As I’m adding protein powder and water, I motion my head toward the women. “What’s happening?”
“Your dad is being interviewed for a four-part documentary series.”
My brows rise. That’s news to me.
“About what?”
“Soccer. Him. Playing on the greatest team that’s ever existed.”
I’m digesting that news when Dad walks into the kitchen. Instead of his usual T-shirt and athletic pants, he’s in slacks and a polo shirt. His hair even looks like he put some gel in it.
“Ah, much better,” Rick says when he spots him. “Makeup will be here in twenty.”
“Seriously, what is happening?” I’m struggling to take in each new piece of information. My dad hates reporters and interviews and all that shit. Even when he was playing. He’s turned down so many media spotlights that his sudden agreement to do a documentary feels like the world shifted on its axis overnight.
Dad looks to me. He looks particularly grumpy despite his wardrobe and hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d be here this morning. I only agreed last night.”
“We had to act before you changed your mind.” Rick is a big, burly guy. He played rugby before a knee injuryended his career. Like Dad, he’s mostly retired now. I think he continues to manage my dad only because they’re friends.
Though the way Dad’s looking at him now, maybe not for long.
One of the women approaches us timidly. “Hi. Good morning.”
“Morning,” Dad says back, polite but gruff.
She looks to Rick when she says, “We want to bring in all new furniture for the living room, and we’ll send over our designer to do something about the walls.”
“I thought we were shooting this in my office,” Dad says.
“The producers think having a couple different backgrounds will make for a better visual experience.” Rick sets his mug down and looks to the woman. “Thanks, Maureen. Do what you need, but let’s keep the disruption minimal. Can we shoot all the living room scenes this week?”
“I don’t see why not,” she says with a smile.
“What’s wrong with the walls?” Dad grumbles as Maureen turns on her heel and goes to converse with the other woman again.
I’m holding back a laugh when Rick looks from me to Dad. “The producers have also asked if you’d be open to having your family on camera.”
I have spent most of my life being compared to my father in one way or another. We have the same hair color, same jaw and nose, and our gameplay is of course similar since I learned from him. The only big difference is our eye color. Mine are blue like my mom’s, while Dad’s are a hazel that usually look more green than brown.
It isn’t like I don’t understand people’s fascination with him or his life. He did incredible things and still holdsindividual records in addition to the cups and championships he won with Arsenal. But I don’t have any interest in using my dad’s fame to launch my career. I want to earn it.
Dad and Rick both turn their gazes to me.
“You wouldn’t need to be interviewed unless that’s something you’re interested in. It could be as simple as a few video clips of the two of you kicking around the ball.” There’s a twinkle in Rick’s eye that tells me he’s as much in favor of this as the producers.
“No way.” I shake my head. “I’m not making his documentary about me.”
“It wouldn’t really be like—” Rick starts, but Dad cuts him off.
“He said no. End of story.”
* * *
Over lunch I meet up with Caleb Foster in the library. Despite what Lacey thought, I did know who he was prior to yesterday. It’s not like I walk around with blinders on, though I’m sure that’s what Lacey and others think.
I’m not great at socializing. Never have been. I wouldn’t say I’m shy, but I’m not ever going to walk up to a stranger and start up a conversation either. I learned early on from my dad that saying less makes it harder for people to get a sound bite. He and Mom shielded me as much as possible, but I still felt that pressure of doing or saying the wrong thing to someone. Once I told a friend at school that we were going to Los Angeles over a long weekend. And when we got there, news had spread and there were cameras waiting.
Luckily being chatty isn’t necessary with Caleb. He does all the talking. He sits across from me at one of thetables. My textbook and notes are spread out in front of me, but he doesn’t even look at them as he talks me through it.
