Both Eggo and I instantly understand the conversation will be shifting to more . . . forbidden topics.
“So,” Andy begins, narrowing his eyes in a way that confirms our every suspicion. “We perhaps know a few things we aren’t supposed to know yet, and I’m aware you boys can’t say anything, but I’m going to ask a few questions anyway. You can just say what you’re allowed to say, alright?”
“Sure. Ask away,” Eggo says with a wink at our interviewer.
“What can you tell us about the rumoured co-captaincy, and Eksteen’s decision to appoint the two of you?”
“Nothing!” Eggo bursts out laughing. Andy joins in. “Can’t say anything, pard.”
Andy nods. He’s still smiling. “Fair. Okay, let’s just pretend we’re talking about normal game play, not captain stuff. What are the problems your unique playing styles present, and how do you plan to work together to overcome this?”
Beside me, my teammate snickers and turns his face towards me, like the movement will hide his reaction from the camera.
It’s time for my practiced speech. “We’re very aware of our differences. Finn tends to be very . . . and I can be . . . uh . . .” Shit, this isn’t going to plan.
Eggo clears his throat. “Aiden’s a thinker. I’m not. I’m literally the opposite of that. I’m a bull in a china shop. I’ll go into anysituation head first, brains later, or never, you know? That’s why I spend so much of my time in the sin bin. Aiden’s not at all like that. He’s one of the smartest, shrewdest players I’ve ever worked with. He can read a play like nobody else, like . . . his brain will make these lightning-quick decisions based on everyone’s positions, their strengths, their weaknesses, and he’ll just know every time exactly how we’re gonna get the ball over that try line.”
Andy nods along, encouraging more. I don’t interrupt.
“But if Aiden has a weakness, an Achilles’ heel, it’s that he thinks too much. Sometimes we miss opportunities because he’s too busy second-guessing himself.”
Eggo’s assessment of me is so on target I’m speechless. And now I wish we were alone so I could grill him on every other personality flaw I possess and how I can rectify each one immediately.
“Separately I’m hot-headed and rash, and Aiden is intellectual but anxious, but together we’ll build off each other’s strengths and create . . . wait, what was it you said last night?”
My heart jumps into my mouth, but nobody else seems to have registered the words “last night.”
“Oh, yeah. Using each other’s strengths to create a unified leadership,” Eggo finishes.
“Very nice,” Andy says, nodding emphatically. “Anything to add, Aiden?”
I shake my head.
“Together we’re more than the sum of our parts,” Eggo says.
It’s my turn to pivot towards him. “What’s that now?”
He pulls his hand off my back and plops it onto his lap. “I learned that from you, babes,” he says, ruffling my hair then pinching my cheek. He looks at Andy, and a grin blossoms over his face. I see this look for what it is, a warning signal, and my stomach flips. “We’ve been doing a lot of extracurricularstudying to make sure our styles mesh well together, you know, for when our time . . . comes.”
I push up from my chair. “Are we done?!” I accidentally yell. “I need to stretch my legs.”
“Perfect. Great. Yep. Now, can we try one with a smile? Not quite so manic. Yeah, that’s great. Can you give me a little more feeling?”
The photographer stands next to her camera, clicking a button on a remote control and occasionally looking over at the monitor on the table. I give her “more feeling,” only by crinkling my eyes. Her name is Betsy, but she’s not nearly old enough to have been given that moniker at birth, so it must be short for Elizabeth.
“Yes. Lovely. Shall we try one with arms crossed?”
These are the photos that will appear on the Bath Cents’ website under our mini bios and in the annual pass holders’ and game day brochures. Though they’re mostly for the kids, last season they chose the most gormless photo of me. Every meet and greet we did meant signing my name across my awkward half smile. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t chosen me as one of the “faces” of the Cents. Now everywhere I go in our home stadium there are eighteen-feet-tall dorks standing beside godlike eighteen-feet Gadgets and Dan Chelfords. They look strong and powerful and professional, and I look like I’m holding in a fart.
Next season I’m determined not to be such a sad fuck, especially since they’ll most likely swap out Dan’s image for Eggo’s.
The latter of those men sits on a chair about two metres away from the camera. His shoot lasted all of fifteen seconds, andwhen Betsy asked him to check the screen to see if he was happy with the results, he simply shot her a thumbs-up and said in a girlish voice, “I look quite pretty.”
Since then, and because they’ve paired us up for everything today, he’s been chilling out nearby, scrolling on his phone and periodically distracting me with “wanker” hand gestures.
“Okay, do you want to see what we’ve got?” Betsy asks.
I move around to peer at the screen, but all I see are a bunch of mulleted doofuses staring back at me.
