Whistleblower ✓

47 | comeback kids

Ellison Michaels seemed to be expecting me when I marched into her office the morning before our big home game against Notre Dame.

She didn't even twitch when I slid my field pass across her desk.

"I respectfully resign from football coverage," I announced. "I've talked to Joey already. He's got a sophomore he can take under his wing. But I'd like to let you know that I'll no longer be helping him."

Ellison sat back in her desk chair. It didn't creak.

She'd gotten a new one.

In the wake of President Sterling stepping down—which had been less of a voluntary bowing out and more of him being nudged off the cliff by the prongs of pitchforks against his ass—the university had tried to do some damage control. This included a public statement in support of the Daily and a hefty donation to our facilities.

There were new bean bag chairs out in the media center, which smelled of fresh paint and soft serve. The desks were lined with new computers.

Ellison's office was still dingy as ever, since she'd made sure the bulk of the funds were allocated to communal spaces.

But she'd gotten her chair.

"I understand your decision," she told me with a nod. "I realize there's a conflict of interests."

That was a very professional way of saying I know you're dating the quarterback and I don't want to read transcripts of you two flirting.

"That's fair," I said.

"So what should I expect from your next article?" Ellison asked.

I leaned a hip against her file cabinet.

"Well, I have this friend," I began, "an old coworker, actually, who used to be in beauty pageants and then moved out to LA to start acting, but she ended up hating it. She's a bartender at a country club, now, and she got a lot of flack from her last boss about the fact that she'd only graduated high school. So I was thinking I could write a piece on women in the workplace who face prejudice for not having college degrees."

Ellison's smile was as proud as it was unsurprised.

"I look forward to ripping apart your first draft," she said warmly.

"I'll try to start it before the deadline," I replied.

❖ ❖ ❖

Despite the pomp, prestige and air conditioning in the press box, I'd missed sitting with Hanna.

I much preferred watching football from the stands. I found magic in the rumble of the bleachers when music blasted over the loudspeakers, in the smell of cheap beer and overpriced hot dogs, in the school chants that raised goosebumps on my arms when a choir of thousands of voices belted them out.

The scent of beer was particularly strong today considering Hanna had spilled some down the front of Andre's jersey while attempting her first ever keg-stand.

"Eh," Hanna said with a shrug as we waited for kick-off, "it'll dry eventually."

I'd passed my old reliable Gameday outfit to her when Bodie had presented me with one of his old jerseys a few days before the game, with a monologue he'd clearly rehearsed about respecting my choice if I wanted to keep wearing Andre's jersey, since he was my friend and Bodie respected that.

"Well, obviously I'm wearing yours from now on," I'd told him. "You're my boyfriend, aren't you?"

There hadn't been much conversation after that, since Bodie had tackled me onto my bed and devoted himself to kissing every inch of my face while I laughed and squirmed under him.