoping.