Chapter 9: Callaghan
Hey, Cally. Cally Entay. You’re so hot.” TJ Doyle dissolves into a fit of laughter, thinking he’s much funnier than he actually is. I put him in a headlock to discourage him from calling me that.
Ever since that video that Hannah made with thattinylittle slip, I’m now faced with the nickname I’ve spent my entire life trying to evade. Really, my parents should have known better. It’s not like they call me Callaghan. They call me Cal.
And Cally.
But still, the ribbing from my teammate is not what’s crawling under my skin, making me feel like I’m on fire. I look at my texts again.
How dare she?
She makes fun of me, makes me seem like a gigantic asshole for the entire world to see, and then texts me that she needs a favor.
Granted, I haven’t talked to Hannah LaRosa in years, but I thought she was different. She’s not. She’s just like everyone else who wants something from my career to benefit them.
It’s the only reason I hold value to anyone, including my parents. They were well off, to begin with, but this adds status and clout. I mean, my mother wishes I played a sport that people “actually cared about,” but it still gives her something to brag about at the club.
This text from Hannah, out of the blue, irks me. So I let her know.
Me: No, “Hi Cal, how’ve you been?” No, “You look good.” No, “I’m sorry for making you into a laughingstock on social media.” Just diving right in with the favor. Classy.
As soon as I hit send, I wish I could take it back. It’s not her fault. It’s the way the game is played. Everyone wants something from me. I’m simply surprised that Hannah would hit me up so abruptly and out of the blue like that.
Hannah: I could have led with: “Hi Cal. Thanks for screwing me seven ways from Sunday and then never bothering to call.” Would that have been better?
Ouch.
Me: Stuff happened. Life got crazy. I had to focus.
I know it’s lame, even as I type it. It’s not a shock that I don’t have relationships based on my personality instead of what my career can do for someone else.
Hannah: You have no idea. But that’s not why I got in contact. Trust me, I wouldn’t have reached out if it weren’t important.
Before I can reply there’s another message.
Hannah: Plus, you’re the one who followed me. Stalker.
Damn, she hit the nail right on the head.
Me: After you did a story on me. Who’s stalking who?
Hannah: I’m trying to build a social media following so someday I can get a job that doesn’t involve me serving drinks and prime rib. Sportscaster. You were in the news. Fair game.
Me: You made me look like a jerk.
Hannah: You did that yourself. Fans want someone nice. You were a dick.
Me: Was not.
Hannah: Was too. And anyway, none of this is relevant.
That makes me sit up straight. If it’s not about her video or her career, what could she want from me?
