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Despite our superior performance, Coach Taylor still comes up with half an hour’s worth of critiques. Ellie calls me on the drive home from the field to catch up, and by the time I hang up with her and shower, it’s dinnertime.
I enter the kitchen to find Emma sitting on one stool with her feet resting on another, scrolling through her phone.
“Are you making any dinner?” I ask, opening the fridge door and surveying the variety of raw ingredients.
“I don’t know. I’m not really feeling inspired to make anything right now,” Emma replies. Even without the way she emphasizes the word, the shit-eating grin she’s sporting when I spin around is proof enough she knows about the interview earlier.
I sigh. “You were eavesdropping?”
“I was across the field, Scott. It’s all over social media.”
Shit. “What? Why?”
“Uh, because you’re hot and semi-famous and Adler Beck is hot and super famous?”
I snort. “Semi-famous? Among the hundred people who follow women’s college soccer?”
Emma shrugs. “You’ve been in plenty of articles and magazines.”
I pull a carton of eggs out of the fridge, chewing the inside of my cheek. “When you say all over…”
“A few million views.”
“What?” I almost drop the eggs.
“And that’s just this video.” I didn’t even know there was a video. The reporter was just recording my voice.
“Do you think he’s seen it?” I don’t have to elaborate on who I mean.
“Do I think Adler Beck has seen the video of you saying he’s the reason you’ve become the badass soccer player you are today that has gone viral on every single social media platform and that he’s been tagged in thousands of times? Hmmm… I guess I’d go with yes. A confident yes. Like I’d-bet-my-trust-fund-and-future-endorsement-deals-on-it confident.”
“I get it, Emma,” I say as I set a skillet down on the metal stovetop a bit louder than necessary. “And I did not say he’s the reason I’m anything.”
“It was strongly implied.”
Fuck. Beck hearing about my interview did not even occur to me when I answered that question. We’re separated by an ocean that nothing was supposed to span.
“What’s with the racket in here?” Cressida asks as she enters the kitchen. “Oh good, someone’s cooking—I’m starving.”
“I’m not sure if it will be edible. Saylor just learned she’s gone viral,” Emma explains.
“Ah,” Cressida replies. “Don’t look at me. I’m not responsible for the eight million views.”
It’s eight million views now?
“Was it the same video or different versions?” Emma asks.
“I watched the same one five times and then a second one once to make sure it was the same.”
“That only counted as two views, then,” Emma tells her.
“Even better, then. Did you hear that, Saylor?”
I don’t respond as I crack a couple of eggs.
“She doesn’t care about you watching it. She’s worried Adler Beck saw it,” Emma supplies.
I grit my teeth as they continue talking about me as though I’m not standing here.
