Page 5 of Rumor Has It

The man looked confused, like no one had ever told him no before. “Well, yes. I’m sorry, Ms. Rothschild. Your coaches were excited about it. I think it’s going to be one of the main pictures used in promotional material.”

Becky sighed heavily. “Fine.” She went and stood in line and waited her turn for her individual photos.

She’d taken photos for NCU, of course, but that had been a really low budget rendition of this. She’d never really worried about how they’d turned out. The small scale of campus-wide advertising had never really concerned her. These photos, however, would be used for world-wide branding. She was representing her entire country now, and that thought had her nerves more than a little on edge. When it was her turn, she stood under the bright lighting and fidgeted with her jersey.

“Okay, point at the crest,” the photographer told her. He sounded like he was more used to saying things like ‘make love to the camera,’ but Becky did as she was instructed. He continued, throwing out ideas. “Great, now look like you just scored a goal.”

Becky had seen enough of these shots of the players over the years to kind of know what he was looking for. He wanted faux enthusiasm. It didn’t matter that her hair was down and it was completely unrealistic. They wanted something fans would see and could get hyped about. She did her best to play the part, hoping that someone would tell her if she was doing something wrong.

After he had taken about fifty different shots of Becky, the photographers called Wren over. “Alright, Ms. Rothschild. If you’ll stand here to the left side and face away.” The man walked her back a few steps. “Perfect. Now cross your arms. Bingo. Hold there, please. Ms. Eames, if you would.” He gestured for Wren to take up the space behind Becky.

She could feel Wren behind her, hovering a few inches away. The man adjusted her so that they were back to back. Becky was very aware that she was a few inches taller than Wren. For some reason that made her smile.

“Okay, now, I need both of you to turn into me just a little bit. There we go. And then go ahead and lean on each other.” He stepped back and smiled. “Perfect. We’re going to take a few. Ms. Eames, if you could hold the ball kind of in the center here to start. Perfect, thanks.”

“I can’t believe they’re marketing us like this.” Becky mumbled while the photographer set up.

“Okay,” he called out. “For the first couple, look like you hate each other.”

“Easy to do,” Becky said a little louder than necessary.

Wren let out a soft laugh. “Shit,” she whispered. “Sorry, sir,” she said, loud enough for the photographer to hear. They held still for a few flashes of light.

“Okay, now smile like you’re the best of friends.” After a few photos, the photographer stopped to look at his work.

Wren decided to fill the silence. “Oh, come on, Rebecca. Look at us. We’re famous. Who would have thought it? You and me, the Women’s National Team’s main marketing campaign.”

“Some of us don’t want our faces everywhere. We just want our skills to speak for us,” Becky bit back.

Wren turned to look at her. “What’s wrong? Is that your bad side? We can switch if you want.” She grinned again, that stupid, dimpled smirk that always got under Becky’s skin.

“You’re insufferable,” Becky snapped. “Just get back in position. I want to get this over with.”

“I’m insufferable? Me? You’re the one who started it,” Wren volleyed.

Becky flicked her off. There was a flash of a camera and both girls froze.

“Rothschild, Eames. Coach Jameson’s office. Now.” Coach T was a lot of things. One of which was very scary when mad. Becky and Wren ducked their heads and followed Coach T into their head coach's office.

The office was much like Becky had expected it to be. A big whiteboard filled the left wall. There were set kick options drawn all over it. There were roster lists and different combinations of players. There was a second roll-around whiteboard near where he was seated behind his desk. He looked simultaneously surprised and annoyed when Coach T walked them in.

“Sit,” she said, pointing at the two chairs that faced the coach’s desk. “Photographers just got a photo of them flicking each other off.”

Wren shot out of her chair. “She flicked me off. I didn’t flick her off. There is literally photographic evidence.” A familiar fire filled her voice, one that Becky had heard Wren use many times before, though in those circumstances she’d been arguing with referees, never their shared head coach.

“Eames, enough,” Coach Jameson said, his voice booming. Wren immediately dropped back into her seat.

Becky almost felt bad. She was right. Becky hated to admit it, but she had been in the wrong. This time.

“Look, you two are without a doubt in the top twenty-three players this country has to offer. Hell, you should both be on the starting lineup, but you almost weren’t selected for this exact reason. Do you know how long we spent debating which of you we could stand to pass on and still put forward a successful roster for the World Cup? I need this fixed, and I need this fixed now. Whatever school-girl rivalry you two had ended when you both graduated. Do I make myself clear?”

Wren nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”

Becky licked her lips. “Agreed. You’ll never have to talk to us about this again.”

He nodded and shot Coach T an annoyed glance. “You were right, T. You get to decide their punishment.”

Coach T smiled wider than Becky had ever seen her smile before. “Easy solution. You’re officially partnered up for the year. Bus rides, you’re together. Hotels, you’re together. By the end of this year, I expect you to be the best of friends.”