“Um, fine?”
“We have to show you a photograph,” Becca says, taking a seat. “It popped up on a sports blog in the wee hours. And I need to ask you to tell me what’s happened here.”
When she holds up her phone, I’m confronted with an image that brings all my nausea back in force. “Oh my God.” I actually sway on my feet.
Rebecca reaches up to grab my arm. “Hey, take a breath. And a seat.”
“That picture!” I sputter. “My daddy will shoot me.” I turn my face away from the photo, as if that would make it go away. I look exactly like my parents’ worst nightmare. Like a brainless tramp. Daddy will yell, and Mama will cry.
I sit down heavily in a chair. If the floor opened up and swallowed me right now, that would be okay, too.
“I’m sorry,” Becca says softly. “But I have to ask—how did things work out for you after this was taken?”
“Oh, terribly,” I babble as Becca’s eyes widen. “Last night I tried to be a fun party girl. But the night ended with Castro listening to me puke in his toilet. Then he gave me his clothes and tucked me into bed like a second-grader. I woke up at five with a pounding head and snuck out of his apartment.”
Everyone around the table visibly relaxes. “Okay, well…” Rebecca clears her throat. “There are worse nights. We all do it.”
“Not you,” I whisper. “The other girls say that nobody holds their liquor like you do.” Honestly, I want to be Rebecca Rowley-soon-to-be-Kattenberger when I grow up. She’s fierce and smart and super fun. Yet she still manages to have everyone’s respect.
“It’s a gift, handed down from my Yorkshire ancestors, along with sturdy hips.” She winks. “I’m glad to hear that you’re all right. But this picture is circulating. We’re getting questions.”
A fresh wave of horror rolls through me. “Is there anything I can do to shut it down?”
“That’s what we’re trying to decide,” Georgia says quickly. “This photo looks more like a predator and a helpless college girl than two friends out on the town together.”
“Oh…” I say slowly. “Is Jason going to get in trouble over this? That’s not fair. All he did was pick me up off the sidewalk.” I remember the doorman’s laughter. And the too-bright lights in the elevator.
Jason had looked grumpy as heck, but who could blame him?
“It will be okay,” Becca says quickly.
“In a case where there’s no real story, people tend to lose interest pretty quickly,” Tommy agrees.
“I hate that you called it a case, though,” I point out. “There’s no case. There’s only me making a fool of myself and a player who was in the wrong place at the right time.”
“All right,” Georgia says kindly. She rises to her feet. “We won’t call it a case. We’ll call it an unphotogenic moment. It’s possible we’ll ask you to take a photo with him that looks better. The two of you passing out visors at the golf tournament tomorrow, or something.”
“Can I wear a T-shirt that says—Look, I can stay upright without assistance?” Everyone laughs, but I’m only half kidding.
“We probably won’t need a photo at all,” Tommy says, following Georgia out of the room. “Not if the story dies quietly. Hang in there, Heidi Jo.”
I wait for the publicists to leave the room. And then I ask Rebecca, “What’s the other bad news?” I haven’t forgotten that she’d said she had two things to tell me. Is there any point in hoping that the photo was the worst of it?
“The other thing might not be so bad,” Becca says, leaning back in her chair. “Your father called me this morning.”
“Uh-oh. Did he see the photo?”
“I’m not sure,” Becca admits. “All I have is a voicemail. He wants to talk to me about renegotiating the terms of your internship.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. That could be bad. “We had a huge fight yesterday. He’s mad that I didn’t go back to school. But I don’t see how that affects my job with the team.”
“Maybe it’s no big deal, then,” Becca offers.
But I’m not convinced. My father has a very forceful personality, and he loves to go on about meaningful consequences. Yesterday, Daddy ranted about all the horrible jobs I would have in my life if I didn’t finish school. He regrets arranging my internship. “That was my mistake. The job is too cushy for a slacker like you.”
That one hurt because I am a hard worker. I always have been. Just not at Bryn Mawr.
“You won’t fire me, right?” I ask Becca. “I mean—I work for free right now.” My father has been paying me a stipend out of his own pocket.
“Best deal ever.” She beams at me. “I’m not sure what your father wants, and I thought you might know. But if not, we’ll reconvene after I speak to him tonight.”
“Well…” I clear my throat. “If he stops funding my time in Brooklyn, I’ll have to find a paying job. I’m still hoping to work for you after you transition into the owner’s office.”
“Let’s just see how it goes,” Becca says, pushing her chair back from the table.
“All right,” I agree. “I’d better check in so I can make it to the bus on time. What do you need from me this afternoon?”
When I stand, Becca hooks her arm in mine, then leads me toward the checkin desk. “I need you to help Georgia and Tommy with the swag,” she says. “They have goody bags for the guests tonight, and something like keychains and game schedules for the people who watch the scrimmage this afternoon.”
“Okay. What else?”
“When we all get to the practice space, there will be something to fix or untangle. There always is.”
“Sounds like my life.” I sigh. “I’ll see you in a jif.”
“And Heidi Jo?”
I turn back. “Yes?”
“Don’t get your picture taken with Castro tonight.”
I feel a new flutter of panic run through my body. “Don’t worry about that.” I don’t even want to see Jason Castro again. I’m so embarrassed. The things I asked him for…
Becca walks away, and I pull out my phone and finally answer his text. I’m fine! And I’m SO sorry I made your evening harder than necessary. And sorry about that awful photo, too.
His response comes almost immediately. Glad to hear it, kiddo.
Kiddo?
Once more, my cheeks flush with shame. Only children get stumbling drunk. And there goes my shot at seducing him. I’ve just been demoted from hot-girl-in-a-bar to drunken idiot.
It’s almost more depressing than having my blotto face on a sports blog.
Almost.
6
Heidi
It’s a long day of running around at the Hamptons practice rink and trying to look like I don’t feel nauseated.
When lunchtime comes, I help the caterer set up a buffet in the hallway at the practice facility. Instead of eating with the players, though, I grab a sandwich and two Diet Cokes and disappear to a bench outside.
The food and the fresh air do me some good, too. But I’m not out here to admire the hydrangeas. I’m hiding in shame. And that’s not something that the Pepper family ever does.
It’s time for a consult.
I pull out my phone. Ignoring a dozen waiting text messages from people who saw that photo, I dial my sister. “I need help,” I tell her. She loves it when I ask for help. She’s two years older than me and super bossy.
“I’ll say you do,” she says immediately. “You need to examine your life choices if you’re too drunk to focus on that hottie in the picture.”
“You saw it, too?” I squeak. That’s bad news, because my sister does not follow hockey. If the photo made it all the way to Jana, things are worse than I thought.
“I hope Mama doesn’t see it. She’ll have a conniption. Did she call you?”
“Not sure. I’ve been avoiding my phone. But I made an exception for you, because I need some advice.”
“About men?” she asks hopefully. “Did you catch yourself a new hockey player?”
“Negative.” But not for lack of trying. “My question is about something simpler than men. Eye makeup.”