I’d been assigned a desk in the journalism lab. I shared it with two sophomores, but still. As I entered the last of the edits to an article about the downtown Harvest Days festival, Mike, the senior who served as the sports editor, called across the room in a harried voice.
“Hey, Quinn!”
“Yeah?”
“Bauer says you take decent sports pictures.”
What was I supposed to say to that? “Well, I think so.”
“I’ve got an article about how critical defense is going to be to Saturday’s football game, and no current pictures of the defense. Can you run down and snap something usable?”
“Sure thing.” Somehow I managed not to jump up and down and shout “Photo credit! Score!” I still had to get something he considered “usable.”
I uploaded the current article to the server, grabbed my stuff, and headed to the practice field.
For a girl allergic to exercise, I do know my way around a football field. Two years of photographing our high school games had at least taught me defense from offense.
“Twenty-three, thirty-two, hike!”
I pressed the shutter button and caught the snap. My digital camera—a graduation gift from Gran—made a vintage film sound. Click, whir, snap! Click, whir, slam! Click whir, oof!
A padded player walked into my shot; at my glare, he mumbled an unimpressed “Sorry” and continued to the bench, cup of Gatorade in hand.
Getting creative, I took some pictures of the guys lined up on the bench, shoulder to tank-sized shoulder, knees sprawled wide, forest green helmets between their feet. And then someone walked into my shot again.
This guy wore a T-shirt and track pants, which he filled out nicely without any padding. “Sorry about that.”
“I’ll live,” I said with an exaggerated sigh.
He looked at the badge I’d clipped to my shirt. The Bedivere Rangers weren’t exactly big conference football, but they didn’t let just anyone wander onto the sidelines and take pictures of drills. “Are you taking over for John?”
John was the usual sports guy. I thumbed backward through the shots I’d taken so far. “Nah. Just filling in.”
“Too bad.”
I looked up, squinting in the afternoon light. The sun was behind him, and I couldn’t see his face. Please tell me a coach hadn’t just hit on a freshman. “Uh. Okay.”
He took a step to the side, and I could see that he wasn’t so creepy after all. “I’m one of the trainers for the offensive unit. If you need anything for an article. Or anything.”
Okay, that explained it. I’d had people suck up to me when I was on the Avalon High staff, mostly to get their pictures in the yearbook or a quote in the paper.
“Just here to snap a few pics to go with John’s article,” I said, lifting my camera in what I hoped was a hint.
“Sure. You’re a Sigma Alpha Xi pledge?”
I looked down at my shirt and feigned surprise. “Wow. I guess I am.”
The guy laughed in a want-to-make-points way. “I’m AD Phi. I think we have a mixer with you guys coming up soon.”
So he was sucking up because I was a SAXi? Interesting.
“So, maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Sure,” I said, and started to turn away, my attention already back to my camera’s view screen. Then I thought of something he could help me with, and glanced back over my shoulder. “Actually …”
Mr. Offensive Trainer snapped his eyes up to my face. “Yeah?”
Holy crap. He’d been checking out my butt.
“I, um …” I actually blathered, a blush heating my face. “Er … Can you point me to the defensive coordinator?”
He blinked, as if he’d expected something different. “Sure. Over there. Tall, skinny guy.”
“Great.” I was reluctant to leave until he did. Just in case the checking out hadn’t been positive. “See you around.”
“Yeah.” A smile this time, and he turned away.
Okay. Maybe I did check him out just a little bit. Fair is fair, after all.
I showed off my photo in the paper at lunch on Friday. Holly and I were falling into a Monday-Wednesday-Friday habit, and often Jenna and Devon joined us. Brittany and Ashley did, too, which was less pleasant. Ashley, I’d discovered, was fine on her own, but tended to take on the other girl’s most annoying characteristics when they were together.
“With your name under it and everything.” Holly stopped devouring her chicken salad sandwich long enough to grin at me. “Awesome.”
“I don’t see what’s the big deal,” said Brittany, peering at the newspaper spread out on the table. “It’s on the back page.”
Devon came to my defense. “Anywhere on the outside of the paper is better than the inside.”
Art majors often took a layout class, which overlapped with print journalism majors. I wondered if that was where she met Cole.
“Not only that,” I said, “Mike said I could take pictures of the game this weekend.”
“Maggie, that’s huge!” Devon hugged me, nearly pulling me out of my chair. “And you’re only a freshman!”
“Cool,” said Brittany, finally impressed. “Football players are hot.”
“No, they’re not.” Ashley did not defer to her on the subject of hotness. “They’re all fat and stuff.”
“That’s the padding.”
“I know the difference between padding and padding.” She grabbed a nonexistent beer belly.
“Okay,” Brittany conceded. “But the quarterback and the running guys are hot, especially in those white pants.”
I stared at them in bemusement. Moments like this, I wondered if I had imagined the vibe I’d gotten from Victoria. No way were these girls tapped into some kind of sorcerous contract for power and world domination.
“Are you coming out with us tonight, Maggie?” Jenna had obviously decided to ignore the other pledges.
“No. I have a family thing.”
“On a Friday?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t want to tell them that my thing involved parking my brain in neutral and watching the Sci-Fi Channel with Dad. I seriously needed some downtime. It was hard juggling homework, undercover investigating, and doing your editor’s job for him, too.
“Come on,” Holly said, with a glint of mischief. “Tell them it’s a required activity.”
“I’m saving that for when it actually is.”
“Speaking of,” said Jenna, “are you two keeping up with your pledge books and things?”
“Well, I am,” said Brittany, even though Jenna hadn’t really been talking to her. “I have to set an example, since I’m pledge president.” She hadn’t reminded us of that yet today.
“I’m good,” Holly said between potato chips.
Jenna uncapped her Snapple. “Homecoming is in a couple of weeks, and we’ve got to work on the float. You really need to make time for that, Maggie.”
“Me?” I already felt like I was spending all my time with the Sigmas.
“Yes. We hardly ever see you at the house, except for pledge class and meetings.”
“Blame Devon,” I said breezily. “She asked Cole if there was a place for me on the Report staff. How’s his book coming, by the way?”
I’d only meant to change the subject, but the two actives reacted as if I’d asked about the thermonuclear bomb Cole was building in the basement. Jenna gave her sorority sister a look of blistering intensity and Devon paled, the blood draining from her face, leaving her freckles standing out like raisins in a bowl of oatmeal.
“I don’t know what you mean, Maggie. Cole isn’t writing a book.”
“Oh. My mistake.” I brazened it out the best I could. “I must have misunderstood.”
What was the big deal about the man’s literary ambitions? He was already a journalist. How big a stretch could it be? Yet I could feel waves of sick worry coming off Devon.
I glanced at Jenna and found her watching not her sister, but me, and I wondered what I had given away.