Chapter 6 #2
"You absolutely are. I can practically see that meme with the crazy math drawings swirling over your head."
He was making his way over. Of course he was, crossing a room that had parted for him without his asking it to, the way rooms do for some people and have never once in my life done for me, and he had a smile starting, easy and open, the smile of a man who has never walked into a room that didn't want him.
"Hi," he said, arriving. "Clover Freeman, right? We met Monday. This is incredible, what you're doing here. The turnout."
Up close the snag in my brain between Isak Kingman and Cat Daddy got worse. Or better. I genuinely could not tell which, and the not-being-able-to-tell was its own small catastrophe.
"I'm just the one with the clipboard."
Something flickered across his face. Interest, maybe, or recognition, or my own want painting recognition onto a perfectly ordinary expression, I had no way to know — and he said, "That's a very specific way to not take credit for an event you're obviously running for a cause that is clearly important to you. "
For a split second I wished I was the one wearing a helmet. It was…like a harsh flashlight shining in the dark directly at me to be seen so easily like that.
Nope. No. Not gonna do it. I met this man Monday and my whole body told me he was just another football player who thought his shit didn't stink, and I have a rule. No more football players.
The rule exists so I can be who I want to be, not who Warner, my parents, or society wants. So a jawline and some killer charm can't dismantle it in a borrowed dance studio in front of Zahra Smith.
"Save that smile for the launch video this afternoon," I said, and stepped back into my job, and went to find Miss Patrice, because she was real and the footage was real and the fluttery butterflies happening in my chest were structurally unsound.
Behind me I heard Kingman get pulled into a photo by three grandmas at once, and heard him go along with it, delighted, and I did not turn around to watch, which was a personal achievement I intend to be proud of for years.
The workshop started and the women who I hoped would actually show up to tryouts filled the floor. Zahra and the other girls warmed them up and helped everyone with the kind of moves that I and the panel of judges would want to see.
It was everything I was never given and I was not going to let anyone see that on my face. I smiled, I clapped, I made notes.
Isak Kingman did the same, well minus the notes.
And I really needed to stop paying attention to him. I recentered myself on the girls, the routines, and checked in with Dev on how the filming was going.
By the time the workshop was done, I was swamped with potential new cheerleaders asking more questions than I could answer. Kingman was standing near the door, signing some more autographs, but when I looked again, he was gone.
Good. Fine. He was probably supposed to be at practice anyway.
It wasn’t like I wouldn’t see him again this afternoon for the content shoot. I didn’t even know why he’d been here this morning anyway. And it didn’t matter.
Nope. Not one little bit.
I stopped to grab some lunch on my way back to The Den. While I waited for my sandwich, extra pickles, my phone buzzed.
Cat Daddy: What's up, Buttercup?
I smiled at my phone and then looked around the restaurant to see if either a helmeted man with a cat or a famous football player happened to me standing nearby texting on his phone.
There was only a group of teenagers refilling their sodas.
Me: That's Peanut Butter Cup to you.
Cat Daddy: I'd smash a peanut butter cup right now.
Me: Is that an innuendo?
Cat Daddy: Pass.
I rolled my eyes, but in the “why is he so cute and charming about hiding his thoughts” kind of way.
Me: Okay practical question. What do I wear tonight?
Cat Daddy: Something you can move in, but that covers your skin. Jeans, and layers on top. It'll be cool after dark.
Me: I need more than that to pack appropriately.
Cat Daddy: You don't need to pack. You need to show up.
Me: I'm an engineer. I require data.
Cat Daddy: You're an engineer?
Me: Bachelors of Science, baby. Don't make it weird.
Cat Daddy: That's the least weird thing I've ever heard. That's extremely cool.
Me: Thank you. Data. Please.
Cat Daddy: Comfortable shoes, some kind of boots if you have them. Layers. That's all I've got.
Me: Fine. And I assume I need a helmet.
Cat Daddy: I've got one for you.
Me: So this is my initiation?
Cat Daddy: Your what?
Me: Into the Mandalorian Creed. You can't just hand someone a helmet. There's a ceremony. There's a foundling acknowledgement. I have rights under the Creed that I need to be made aware of.
Cat Daddy: ...
Cat Daddy: I will prepare appropriately.
Me: Is there a clan signet? I feel like based on current evidence it involves cats.
Cat Daddy: Technically Vito would have to approve any clan signets involving cats.
Me: Obviously. I'll await his formal review.
Cat Daddy: He's considering it. Very seriously. With great ceremony.
Me: As is appropriate.
Cat Daddy: This is the way.
Me: This is the way.
The sandwich maker called my name. Right. Back to life. Back to reality.
I met Dev, the three past captains, and the football players, Kingman, Daws, and Rutherford on the field so that I could show the guys the blocking and take as little time from their practice as possible.
