2. Nevaeh
My leg is bouncing up and down. My heart is pounding and palpitating in my chest. My breathing is awfully uneven. I had one of my full-body anxiety attacks before I got ready this morning, so I was hoping it would ease a little now, as it usually does.
I’m not that lucky, unfortunately.
The shaking of my legs spreads to my hands too, and I have to take several deep breaths to slow my heart rate again. It works somewhat, giving me enough space to force my thoughts into a better direction instead of letting them spiral into the dark hole of what-ifs, worst-possible outcomes, and other fears I don’t want to identify right now.
After four years of studying sports journalism and interning at various companies the entire time, I finally scored an interview with one of the biggest sports media companies in England: Griffin Sports.
Known for their prestigiousness and sharing reliable information, Griffin Sports is the media company for every type of sport you could think of. It’s a dream for every sports journalist to work here. To either have articles published on their website, or video-recorded interviews shared across all platforms. My dream is to write articles and take photographs of the events I’m reporting on. It’s a dream I may have not had for long but am just as passionate about as the one I lost a few years ago.
People pass by the waiting area where I’ve been sitting for the past twenty minutes, not caring about my presence as they go about their day. I wish I was as calm as them. Instead, my hands are sweating while I wait impatiently for anyone to call my name.
Becoming a sports journalist was my Plan B in life. Plan A was to become a professional tennis player. One rotator cuff tear later, and I haven’t been able to pick up a racket since. Familiar shivers of suppressed sadness run down my spine, and I shake my head to focus on my future.
Looking back isn’t going to help me get this job, and I desperately need it.
“Ms. Fuchs? Mrs. Lu will see you now.” I look up to see a tall, well-dressed man in front of me. He’s giving me an indifferent smile before walking away, clearly expecting me to follow him. I jump out of my seat and rush after him, simultaneously trying to calm my heart by taking deep breaths.
It doesn’t work.
The Griffin Sports headquarters is big and open. There is a lot of natural light coming through the hundreds of windows I walk past. There are also a dozen desks with hardworking people behind them. It’s not a cubicle-type office situation, but I cringe nevertheless. An office job is not where I saw myself, quite the opposite actually, but if that’s all I get for now, I will make it work.
“Right in here,” the man says, and I step through two large wooden doors.
Mrs. Amanda Lu, the CEO of this media company, sits in her office chair while looking over what I assume are potential articles to be published. Another woman is in the chair beside her, staring at her screen. When Mrs. Lu sees me, a genuine smile covers her heart-shaped lips. She tugs her black hair behind her ears before getting up to greet me with a handshake. I quickly wipe my right hand on my skirt, which, luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Ms. Fuchs, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Mrs. Lu says with a thick Scottish accent and points to the chair she wants me to sit in. I do as I’m directed, glad that my shaking legs don’t have to hold me up anymore. The other woman at the desk smiles kindly at me.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mrs. Lu. I’m a huge fan of your work,” I reply and hope that flattery will make her like me more.
From the smile on her face, I can tell it does.
“Thank you, I appreciate you saying that.” She points to the woman beside her next. “I’d like to introduce you to my COO, Ms. Cecilia Martin.” I shake her hand as well, smiling at the woman with light eyes and blonde-graying hair. There’s something familiar about her, like I’ve seen her before too. It must have been when I was researching the company and Mrs. Lu. “However, we would like to talk about you.”
The nervous laugh bubbling up in my chest almost escapes me, but I cover it up by clearing my throat. I need to get my nerves under control if I want to ace this interview.
“Your resumé states that you were born in Germany, but completed your primary education in Australia, your secondary in the U.S., and your post-secondary here in England. Would you say you are both fluent in German and English?” she asks first, and I nod before I answer.
“Yes, I had a private tutor for German in Sydney and Austin. I studied English for as long as I can remember.” My facial muscles are starting to cramp from all the smiling. Mrs. Lu leans back in her chair, her eyes fixated on a piece of paper I can only assume has my resumé on it. Ms. Martin smiles reassuringly at me.
