We’re in another fishbowl conference room on the thirty-fourth floor with glass windows and no clock. I’m desperate to check the time, but I know better than to whip out my phone, even at this stage of the process. I think I’ve been in here for at least thirty minutes, but without a clock, it’s impossible to be sure.
I timed the other candidate’s interviews on my phone—not like I had anything better to do while waiting in reception—but I couldn’t exactly time myself.
Kali’s interview was only twenty-eight minutes. Preston’s went for thirty-five, but he’s a windbag, so who knows if that’s actually a good thing. Sutton’s interview was thirty-two minutes.
I figure as long as I hit the thirty-minute mark, I’m probably a contender for the internship.
“Good luck tomorrow at the Big Ten Championship,” Mitch says, shaking my hand enthusiastically. He’s a middle-aged guy with thinning hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a big personality. “That last game against Michigan was a nail-biter.” A conspiratorial grin splits his face and he adds, “I wasn’t sure if Waverly was going to pull it off.”
“They made us work for it.” I grin, though my stomach is tight with nerves. “The rematch should be a good game.”
More like a slugfest.
I’ve been trying not to think about it, but now that Mitch has brought it up, it’ll be impossible to shove it back in the box. The team flies out tonight and tomorrow we’ll be playing for our conference title and an invitation to the College Football Playoff semi-finals.
Just focus on what’s in front of you now.
I have to get through the last portion of this interview process before I can even think about football or bowl games or titles.
“How’s the team look?” Dana asks, opening the conference room door. She’s the only female member of the interview panel and she asked the hard questions, which I respect.
At least the mock interview paid off.
“Good. Everyone’s healthy and with the Michigan game fresh in our minds, we know what to expect. We’re ready.”
Coach has made sure of it.
I’ve watched more film in the last week than I’ve watched in my entire football career. Practices haven’t exactly been a breeze either, but it’ll all be worth it when we bring home the conference title and secure our spot in the semi-finals.
But for now, I need to focus on Sports Stream.
On my future.
I rejoin the rest of the candidates in the reception area, but Mac’s nowhere to be seen.
“How did it go?” Sutton asks as I take the black leather chair beside her.
“I’d say I nailed it, but I guess time will tell.” I roll my shoulders, trying to relieve the tightness that’s settled in. “How about you?”
“It was good.” She shrugs. “No major mistakes, anyway.” Her gaze shifts to Preston, who’s messing around on his phone, and she lowers her voice. “From the sounds of it, all the interviews went well.”
Damn. Was it too much to hope one of the others had botched the Q and A?
It could all come down to the broadcast.
I have to slay it. With any luck, it’ll be something about football or basketball. I’m well versed in a range of sports, but they’re the two I’m most knowledgeable about. The two that would be the easiest to improvise if needed.
Mac appears in the hall, looking rejuvenated.
Probably got his caffeine drip on while the rest of us were slogging through interviews.
“If you’ll follow me, we’re going to start the broadcast portion of the interview process and then you are all free to return to campus.”
We take the elevator back up to the thirty-sixth floor and he leads us to The Weekly Roundup studio. The set is fully lit now, the host’s desk aglow with Sports Stream’s red and white logo backlit by neon lights. The glossy black floor is polished to such a high sheen, it reflects my image back at me under the harsh glare of the studio lights.
How had I missed that before?
I’ve watched The Weekly Roundup enough times to memorize the set, but I never noticed the mirror-like quality of the floor.
