I scrunched my brows in thought. "Protected?"
"From the media. I think it'd be wise to distance yourself from Coach Wilder as much as possible. I don't need to reiterate the fact that any sort of relationship between the two of you is off-limits, but the media will do it's best to falsify proof of a relationship if you give them any reason to believe it to be true. The media is already having a field day speculating about the two of you, and it's only been one week. You don't need his reputation tarnishing yours before you even have a chance to make a name of your own. Does that make sense?"
She'd overloaded me with information, but the reminder that Liam was totally off-limits felt like a dagger to the heart. To be honest, before that moment, I’d never thought of him strictly as a mentor or coach. He would always be Liam Wilder, bad boy of soccer, and breaker-of-hearts. But that couldn’t continue. I knew he was untouchable. So why did it hurt so bad to be reminded of that fact?
"I understand,” I responded lamely, keeping my gaze on the edge of her desk. Why didn't she need to warn Becca and Tara about this as well? He could be having a relationship with any of us.
"All right. Go get ready for practice, Bryant. We have lots of work to do," she dismissed me, and I shuffled out in silence. Had she given Liam the same warning? Was he annoyed that the media was trying to pin the two of us together? He had enough negative media coverage as is and he didn’t need me adding to it.
I walked out toward the field in silence, weighing the new information in my mind. Would Liam treat me differently now? Should I act like I didn’t see the interview at all?
It turns out I shouldn’t have worried.
Liam wasn't at practice that day. He was probably flying home from New York, but I told myself I didn’t care. I focused on practice and pushed my body until I knew I was playing the best soccer that I could. It felt good to know that my end goal was so close. I just had to stay focused. I had to make sure that for the next few months I was concentrating solely on soccer.
Olympics, watch the fuck out, Becca and I… and sure, maybe Tara, are coming your way.
I got my first taste of blood-hungry reporters after practice that day. They were out in the parking lot, hovering around our cars with their clapping lenses and giant microphones. I walked toward them, while simultaneously hitting the unlock button on my car.
“Kinsley!— Kinsley Bryant!— Can we get a quick question—Becca—Becca?!” They were clamoring over one another to be heard, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before Coach Davis shooed them away. They were relentless. Even as I ignored them and kept walking to my car, their questions pierced the air, too loud and obnoxious to ignore.
They asked about Liam Wilder and his Tonight Show appearance; I answered quickly with either “yes” or “no” and then pushed past them. They didn’t give up, though, and kept pestering us as we hopped into my car and locked the doors.
They were too close for comfort and even as I started my car, they were brave enough to stand directly behind my car’s bumper. Little did they know I wasn’t above backing over nasty reporters. Spoiler: the rest of this story takes place from a jail cell.
“I can’t believe that,” Becca said from the back seat.
“When they want to talk about our soccer skills I'll be more than willing to give them an interview,” I huffed, clicking my seatbelt into place with a bit too much force.
“Agreed,” Becca said with a scowl.
As I backed up out of my spot, I turned around to see Tara still standing with the reporters. I’d forgotten about her during our trek to the car. All of the cameras were trained on her and she had a smile that practically engulfed her entire face. I think the girl had found nirvana.
…
"So do you guys want to come with me to the spa?" I asked Becca and Emily later that afternoon. We’d survived the first week of practice and now it was time to celebrate.
"Yes!" Becca yelled, jumping off the bed. I knew she'd be game.
"That'd be fun, but my boyfriend is coming into town for the weekend and I have to go get him from the airport," Emily frowned.
"Is he staying at the house?" I asked as she leaned against the doorway that separated my room from our shared bathroom.
"Yes," Emily began lightly, "if that's okay? I know it sucks to share a bathroom with a guy, but you say the word and we'll go get a hotel."