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“Well, I’m impressed. I’ve been struggling with that forever.” She put the phone away, then pulled a lip gloss from her bag and reapplied it, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Thanks. Are you here to see the Avs practice?”
“No,” I answered and checked my own reflection again. “Unlike tech, sports arenotmy thing. I’m a coder. If it’s electronic, I’m interested. If it involves using my triceps or quads or whatever, I’m not.”
She leaned against the sink and looked at me fully. “Then why would you behere?” she asked, sounding amused. “This place is literally called the Family Sports Center.”
I let out a breath. How did the meme go? That there were no more supportive people in the world than women you met in the bathroom. So I took a chance.
“I’m here for a meeting with S.J. Sporting,” I confessed. “They’re looking to do a collaboration with the Avs and revamp their app and web services. I have a lot of ideas that will get attention from the media. The only problem is…my boss is trying to take credit so he doesn’t have to give me the promotion he promised, so I’m giving the pitch without him.”
“Come again?”
“He changed the meeting time and told me I wasn’t needed any longer. He wants to take full credit, and he didn’t doanything,” I said bitterly. “His phone actuallyisa paperweight.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s your name?”
“Indiana,” I said. “You?”
“I’m Sara,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, Indiana.” She seemed almost amused by the whole situation.
“You, too. And please call me ‘Ana.’”
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I don’t know anything about coding, but you could practice your pitch on me, if you think it would help. What do you think is the right way to launch a new online presence?”
I lit up (again) at the thought of sharing my thoughts. It was so nice to be listened to instead of dismissed. “Well, S.J. Sporting is collaborating with the Avs, right? That means merchandise exclusives, clothing, etc. being sold by one company, along with actual hockey equipment with the Avs trademark. An app that showcased that would have to be streamlined and uncomplicated, so the regular user would have to do as little as possible. Have you ever heard ofPokémon Go?”
She laughed brightly. “I have a ten-year-old, so yeah. We catch Weedles and Caterpies all over the stadium. He’s obsessed with the bug ones.”
“What about an S.J.Pokémon Gotype of experience? You’re chasing products, though, not Weedles. If the customer sees something they like, like a jersey or a bag with a logo, they open the app and point it at the object. Then the app takes you to where you can buy it. If it’s not an S.J. product, it’ll take you to the nearest equivalent that S.J. makes. Then it’ll show them the price, a link to buy directly online, and even, location-specific,the aisle of the store where they can find it if they prefer in-store shopping. The analytics could show a lot of valuable information about what S.J. customers like and what they don’t. And the app could also have a place to rewatch highlights of the Avs games. It could be a special feature for the Avs, which increases revenue for both S.J. and the NHL, but it would include, eventually, other teams and other sports altogether.” I let out a breath and looked down at my shoes. “That’s the basic version of my pitch, anyway. I’m sorry, I don’t even know you, and I’ve involved you in my drama.”
She winked at me. “What’s the saying about drunk girls in the bathroom?”
I nodded. “Very true, but we’re both unfortunately sober.”
She gestured for me to follow her as she stepped toward the door. “I have a few mimosas that can fix that. And I need to know more—what you’re describing sounds really complicated.”
“Actually, it’s not, for the consumer, anyway. It’s as easy as taking a selfie. I’d love to take you up on that drink, but I really should go find S.J. Sharpe. I need to hurry if I’m going to make the meeting.”
“Just follow me,” she said and led me down the hall to a meeting room. She went to the wet bar at the back of the room along the row of windows and poured two stemmed glasses of orange liquid. She brought one back over to me. “Cheers,” she said.
I looked at the drink and then back at her. “Who are you?” I asked.
“Sara Jean.”
I felt cold adrenaline flood my entire body. “As in SJ, Sara Jean?” I asked in a whisper.
“Yeah,” she said and looked a little sheepish. “I should have told you earlier. It’s just that people are so much freer and more authentic whenthey don’t know who I am. You never would have told me any of that, would you?”
I shook my head, tamping back the panic. “No, sir,” I said quietly.
She suppressed a grin and gestured for me to sit at a high table in the corner of the conference room against the windows. The mountains were in the backdrop. I did as she asked, then took a long sip, actually a gulp, from my mimosa. I’d really stepped in it this time.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Sara called.
I glanced at the clock—11:00 a.m. on the dot. A handful of men in suits came in, and Sara waved them to the chairs around the conference table. “You’re all on time. Ms. Aaron from Apollo IT is getting ready to show us what she has in mind for our web collaboration with the Avs.” She turned to me and smiled conspiratorially. “Whenever you’re ready, Ms. Aaron.”
I cleared my throat and stood. “Thank you, Ms. Sharpe.” I turned to address the room, opening a projection app I’d made on my phone to broadcast the visuals onto the wall at the end of the room. Then I took a deep breath and began the practiced formal description of how the web and app interfaces would change the face of S.J. Sporting in the online world.
