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When we’re finally done, I desperately want to crawl into a hole, but we haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet. I follow Zoe to the training center, where Coach Martin meets us.The Sportsmanand the university had to coordinate to make the interview happen on campus, but Zoe fought for it, to get a full sense of where I train and play.
I respect her; she seems good at her job. I’m just dreading the conversation entirely.
“It’s so nice to meet you in person,” she says, reaching her hand out to shake Coach Martin’s. “Your comments about Sebastian were very insightful.”
“Seb’s a hard worker,” he says. “One of the best players I’ve ever had the privilege of coaching.”
“How could he be anything else, with Jacob’s genes?” she quips.
My heart stutter-steps when I hear my father’s name come out of her mouth. I follow them down the hallway, past the staff offices. There’s a room we use when we break into position-specific meetings, and Coach takes us there.
“This will be perfect,” she says. “Thank you so much.”
“Take your time.” Coach squeezes my shoulder. “Make us proud, kid.”
I muster another smile. This morning has already been filled with a ton of smiling, but sure, I’ll keep doing it. I’ll smile all day, if it means Zoe won’t pry too deeply into the details of my life.
“Want to take a seat?” she says. She sets her phone on top of the table, along with a notebook and a pen. As I sit, she starts an audio recording. “Thank you again for offering to work with me on this interview. I’m sure it’s been a busy time for you.”
Did the interview start already? I settle in the chair across from her, trying to stop myself from gripping the arms too tightly. I feel like I have one of Mia’s masks on my face, the pleasantness working overtime to hide my true feelings.
I tug at my collar. “This late stretch in the season is always intense.”
“Doesn’t seem like you’re going to make the playoffs for America East,” she says, a perfect note of sympathy in her voice.
“It’s a great group of teams,” I say. “Super strong, all at once. We knew we had to keep the pressure on to have a shot, and it just hasn’t been coming together, particularly at the plate.”
“Does that weigh on you? Your batting average is lower than in previous seasons at McKee.”
“Yeah, definitely.” I yank my collar again. “My fielding is strong, of course, but I’ve always prided myself on my swing.”
“Lefty, same as your father.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you try it both ways?”
“I started swinging a bat before I even had the concept of righties versus lefties,” I say. “I think my dad just set me up the way he did it, and it worked out.”
“Your swing is very similar to his. I’ve spoken to a lot of your former coaches, and of course Coach Martin, and they’ve all said that you emulate your father on the field. Your leg kick is even the same.”
“Like I said, he taught me.”
“When did you start? How young?”
“Three or so.”
“So it’s what you’ve always known.” She taps her pen against the edge of the table. “Was there ever a thought in your mind that you’d consider a different sport?”
“I played a couple other sports when I was younger,” I say. “Everyone does, it’s good for building up skills across the board. But I never thought I’d play football long term, or soccer, or any of that. I’ve loved baseball since the beginning.”
She picks up her pen and poises it against her notebook. “Why?”
42
SEBASTIAN
The conversation has been flowing betterthan I’d hoped, but that simple question trips me up.