"Guys, your roll is easy. All you have to do is play a little catch. And let the cheerleaders do the work."
Fox Daws raised his hand like we were in fourth grade. "So are we the talent? Do we have lines? What's my motivation?"
I wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. He was an actual actor after all. "Your job is football Ken."
"Got it, coach."
Rutherford gave two thumbs up and smiled. His cute little dimple should have had me swooning.
Kingman didn't say a thing, and I was pretty sure he was thinking this was totally beneath him.
Then Dev wanted one player to do a quick camera test and pointed at the nearest one, which was Kingman.
He looked at the camera. The camera looked at Kingman.
"Just say something," Dev said. "Anything."
Kingman blinked and said, "The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell."
Dev turned into a smiling statue.
I made a note on my clipboard that said give lines to Fox Daws instead and did not look up.
"Cool," Dev said. "We're good."
Coach Roper was just going to pop in at the very end, do his one shot, and that would be a wrap.
“Okay team, let’s do this.” The girls lined up on their marks and got ready for their passes.
Dev held up a hand and waved me over. "Clover, look at this." They pointed to the camera screen.
Something was slightly... uneven. I did the geometry in about point four seconds.
"I see it. I'll do a pass alongside Izzy. That should even it out," I said.
Zahra's eyebrow moved two millimeters. "You tumble?"
I'd have thought she'd at least Google me during the week. Guess she really did mean for me to literally prove myself. "Since I was seven."
I set down my clipboard and went to stand at the left end of the formation and rolled my shoulders and shook out my hands and did not look at anyone in particular. Good thing I'd decided to wear my new Tiger's logoed warm up suit and my orange Swishes.
Dev set the boys back up on their line, gave Kingman his bucket of balls to throw to Daws while Rutherford ran interference. Fox would say his line about tryouts for the new cheer team after the tumbling passes.
"Okay, everyone, This is a rehearsal, but I'm rolling the cameras in case we catch some good shots." Dev counted everyone in. Kingman threw the ball to Daws, Rutherford tackled Kingman.
Shayla gave a little jump and started first. Zahra hit her pass coming from the opposite with perfect precision in every degree of rotation.
Izzy winked at me and gave me a nod, and we started our pass.
I ran, planted, and went. The round-off, the handspring, the layout. My body knew this the way it knew how to breathe. I landed, already thinking about the angle for the camera, already calculating whether we needed another take.
Silence.
Then Fox said "yo" in a voice that wasn't his normal light tenor.
And Isak Kingman, lying on the ground, with the complete unfiltered sincerity of a man whose internal monologue had just walked directly out of his mouth said, "My god, cheerleaders with some junk in the trunk are fucking hot."
The world around us went extremely quiet. I stared open-mouthed at Isak Kingman and he stared right back. There was a mix of... well lust, and also not exactly embarrassment, but perhaps chagrin on his face.
Had that been directed at me? By the shocked looks on everyone's faces, all clearly waiting for me to say something, I was going to say yes. Yes, he'd said that about me and my junk in the trunk.
Dev lowered the camera approximately two inches. "I can bleep the fuck."
"Honestly," Fox said, "That's a better line than what you wrote for me."
Shayla put her hand over her mouth holding back a laugh. Izzy burst into giggles. Zahra turned her head very slowly toward Kingman and I watched the skepticism on her face do something it hadn't done yet in our short acquaintance, which was to take a small involuntary step back from itself.
I blinked a few times and then remembered where I was and what I was doing. "Uh... yeah. I think that just might reach the kind of audience I'm hoping to attract."
My voice came out completely normal, which was a personal achievement I was going to be proud of for years.
Coach Roper walked up, pointed at Dev and said. "I'm ready for my close up Dev Demille."
Dev contained their own chuckles and raised their camera. Coach Roper looked straight at the camera with a scowl on his face. Then did the most astonishing sort of come hither smile and winked. Then he gave two thumbs up, which was all he was supposed to do.
"Did you get it?" He didn't actually wait for the reply. "Good. Gotta run, kids. Kingman, Daws, Rutherford, get your asses back to practice."
What in the world had just happened to my carefully planned video shoot? I watched Roper jog back to where the other coaches and players on the other side of the field.
I officially still had the guys for a good twenty more minutes, but I wasn't even sure we needed them. "Dev, do we need to do another take or..."
"Clover."
Isak Kingman's voice sounded behind me. Lower. More careful. And every hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up on end. Not because I was scared.
No.
I absolutely recognized the way that voice said my name. It was protective, and charming, and meant to be helpful.
Helpful getting me down out of a tree.
There were no snags in my brain this time.
Isak Kingman was Cat Daddy.