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“Just messing with you, man,” he says. “I mean, come on. I know none of us are stupid enough to get involved with Coach’s daughter.”
“Yeah,” reply, turning my head and gazing out the window, watching the town pass us by. “You’d have to be an idiot to even think about it.”
It’s the only thing I think about for the rest of the trip to New Jersey.
9
ZOEY
Istand in front of the entrance to the hockey arena, mentally preparing myself to step inside.
I have to get over my dread of being around the team. I can’t feel like I’m stepping onto a minefield every time I come here—because I’m going to be walking into this arena multiple times a week for the rest of this semester.
This class is important. More than most classes.
If I knock this out of the park, I might be able to impress Dr. Hoover enough that I can use her as a strong reference when I graduate next year and start looking for jobs. And a real, enthusiastic reference from someone with Dr. Hoover’s reputation is worth its weight in gold.
Besides, this is going to be the most hands-on experience I’ve had working on a major’s organization’s social media strategy yet. Even though a college sports team is a world apart from the kind of charity and non-profit organizations I want to work for, it’s still real, relevant experience in the kind of work I plan on doing for a living.
I can’t screw up this opportunity for myself just because of an awkward situation with one of the players on the team.
Alright, I can do this.
I thrust my hand forward and push the door open, walking into the arena with purpose and confidence. I stride down the hallways until I find the office plaque belonging to the person I’m looking for.
The name of the rectangular plaque reads Megan Sheffield; and underneath it, her title, Social Media Director.
I knock on the door and a second later, a confident voice responds, “Come in.”
I enter the room.
It’s spacious and well-decorated. A stark contrast with my dad’s office here, which I’ve been in a couple times.
His is cramped, cluttered, with nothing more than lamps, televisions, and stacks of notebooks and other documents to serve as decoration. Dad sits behind an old, dented metal desk in a creaking swivel-chair looks like it’s barely hanging on for its life, with only metal folding chairs on the other side for anyone else to sit on.
The social media director’s office, on the other hand, is airy with comfortable, stylishly modern furniture, tasteful art hanging on the walls, and standing plants at the corners of the room.
Megan Sheffield looks up from behind her desk. “Can I help you?” she asks. Her tone manages to be polite and kind while also clearly broadcasting the fact that she’s busy—she seems like the kind of person who’s always busy—and isn’t in the mood for anything that isn’t important to pull her away from her work.
“Good afternoon,” I say. “My name is Zoey Gordon. I’m from Dr. Hoover’s Social Media Management course.”
“Oh, yes,” Megan says. She finally angles herself away from the open laptop on her desk and gives me her full attention. An amused smile plays on her lips. “Is Dr. Hoover still assigning students to the exact opposite kind of organizations than they actually want to work for?”
“The Hot Shots is an impressive organization with a great social media presence, and I’m excited to learn everything I can while I’m here.”
The smile on Megan’s face widens. “Very clever way of saying yes. Dr. Hoover did the exact same thing back when I was a student of hers, when she was still teaching in Portland. This was in the early days of the internet, before social media was really a thing. She had me working on building up the internet presence of the university library system, of all things.” She laughs, nostalgia laden in her voice. “I learned a lot, though. More than I would have if I’d gotten assigned to one of the sports teams, like I wanted to be.”
She gestures me to take a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. The sleek-looking chair that I sink into is downright luxurious compared to the seating in my dad’s office.
“Please, call my Megan, by the way,” she says.
I nod. “Will do.”
She settles back in her seat, looking at me as if she’s sizing me up. She folds her hands over her lap. “So, do you have any bright ideas for how we can improve our social media engagement?”
My stomach does a flip. I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like this, just minutes into our very first meeting—but if that’s how Megan runs this department, I think I’m going to like working for her.
Because I do have some ideas.
