And we’re off to a great start.
“Small markets offer unique challenges.” I follow him to an elevator. “You learn to be versatile, to handle everything from technical issues to unruly interview subjects.”
“Mmm.” He sounds unconvinced. “Tell me, how did you develop your sports knowledge? Your demo reel showed some decent hockey analysis.”
“I grew up with a brother who plays professionally. Jonah Holt? He’s a center for—”
“The Colorado Blizzards, yes, I’m aware.” Parker’s eyebrows lift. “That’s actually interesting. Connections like that can be valuable.”
Great. He’s more impressed by my brother than anything I’ve done.
The elevator opens directly into a conference room where three more executives wait, all with the same polished, slightly predatory vibe as Parker. They introduce themselves in quick succession—names I immediately forget in my anxiety.
“So, Sydney,” the only woman in the room begins, “your resume is... modest. But what caught our attention was your recent work with Brooks Kingston. ‘The King,’ as hockey fans know him. How did that collaboration come about?”
I feel heat creep up my neck. “We have a personal connection. He was recovering in my hometown, and our station manager thought viewers would respond to the local angle.”
“Personal connection,” one of the men repeats, exchanging glances with his colleagues. “Yes, we’ve seen the reports of your engagement. Quite the whirlwind romance, wasn’t it?”
The emphasis he places on “whirlwind” makes it clear what he’s really asking. Is it real? Is it a publicity stunt? Are you using a relationship with a sports celebrity to advance your career?
I keep my voice steady. “Brooks and I have known each other since childhood. Our relationship developed naturally during his time in Dickens.”
The lie feels sour on my tongue. There was nothing natural about how we started. But what came after—the nights at the cabin, the way he held me during my panic attack, the moments when it was just us, no audience, no pretense—that had been real. Hadn’t it?
“Well, connections are important in this industry,” the woman says. “Though I hope you understand that at KSLA, we hire based on talent, not who someone is dating.”
“Of course.” Except that’s all they’ve talked about since I walked in the door. I straighten my shoulders, channeling every ounce of professional composure I can muster. “I’d expect nothing less.”
Parker checks his watch. “We’d like to see you in action. We’ve set up a test broadcast in Studio B. You’ll be given some copy about tonight’s Lakers game, and we’d like you to deliver it as if it were live.”
“Sounds great,” I say with far more confidence than I feel. Lakers. Basketball. Not my strongest sport, but I’ve done my research. I can handle this.
Studio B is state-of-the-art, nothing like the outdated equipment I use at home. The lighting is perfect, the cameras sleek and modern, the teleprompter an actual recent model instead of the ancient one held together with duct tape and bubble gum at home.
“Take a few minutes to review the copy.” Parker hands me a tablet. “We’ll be in the control room.”
The copy is straightforward game preview stuff—key players, recent performance stats, playoff implications. I memorize as much as I can, knowing from experience that depending entirely on a teleprompter is asking for trouble.
A production assistant counts me down. “Three, two, one...”
The red light blinks on, and I transform into Broadcast Sydney, the version of myself that knows what she’s doing.
“Good evening, sports fans. The Lakers look to extend their winning streak tonight against the Chicago Bulls team that’s been struggling with injuries to key players. Magic James comes into this matchup fresh off a triple-double performance against the Suns, while Duncan Kobe has been dominant in the paint, averaging twelve rebounds per game this month.”
I’m hitting my stride, the words flowing naturally, when the teleprompter freezes. Then goes blank. Then displays what appears to be someone’s lunch order.
Don’t panic. This is familiar territory. In Dickens, equipment fails at least twice a week.
“The Bulls will need to contain the Lakers’ perimeter shooting,” I continue smoothly, pulling statistics from my pre-interview research. “They’ve allowed opponents to shoot 38% from beyond the arc in their last five games, a vulnerability the Lakers are well-positioned to exploit with their current three-point shooting percentage of 41%, third best in the league.”
I continue for another minute, ad-libbing analysis based on what I crammed last night, maintaining eye contact with the camera and my professional smile. When I see the teleprompter flicker back to life, I seamlessly transition back to the script.
“That’s it for our preview. Back to you in the studio.”
The red light blinks off, and I exhale slowly, unsure if what just happened was a genuine malfunction or a test. Given the smiles on the executives’ faces as they re-enter the studio, I’m guessing the latter.
“Impressive recovery,” Parker acknowledges. “Though you missed some nuance on the Bulls’ defensive rotations. And you didn’t mention their rookie point guard, who’s been a spark off the bench.”
