“Where’d you grow up, Cliff?”
“Wisconsin. Wauwatosa. It’s outside Milwaukee.”
“I’m from Fond-du-Lac. Lutheran or Catholic?” Mr. Wyndham asked with a laugh. “It’s usually one or the other with Wisconsinites.”
Cliff didn’t find that to be the case, at least not in his hometown. He went to school with kids from lots of different faiths. But it seemed like a waste of oxygen to try and correct a guy like Mr. Wyndham. And he wasn’t wrong about Cliff.
“Lutheran.”
“I knew it. I didn’t want to be too presumptuous. Have you thought about attending services at St. John’s in town?”
“I probably should. It’d make my grandparents happy.”
Mr. Wyndham nodded to himself, mysterious wheels turning in his head.
“I have players swing by my corporate events to get the chance to meet very influential people. It’s a lot of empty schmoozing. I get the feeling it wouldn’t be your scene.” Mr. Wyndham nudged Cliff with his elbow and laughed. Cliff didn’t hear a punchline. “But St. John’s has a decent-sized youth group of kids and teens. The church has had problems with engagement. You know teens. It’s all about getting likes and scrolling. At our last board meeting, we talked about programming that could appeal to them. I think you’d make a great role model, and I’d love to have you come by and talk with them. You’re an embodiment of the values they could emulate. I want teens to see that there are other people to look up to besides influencers, peers who are cool because they work hard, respect their bodies, and drink water at parties instead of getting raging drunk.”
As if on cue, Coach came back with two waters for them. Mr. Wyndham held his up in a cheers to Cliff. Cliff could use the drink since a lump of dread lodged itself in his throat.
“Their next meeting is on Wednesday. What do you say?”
He wouldn’t want Cliff if he knew what he liked to do in Brennan’s loft. A wave of shame rolled over Cliff.
“I, uh, I don’t know. I’m going to be spending a lot more time practicing now.”
“Bob?” Mr. Wyndham cocked an eyebrow at Coach. “You can loosen the reins for one afternoon, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Coach sat back down at his desk. Cliff did a double take to confirm Coach was cool with this, but he couldn’t meet Cliff’s eyes. “Cliff is a stand up guy. Those kids would be lucky to hear from him.”
“It’s up to you. I know you’re very busy,” Mr. Wyndham said.
But Cliff knew there was only one right answer.
* * *
For a guywho worked his hardest to blend in, having people approach him was a jarring experience. It happened all morning during his regular route to classes. There were different circles of hell: Some students wanted to congratulate him with a hi-five as they passed him; others wanted him to stop for a selfie. Kids in class gathered by his desk, wanting to know in great detail what was going through his head last night.
Then there was the final circle of hell. A girl in each of his classes asked if he wanted to go on a date, and one girl shoved a piece of paper with her number into his hand as he was walking. It was a win for feminism that they felt comfortable asking him out, but it brought back the nauseous feeling from Coach’s office. If Dell had been with him, he could’ve been a human shield, helping to disarm these awkward encounters. But Cliff felt even more awkward around Dell and purposefully took a new route on campus to avoid him.
Wasn’t this what Cliff wanted? If he went pro, this would be his life. Maybe it took a few years to get used to the attention. But right now, it was a jolt to his system.
He received two texts from Brennan, but they sat unread on his phone, mixed in with the other random messages he’d received from people who somehow had his phone number.
He arrived at theBrowerton Bugleoffice fifteen minutes early, and he let himself bathe in the silence. Staff at the newspaper went about their business and ignored him in the waiting area. They had more important things to do like putting together an issue.
A female student with waves of blonde hair approached his chair. She held out her free hand. “Cliff. Serena Prosky. I’m one of the reporters for the sports section.”
Her politeness had a backbone of directness underneath, which she no doubt needed as a woman covering such a male-driven beat.
“Thanks for stopping by. I know it was last minute.” She motioned for him to follow her through the row of cubicles to a meeting room in the back corner. Famous issues of the paper were framed on the walls. Cliff caught headlines around JFK and The Berlin Wall from the corner of his eye.
The meeting room had a long table with rolling chairs. Serena closed the door behind them and turned on the fluorescent lights, which bathed the room in a sterilizing glow.
“How’s today been?” she asked when they sat down.
Cliff exhaled a large breath. “Pretty crazy.”
“I can imagine. Everyone is talking about you. Well, everyone who gives a shit about basketball.” Serena put her phone on the table. “Do you mind if I record?”
