CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
MASON
Coach called it “media day.”
Nobody else called it that with confidence.
We all just called it the thing.
Because it didn’t feel like practice anymore.
It felt like being watched.
The gym had been rearranged—chairs set up on one side, cameras on the other, bright lights that made everything feel slightly unreal.
Andre leaned toward me while we waited. “I hate this.”
“You hate everything,” I said.
“Yeah, but this specifically feels like a crime.”
Luca sat on the other side of me, flipping a ball in his hands.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Coach walked past us. “Reed. You’re first.”
Of course I was.
The interviewer was already sitting when I stepped in.
Young guy. Professional smile. Notebook. Camera off to the side.
And then—
Rowan.
Sitting beside him.
Laptop open.
Hair tied back.
Focused.
But when her eyes landed on me, just for half a second—
something shifted.
Not obvious.
Not dramatic.
Just there.
Then it was gone.
Professional again.
“Let’s keep this simple,” the interviewer said. “Athlete profile. Background, mindset, NYC preparation.”
I sat down.
Rowan didn’t say anything at first.
She just typed.
Watching.
Listening.
Not reacting.
Which somehow made it worse.
ROWAN
I told myself I was fine.
I wasn’t.
Because seeing him like that—on the other side of a structured setup instead of a gym conversation—felt different.
Controlled.
Framed.
Like he wasn’t just Mason anymore.
He was material.
The interviewer started.
“Let’s talk about pressure,” he said.
Mason didn’t hesitate.
“I don’t think about it during games,” he said.
I looked down at my notes immediately.
That was a lie.
Not dramatic.
Just… incomplete.
The interviewer nodded. “And outside of games?”
A pause.
That pause mattered.
Mason glanced slightly in my direction before answering.
“Outside is where it builds.”
My fingers stopped typing for half a second.
Then continued.
MASON
I didn’t like this setup.
Not because of the questions.
Because of her.
Rowan wasn’t reacting like Rowan.
She was quieter.
More contained.
Like she was observing something she wasn’t supposed to feel part of.
The interviewer leaned forward.
“NYC is a major step. Are you prepared for visibility?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Rowan typed.
No expression change.
But I noticed her pen tapping once against the table.
Subtle.
But there.
The interviewer continued.
“Do you feel like you handle attention well?”
I almost answered automatically.
Then stopped.
Because I could feel Rowan watching.
Not judging.
Just watching.
So I said the truth instead.
“No.”
Silence.
Even the interviewer paused slightly.
Rowan looked up for the first time in a while.
Just briefly.
Then back down.
But that second mattered.
ROWAN
That answer wasn’t expected.
Not in the script.
Not in the profile.
Not in anything I’d read before this session.
“No.”
Simple.
Honest.
Unfiltered.
The interviewer smiled slightly like he appreciated it.
I didn’t.
Because honesty in interviews usually meant unpredictability.
And unpredictability meant story material.
Which meant exposure.
Mason shifted slightly in his chair.
Not uncomfortable.
Just aware.
Aware of me.
Aware of everything happening in the room.
The interviewer turned toward me.
“Rowan, any observations so far?”
My stomach tightened slightly.
I could feel Mason watching now too.
So I kept it professional.
“He’s consistent under pressure,” I said.
True.
Pause.
“And… self-aware.”
That one felt safer.
Less loaded.
The interviewer nodded.
Mason didn’t react.
But I saw it.
Just slightly.
A small exhale.
Like he recognized I didn’t push too far.
MASON
She was careful.
Too careful.
That bothered me more than anything.
Because it meant she understood the weight of this room.
I didn’t like that she understood it.
The interviewer leaned back.
“Final question,” he said. “What drives you heading into NYC?”
That one should’ve been easy.
Basketball.
Team.
Future.
Instead I said:
“I don’t want to lose control of my game.”
Pause.
Then added without thinking:
“And I don’t want distractions doing it for me.”
That landed differently.
I felt it immediately.
The air in the room shifted slightly.
Rowan’s typing stopped for half a second.
Just half.
Then resumed.
But slower.
ROWAN
That wasn’t directed at me.
Logically.
It couldn’t be.
But it still felt like it sat between us.
The interviewer wrapped up soon after.
“Good,” he said. “We’ll review this for feature placement.”
Mason stood first.
I didn’t immediately look at him.
That was intentional.
Professional distance.
That’s what this was supposed to be.
But as he passed by my table—
he slowed slightly.
Just enough for me to hear him quietly.
“Don’t write something stupid.”
It wasn’t harsh.
It wasn’t angry.
It was warning.
I didn’t respond.
Because I didn’t trust my voice in that moment.
MASON
I left the room faster than I should’ve.
Luca was waiting outside.
“Well?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not like you.”
“Nothing about today is like me.”
That shut him up.
Coach was down the hall talking to staff.
I could feel his eyes on everything.
Rowan came out a few minutes later.
Not looking at me.
But I knew she knew I was there.
We didn’t speak.
Not immediately.
Just stood in the same hallway.
Too close for it to be nothing.
Too structured for it to be anything else.
Finally she said:
“You think I’d write something stupid?”
I looked at her.
“No,” I said.
Pause.
“I think they will if you give them too much to work with.”
That landed.
She nodded slowly.
“Good to know,” she said.
But it didn’t sound like agreement.
It sounded like acknowledgment.
ROWAN
We walked out separately.
That was important.
Even if it didn’t feel natural.
Mia caught up with me outside.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
“I’m working.”
“You’re processing.”
I didn’t deny it.
Because she was right.
Mason wasn’t the problem.
The structure around him was.
And I was part of that structure now.
My phone buzzed before I could think further.
Mason.
Mason:
That was worse than practice.
I almost smiled.
Rowan:
Yeah.
Pause.
Mason:
Don’t overthink it.
I stared at that.
Then typed:
Rowan:
Too late.
Sent.
And for the first time since NYC started closing in—
it didn’t feel like we were preparing anymore.
It felt like we were already inside it.