Kathy flexes both hands. “Your recommendations are noted. Let’s move on.”
Liesel’s neck is splotchy.
“Yes, ma’am,” Liesel says, her eyes fixed on her laptop screen.
The look on her face causes a pang in me. Sure, she’s the human equivalent of a lump of coal in your stocking, and she’s dead wrong about her brothers, but I didn’t want to humiliate her. I didn’t want to make her feel bad.
When the breakout ends, we still have too many holes in our roster, including pitching. The rest of the room files out toward the ballroom for dinner, but Kathy and Marty pull Liesel and me aside.
“That didn’t go how we expected,” Kathy says shortly.
“I know,” Liesel says, looking at her strappy heels. “I’m sorry again.”
“I don’t need your apologies, I need your brains,” Kathy says. Then she looks at me. “Both of you. You have different experiences and perspectives, and we’ve all seen enough baseball movies to know that scouting and analytics need to work together. So congratulations.”
Liesel and I look at each other like we’re temporarilynotenemies. “Congratulations?” I ask.
Marty and Kathy nod at each other. “You two are working together.”
“What does that mean?” I ask Marty.
“It means you aren’t coming to another meeting or even to dinner until you two have figured out our extended roster.”
“But what if someone we choose gets picked up by another team?—”
“Have a backup. And a backup to the backup. And you’d better have it figured out by tomorrow when we present to the GM, or we’ll make you two roommates, while we’re at it,” Marty says.
I nod. “Yes sir.”
“What about my presentation?” Liesel asks Kathy.
“This takes priority,” Kathy says. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kathy and Marty exit, leaving Liesel and me staring at each other.
“Look what you did!” she says.
“Me? Look whatyoudid!”
She huffs and returns to her seat, where she shoves her personal items in her laptop bag. My satchel only has a baseball I got from a swag booth and some resistance bands for my rehab, so I stand and watch her with my hands in my pockets. When she’s all packed, she stomps past me.
“Where are you going?” I ask, following her into the hall.
It’s busy enough that she’s forced to slow down. And she seems suddenly aware that we can be seen by the couple hundred people who are roaming the halls on their way to the ballroom. Especially considering we’re the only people walkingawayfrom it.
I get right next to her as we walk. She pastes on a fake smile for the benefit of the rest of the Firebirds organization, no doubt. “Don’t walk next to me,” she says. “I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
“That we work together?”
“Right, like anyone thinks you’re here to work.”
“I had a press conference this morning. Everyone knows. That’s why they’re looking at us.” I nod and smile at people as we walk. I incline my head toward her. “Believe me: no one would buy that we’re together.”
She stiffens. We turn a corner into yet another packed hallway. “Why? Because you typically only go for girls who are ultra tan and ultraenhanced?”
“No, because I don’t date fans, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your fan, and I’m definitely not your sweetheart.”