“You also speak a little bit of French,” she points out, and, once again, I nod. Mrs. Lu does as well, still studying the words on the page. “I can see here that you are applying for a position in the tennis department since you have fifteen years of experience as a tennis player,” she states and lowers the paper to look directly at me. Her brown eyes stare at me with an intensity that makes me shift in my seat. I avert my gaze, bringing it to Ms. Martin instead, but she’s gone back to her laptop to work.
“That is correct. I sustained an injury, which unfortunately ended my career in tennis, but I’m very passionate about it. I know everything there is to know about the current top players, their statistics, and—” Mrs. Lu cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.
“I have no doubt that you are well-versed in the language of tennis. Unfortunately, we do not have a position open in that department at the moment,” she informs me, causing my polite smile to fade as disappointment washes over me. Ms. Martin notices my change in mood and frowns at her business partner.
“Oh, okay. I understand,” I mumble, but Mrs. Lu confuses me when she lets out a small chuckle.
“No, I don’t think you do yet. Ms. Fuchs, I hope I’m pronouncing that right—” She stops to look at me, and I laugh a little.
My last name has caused lots of confusion over the years. Every English-speaking person pronounces it wrong, and it always sounds like ‘fucks’ instead of its actual pronunciation, ‘f-oo-ks’.
“Please, call me Nevaeh,” I suggest because it’s easier than my German last name.
“Alright. Nevaeh, you have great recommendations and spent over three years at media companies as an intern and later an assistant. They speak very highly of you in their letters,” she says and leans forward. “I do have one position open, which I would like to offer you.” Suddenly, my heart beats faster than it ever has before. “How familiar are you with Formula One?” Mrs. Lu asks, curiosity now written all over her features.
“Pfft, too familiar, if you ask me,” I say with a laugh before I remember that this is a job interview, and I’m not behaving professionally. “I apologize, I have a hate-love relationship with the sport.”
Probably not the best thing to tell someone I hope will be my boss in the future. Mrs. Lu tilts her head to the side, scanning my face while Ms. Martin grins at me.
“What I meant is, I am very familiar. There is not an aspect of the sport I don’t know.” My father, the team principal of the Grenzenlos team, made sure of that by always talking to me about his work.
“Brilliant. Then how would you like to shadow and assist our head journalist as he travels with his team around the world to interview the drivers?” Mrs. Lu asks and stands up to walk over to a file cabinet.
I would love to instantly agree, to be excited about this job offer, but I don’t know how to feel. Formula One is a great sport, and I’ve enjoyed watching it my entire life, but it’s also the reason why Papa and I have barely spent time together. Not to mention, Lincoln Nash, the guy I hate the most in the world, is now racing for my father’s team. I already can’t avoid him at home, since our families are close friends, which is why I was hoping my job would have nothing to do with him…
Then again, I can’t let my emotions cloud my judgment.
This is an incredible job opportunity.
Can I really pass this up?
I’m about to answer when Mrs. Lu says, “I know this is not a job for everyone, but I think you’re highly qualified for it.”
I’m surprised she thinks this much of me, but I don’t question it. My resumé must be better than I thought it was when I applied.
“Your expenses, such as plane tickets and hotel rooms, will be paid for by us. You will be expected to do everything Mr. Fender tells you to, and we expect an article about the performance of the drivers, teams, or FIA decisions every race weekend. Whatever you think is the most exciting, you write about,” Ms. Martin explains with a strong French accent.
I’m overwhelmed by all of the information for a moment. When Ms. Martin looks at me, she must read it on my face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear, we haven’t even received an answer from you yet, and here we are, piling on information on top of information.” A breathless laugh escapes my slightly parted lips, and both of the women across from me smile.
“I would be delighted to be a part of the team,” I finally manage to croak out, unsure whether or not this is the right decision.
They flash me approving smiles in response.
Mrs. Lu and Ms. Martin go on to tell me about the weeks of introduction and training I will go through before the season starts.
They also give me the task of writing an article about what exactly Formula One is to get a sample of my writing and point out areas of improvement.
That’s not nerve-racking at all.
I take the contract Mrs. Lu hands me and force a smile at them both before leaving my boss’s office and making my way home.