“Well, Willa would be much better to interview than me.”
Willa’s got smooth, straight black hair that reaches her waist, and she always has the best clothes.
My hair is…problematic, which is why I always keep it pulled back in a bun now. Besides being in the way for the kids to pull and mess with, it’s orange. Not red.Crunchy Cheetos orange.
It’s out of control—frizzy in some places, curly in others, and straight on top.
“No,” Taysom says, his eyes pleading. “You’ll be perfect. Please?”
I hesitate and, with my elbow smashed against my side to hopefully hide the sweat stains, I scrub the back of my head, releasing another strand of hair in the process. Dang it.
I have a small makeup bag in my desk. It’s the only sensible thing to do when you have the complexion tone I have. But am I really going to say,excuse me while I primp?
The clock is ticking, and they need this spot. It’s for the kids. Still, my fingers itch to open the desk drawer and smooth out some of the wreckage.
It’s as if Natalie can read my mind. Or maybe she just sees how much help I need.
“We don’t have a full crew here, obviously, but I have a little makeup kit, so we can touch everybody up.” She holds up her palms. “But only if you want. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, please.”
She gets out her kit and approaches me.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “Sorry for all the…moisture. It’s been a day.”
She only smiles kindly, and I’m grateful she doesn’t seem too freaked out about the state I’m in.
Taysom’s studying something on his phone, but I interrupt him anyway. “So, what kinds of questions are you going to ask me?”
He blanches. “I’m sorry again about the miscommunication. But I’ve got the Center’s website pulled up now, which will give me a better feel for what you do here.”
I cringe as Willa, Tracy, and Skyler poke their heads out from their office or the treatment room at intermittent times. Like groundhogs on February second—a whole brood of groundhogs.
“But really, you won’t need to prep,” Taysom continues. “I’ll just ask you the basic questions. Like, what the purpose of the clinic is and how long it’s been running, stuff like that.”
I nod, but something in my eyes must give away my sheer terror.
He steps to me as Natalie dabs my face with a disposable cloth. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “Just a couple minutes of film that will be reduced down in post-production. I should also say there’s a chance it won’t even be in the final version.” His look is apologetic. “Who knows what direction the producers will end up going.” He turns to Natalie. “Can you get some footage of the treatment rooms first?”
Does he sense I need another minute to quiet my pounding heart? I don’t do interviews, especially ones being shown on TV during an NFL game.
“So you said you’re partnering with some other programs on campus, and this documentary will promote them, too?”
I’m not going to go into this interview completely clueless. He owes me at least some information.
“Yeah, we’re super excited about it, especially with the building nearing completion.”
“The building?”
He tips his head to the left. “The Sports Medicine Institute. They’re opening it up for tours next week ahead of the grand opening in May. Exciting stuff.”
“Wait. You’re partnering with them?”
“Yeah, I mean, it fits my brand, don’t you think? Sports medicine is important.”
I still, forcing my breathing to come under control. He’s right, of course. Except it’ssports.
Before I can respond, Natalie returns, smiling. “Okay, I got a little footage in there. Those treatment rooms are cute. Are you guys ready?”
