But really, what’s my thing?
Maggie’s voice picks up where that last thought ended. “When you can tell me what yourthingis, perhaps I’ll reconsider.”
My jaw ticks with uncertainty. Ordinarily, I’d bargain and work my charm to get her to reconsider right here on the spot. But Maggie isn’t the kind of person to haggle. Once she makes up her mind, she sticks with it, and she’s nothing if not honest. Mostly. There was the time she and I snuck into the gym, made off with the school mascot—a giant ear of corn with eyes—and when questioned, she said she knew nothing of the missing item. Later, we used it as a piñata at a seniors-only party.
My shoulders drop. Not seeing a way out except potentially getting her in trouble with her new boss, I resign myself to going along with etiquette classes taught by none other than my best friend.
A part of me, however small, is slightly curious about what that might look like, including her life makeover plans, especially if she’s part of it. Perhaps, I’ll find my truethingwith Maggie’s help.
She closes the file. “We’ll have an initial assessment, as I mentioned, followed by a week or so of lessons tailored to what you most need to improve. That also includes grooming. After that, we’ll move out of the classroom and into the world, so to speak. All the while, I’ll be evaluating you. This will culminate in a task for you to demonstrate that you’ve learned your lesson and will, ahem, keep your pants on.”
I can’t help but chuckle as she stops laughter from lighting up her face.
“Despite the unfortunate consequences, Moon-Gate was the biggest publicity event of the year. Game tickets and merch sales spiked in the last few days. When money is moving in the team’s direction, no one complains.”
“Except your commissioner.”
“Right. Him and protecting the innocent and delicate eyes of his daughter, Elyse. Let me tell you, she’s no stranger to the locker room.”
“Do you know that firsthand?”
I tuck my chin toward my chest. “No. Starkowsky, or Starky for short, has been wanting to teach us Bruiser boys a lesson for a while, reform things, make us more of a family brand like we used to be.”
I suspect it has something to do with Chase’s family. His grandfather had been a power player in football—on the field in his youth and then behind the scenes later. Chase doesn’t talk a ton about it, but something happened somewhere in history that colored Starky’s opinion of the winning Boston team as a bunch of bruisers. Then again, that is in the name. Or it could just have been that we always won. Rumors abound in pro ball that the games are fixed, much like professional wrestling back in the day. I’m on the field and know firsthand that no faking or kayfabe is going on. But if someone wanted to pay him off so we’d lose and their team would win, it would be easy enough to shift our championship trend if they stash away the star players at reform school.
Maggie clicks a pen and then flips to a page in the folder. “Shall we conduct this interview?” she asks.
Even though she’s still damp from my foolish prank, I notice, possibly for the first time, she holds herself with the grace and poise of a princess. Either that, or she’s just really committed to her job.
She asks me routine questions that I’ve answered a million times: name, birthday, and so on. I reply with lazy answers because she already knows them and because, in addition to the composed princess side, Maggie has a peppy energy just below the surface, biting to get out. It’s like she’s aching to shoot water guns and moon a bunch of strangers, but in the time since we were last together—going on a few years now—she boxed it up and stashed it in a storage unit back in Boston.
“So, what would you do?”
“Huh?” I ask, dazed, entranced, lost in memories of us, traipsing around the city, making memories.
I straighten, dismissing the crackling and an odd longing that suddenly fills me. Is it because I don’t want to be here? Boredom? Because I’m an independent operator and have been told to follow certain rules, aka the playbook?
The playbook. I’m a jokester, a rascal if there ever was one, but no way can I do anything to compromise the guys on the team. Especially not Grey. The game is all he has left.
On second thought, in many ways, it’s all I have too.
Maggie tilts her head to the side. “Declan, if this is going to work, you have to pay attention.”
That’s part of the problem. For some reason, right now, all I can pay attention to is Margaret Pearl Byrne and it scares me, so I’m better off letting distractions keep me from probing too deeply about what that might mean.
She explains the personality test that will help her better understand my motivations, desires, and behavior. “It says here that if you don’t know how to answer, think back to when you were a teenager.”
I shift uncomfortably. That’s the last thing I want to do, unless it starts with when she and I met in high school.
She closes the folder. “Or not. We can just sit here in silence until you’re ready.” Her eyes narrow and her mouth puckers like she wants to scold me.
“Okay, ask away.” I gesture with a flutter of my hand.
She huffs.
For the next half hour, I comply and answer all her questions that have to do with how I’d respond or react properly in polite company.
Formally greet people until indicated to do otherwise? Check.
