Ms. Benedict begins introducing the WNFL staff, and we turn our attention back to the stage. Once she’s introduced us to a financial advisor and some of the medical personnel, Ms. Benedict holds up a red, white, and blue folder.
“You each received one of these when you checked in. We’ve compiled a list of reputable agents, as well as some who are known to be… problematic. While you are free to sign with anyone you choose, I advise you to be cautious. You don’t have to go with the first agent who approaches you. Shop around. Meet with them. Find someone who aligns with your personal and professional values.”
Ms. Benedict gestures toward the only man on the stage. I like that there are so many women in the upper echelons of the WNFL organization.
“This is Carlos Neyland, and he’s an executive of the company we’ve contracted with to manufacture the uniforms for each team. Mr. Neyland?”
She steps back and lets him take the podium. After greeting us and gushing about how excited he is about the new league, he shifts into a discussion about the actual uniforms.
“And here’s the exciting part. If your jersey is sold, you, as a player, will receive sixty-five percent of the profits. That is standard across theleague and is not something you or your agent can negotiate. Every player gets the same percentage. The more jerseys or other gear consumers buy, the more money in your pocket.”
Everyone nods because that sounds fair. Mr. Neyland picks up a clicker and a red and white uniform appears on the large screen behind him.
“Ms. Benedict has authorized me to show you some samples of the uniforms that have been approved.”
He flips to another uniform, this one royal blue and white, then a purple and white one after that.
I crinkle my nose at Carrie. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
She mimics my expression. “White pants. Ugh.”
Shifting my eyes back to the front, I see Belinda Benedict’s cool blue gaze resting on mine.Shit.Then she stands, her eyes still on me.Double shit.
“Miss McNamara, did you have something to share with the class?”
Triple shit. Quadruple shit. All the shits.This is a freaking nightmare. I receive an encouraging elbow from Carrie, so I reluctantly stand, swallowing hard.
“Sorry, Ms. Benedict. I was just concerned about the white pants.”
Murmurs go up around the room, and my face heats.
Mr. Neyland’s brow furrows. “I’m not sure I understand. White is a common color for football pants, and it looks great on screen.”
“Not with a big blood stain on the crotch,” I blurt out, and I hear giggles from the other athletes in the room. “Women menstruate, Mr. Neyland. It’s just a fact of life, and I’m sure every woman here has been surprised at least once in their life by a pop-in visit from Aunt Flow. With white pants, that can become obvious very quickly. And on national TV.”
Now it’s Mr. Neyland’s turn to blush. The commissioner approaches him, and they have a whispered conversation as I sit back down.
Ms. Benedict takes the podium once again, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised as she looks at me. “Thank you for bringing that issue to our attention, Miss McNamara. I’ve instructed Mr. Neyland that all pants should be of a darker color.”
The audience claps, and someone yells, “Right on!”
The commissioner flashes a self-deprecating smile. “While we’ve done our best to cover everything, we may have overlooked some things, and that’s why we’ve invited you all here for this weekend. Your coaches have indicated to us that you’re all draft prospects, so we wanted your input.”
“You wantouropinions on stuff?” someone calls out incredulously.
Belinda Benedict leans forward on her forearms, her eyes sharp, though there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “This isyourleague, ladies. While we won’t be able to fulfill every single request, we do want to know your feelings as a whole on the issues that will directly affect you.”
The slight shifting of butts on seats rustles around the room as Carrie and I share slightly shocked looks. This wasn’t what we expected at all. We thought they were going to tell us what they expected of us, but somehow, this weekend is about the opposite. They want to know whattheycan do forus.
“As you’ve probably been told, this weekend is covered, all expenses paid,” the commissioner continues. “You’ve all been booked into this hotel, and you’ll find all the information you need in your folders.” She picks up hers and gives it a little wave. “You have all day and night tomorrow to meet with each other and discuss. This conference room has been reserved for your use. As for the rest of today, consider it a vacation from your rigorous practice schedules. The hotel has a lovely pool, so why don’t you all head over and enjoy the rest of your day.”
Carrie and I are reclining on adjacent chairs beside the luxury pool, both of us reading through the substantial amount of information from our WNFL packets when a shadow blocks our sun.
I look up to find Liz Weston standing above us. She plays center for a university in Kansas.
“McNamara,” she growls, and I gulp before sitting up. I’m not easily intimidated, but if I’m being honest, Liz is a bit scary. Her bicepsare the size of my head, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her with anything less than a scowl on her face.
“Uh, yeah?”
