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“We’re a small paper, Sophia. Frankly, I don’t have another option. Alex is a veteran. He’ll tell you exactly where to stand on the sidelines, and he can give you guidance on taking the actual photos as well. You’ve been a real asset here. I have full confidence you can handle this assignment. You’re an excellent option for many reasons.”
I know exactly what the many reasons he’s alluding to are, and if he won’t state the most obvious one, I will.
“You mean my last name,” I say.
Being a Beck is the equivalent of a crown and a throne in monarchist countries. Automatic interest and attention. A spotlight you can’t shake. Even if you’re the black sheep of the family who’s shunned the sport that made the rest of your family famous.
“I believe you covering the team will receive some extra attention, yes. That’s good for the paper. It will also be good for your career.”
I exhale. “I try to keep my professional life separate from my personal one.”
“I understand that, Sophia. I respect that. We Brits prop footballers up on pedestals too. I’m sure the amount of attention your family receives is not always welcome. But it will be there regardless, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now. Why not use it?”
I contemplate that and sigh. I’ve told myself the same thing before—many times. The problem is, acknowledging that people fixate on my last name as soon as they find it out and accepting it aren’t really the same thing.
“Is this optional or…”
“Of course.” Harry pauses. “I can’t make any promises this internship will lead to a permanent position here. But our Kluvberg coverage is our most popular section by far. This will get your name out more than anything else you work on here.”
It’s a shiny incentive, considering many photographers work freelance. My parents think photography is a passing phase for me, a hobby, which I’ve admittedly cycled through many of. I talked about studying fashion or interior design or music at university before settling on photography. I know neither of them believes I’ll actually be able to make a living at taking photos. They’re waiting for me to announce what I’m moving on to next. Getting a staff position at Neues Kluvberg would go a long way toward proving to my family that I take it seriously. Toward proving to myself that I have what it takes.
Everyone will think I was handed this opportunity because I’m a Beck. And they’ll be right. But they’ll also think I angled for this chance. Used my connections to get it.
I’ve worked hard to separate myself from the rest of my family, and yet all roads seem to lead back to football, no matter what I do. At some point, I’ll have to accept it, just like Harry suggested.
I exhale again, then agree. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Harry beams. “Excellent. I’ll let Alex know. He’s supposed to be back in the office early next week. You two can meet then to discuss more details before the first game of the season.”
I nod. “Sounds good. Have a good weekend.”
I stand.
Harry clears his throat before I can leave. “One other thing you should know.” He grimaces a little. “Kluvberg is rumored to have just signed a new striker. According to my sources, the official announcement is coming out tomorrow. It’ll…well, if it’s true, it will stir up some controversy. Draw some more attention to the club.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why? Is he coming from Ludlin?” I ask, referring to Kluvberg’s main rival.
Harry laughs. He’s enough of a football fan to get the joke. “No. He’s never played in Europe, actually. He’s American.”
Rare, but not unheard of.
“Plenty of teams have foreign players.”
“His nationality isn’t what’s most controversial. More the way he left his last team. He was, uh, he was photographed with the team owner’s wife. In an intimate situation.”
I widen my eyes, understanding Harry’s awkwardness.
“Even before that particular incident, he had a reputation. Partying. Fights. Clashing with coaches. Issues with other players. He’s rumored to have a hair-trigger temper.”
“I’m surprised Kluvberg signed him.”
More like shocked. The club’s head coach, Leon Wagner, is known for not tolerating that kind of behavior. Before Adler settled down with Saylor, his wife, photos of him leaving clubs with different women were regularly splashed across tabloids. I know my brother received several slaps on the wrist for that behavior. And that was tame in comparison to what Harry is describing.
Harry grins. “You wouldn’t be if you’d seen him play. He’s a beast on the pitch. Never seen a more dominant player. Here.” He reaches across his desk to grab a folder and tosses it my way. “Take a look.”
I skim the sheet of stats. The numbers are impressive, but that’s about all I take note of.
His name is Will Aster. The name prompts no recognition, which is unsurprising. Following the American league isn’t on my list of priorities. I steer as clear of football as I possibly can. Or I did, rather. That’s temporarily changing. Going to the scrimmage last week was a bad omen, I guess.
