4. CHAPTER FOUR #3
I have her full attention, so I explain, “Anything involving students on outdoor ice that Camden doesn’t maintain is going to Risk. They’ll take a month to say no.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t know that.”
I nod. “A group tried broomball sophomore year.”
“On the pond?”
“Frozen field.”
“And?” She’s getting impatient with me.
I tell her, “Five weeks.”
“What did Risk say?”
“No, of course,” I grin, watching her get more furious.
She drops her pen. “You are becoming a problem.”
I smile. “I’m saving you five weeks.”
She looks at my teeth and then back to my eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
I look into her eyes and admit, “A little.”
She points at me. “The third one is a good one.”
I look at her phone. “Let’s hear it.”
“Alumni game,” she says with a confident nod.
I wait.
She continues, “Players from the last ten, fifteen years. Bring them back. Sell tickets. Make it a whole weekend.”
“Advancement,” I say.
Her face changes. “What is Advancement?”
“The people who manage alumni and donors.”
She says, “Okay?”
“You can’t pull a list of former players and start inviting them to something without going through them.”
“Why?”
“Because half those former players are donors.”
She is genuinely offended by this.
“I worked in Facilities last summer,” I remind her. “I watched a guy get shut down over basically the same thing.”
Gianna leans back. “Do you have anything positive to contribute?”
“Yeah.”
“What?” she says fast.
“Pick something you can actually do.”
“That’s your advice?”
“You have fourteen weeks.”
She crosses her arms.
I say, “Everything you’ve said is better than what I did.”
Her face changes slightly. Finally not pissing her off, so I keep going. “All of it. But two of those ideas could die in somebody’s office in February, and you won’t know until March. Then you have six weeks left and no event.”
She doesn’t answer, which is unusual enough that I notice. She looks down at her notes. “The clinic.”
“What about it?”
“The version I told you at work.”
I nod. “Tickets.”
“Tickets. Sponsor. Jerseys. Game.”
I nod.
“What does that need?”
I think.
“Athletics for the ice and players. Facilities for setup. Youth program because they have the kids and waivers.”
She types as I talk.
“Compliance if current players are involved with anything sponsor-related.”
Her fingers stop. “Why?”
“Rules.”
“I hate that answer.”
I grin.
“And ticketing.”
“Yeah.”
She counts on her fingers. “That’s five people.”
“Five departments.”
“Worse.”
“Not really.”
She gives me a look.
I say, “Four of them already talk to each other every day.”
“So?”
“So they’re not five random people you have to convince from zero. It’s basically one building having a conversation with itself.”
Her expression changes. That got through. She starts typing again.
“You think they’ll say yes?” she asks.
“To a youth clinic?”
“With game tickets.”
I think about it. “Probably.”
“With a sponsor.”
“Compliance is the part I’d ask first.”
She writes that down. Then looks at the folder on my laptop. “This is useful.”
“I know.”
“You could sound less pleased about it.”
I shrug. “I could.”
She turns the laptop slightly toward herself. That’s when I remember what I left open behind the folder. Camden University. Master of Science in Sport Administration.
Gianna points at the tab. “So you’re applying?”
I look at it. “Thinking about it.”
“You already told everybody you might stay.”
I did. “Yeah.”
“So why haven’t you applied yet?”
“I’ve got until March.”
She looks over. “That isn’t what I asked.”
I lean back.
There it is.
Gianna has a way of asking questions like the obvious answer is waiting somewhere in the room, and I’m being difficult by not pointing to it.
“What do you want me to say?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
She turns the laptop toward me. “Do you want to stay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
The answer comes fast. Too fast. Gianna notices. I can tell because her eyes narrow slightly.
“For the master’s?”
I look at her. “What?”
“Do you want the degree or do you want another year of hockey?”
“Both,” I answer.
“Okay.”
She doesn’t sound convinced.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
She taps her pen against the notebook. “I’m just saying those are different things.”
I stare at her.
She holds my eyes. Not challenging me. Just waiting.
I look back at the screen. Thirty-three credits. March first. That’s another year. Maybe two.
“I don’t know.”
Gianna nods once. That’s it. No advice. No speech.
“Your final report is really dry.”
I look at her. “You just interrogated my future and now you’re reviewing my report?”
“I can multitask.”
“You’ve read three paragraphs.”
“Three extremely dry paragraphs.”
“It got an A.”
She closes her eyes. “Rowan.”
I laugh.
She opens them and goes back to reading.
A minute later, Mara walks through the kitchen with a bag of chips.
She slows beside the table.
Looks at Gianna.
Then at me.
“Cute.”
Gianna doesn’t lift her head. “Die.”
I look between them. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Mara keeps walking.
I watch her go, then look back at Gianna.
She’s already scrolling again.
“Page four is worse,” she says.
“It got an A.”
She points the pen at me without looking up. “I’m serious. Stop.”