Chapter 1 #2
Libby groaned into her pillow. Her mother only used her full name in cases of extreme excitement or extreme disappointment, the two states she lived in full-time.
At 7:08 a.m., either option was unwelcome.
She shuffled downstairs in mismatched socks, one blue with penguins and one green with tacos, to find her mother vibrating with energy in the kitchen of her childhood home.
"Did someone die?" Libby asked, making a beeline for the coffee pot.
"You've gone viral!" Linda Bennet-Cross thrust her iPad into Libby's face before she could take a single sip from her mug. "Your tweet about that hockey player's beard! It has over ten thousand likes! That's practically a million in internet money!"
"What?" Libby blinked, taking the tablet.
Sure enough, her throwaway comment about Trevor Shea's facial wilderness had exploded overnight.
NHL players, sports reporters, and even the official Falcons account had retweeted it.
Trevor Shea himself had replied with three crying-laughing emojis and "Fair assessment tbh.
" The Athletic had quoted it in their morning roundup.
ESPN had included it in a graphic about playoff eliminations.
"Oh my god," she murmured, scrolling through the notifications that had apparently been flooding her phone while she slept. "It's just a dumb joke about a beard."
"It's your big break!" her mother declared, already in full theatrical mode. "I've already texted the entire book club! Mrs. Henderson says her nephew works at ESPN—well, near ESPN, he parks cars at the studio, but still!"
"Mom, it's one viral tweet. It doesn't mean—"
"Robert!" Linda called toward the living room where Libby's father was undoubtedly trying to enjoy his coffee in peace. "Come see Libby's big break!"
Robert Bennet-Cross appeared in the doorway, his history teacher sweater vest already on despite it being Saturday. "I'm guessing from your mother's decibel level that something monumental has occurred?"
"Apparently," Libby said, sliding the iPad toward him. "Though I'm not sure how this translates to career advancement."
Her father scanned the screen, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Full Hagrid hosting an ecosystem? Not bad, Libs." He handed back the tablet. "Though I'm sure the Pulitzer committee is known for their beard commentary category."
"Your father, always the comedian," Linda rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. This is your chance! The sports media world is finally noticing you!"
"For making fun of a guy's beard, not for my actual hockey analysis," Libby pointed out, finally managing a sip of her life-sustaining coffee.
In the background, Lydia had emerged from her room and was dramatically reading Libby's tweet to her phone camera for her Instagram story, complete with theatrical gasps between each game progression.
"You have to start somewhere," her mother insisted. "This kind of exposure could really expand your horizons, sweetheart. You never know who might slide into your DMs now!"
"Mother," Libby said flatly. "How dare I, a modern woman, prioritize my journalism career over non-existent Twitter suitors?"
"I'm just saying you can have both!" Linda protested. "Look at that lovely Erin Andrews!"
Robert caught Libby's eye over his coffee mug and gave her a sympathetic wink. He understood her ambitions better than her mother ever would—the desire to be taken seriously as a journalist, to have her analysis respected rather than her appearance noticed.
"Linda," Robert intervened smoothly, "weren't you making those cinnamon roll things? I think I smell them burning."
"My buns!" Linda fled the room.
Robert settled into the chair across from Libby with a content sigh. "Your analysis of Sullivan's power play was spot on, by the way. Read your column this morning."
"Thanks, Dad." She smiled gratefully. "Too bad only about twelve people saw it."
"Quality over quantity," he said, then gestured to her phone which was still lighting up with notifications. "Although a little quantity doesn't hurt."
"It's just weird. I've been breaking down complex zone entries all season, and what goes viral? A joke about facial hair."
Her father's expression turned reflective, the look he got when he was about to dispense what he considered wisdom. "The hockey world is like any other closed system, Libs. They protect their own, value the insiders, keep the gates locked. I learned that the hard way."
"But," he continued, his expression softening, "you've got something most of these insiders don't—you actually understand the game. Not just the politics of it."
"Fat lot of good it's doing me at the Springfield Gazette," she sighed.
"Maybe this viral moment is the crack in the door you need," he suggested. “Just… watch out for the sharks once you're swimming in the bigger pond.”
"I'm hardly heading to the NHL, Dad. It's one tweet."
Her phone vibrated in her back pocket, this time with a text from her editor.
Rob Gazette
Nice viral moment. Come see me Monday. Might have an opportunity for you.
Libby stared at the message, something fluttering in her chest that felt suspiciously like hope. Maybe her father was right. Maybe this was her crack in the door.
"Cinnamon rolls!" Linda announced, placing a tray of perfectly golden buns on the table. "Eat up, Libby. Growing sports celebrities need their strength!"
Libby caught her father's amused glance and couldn't help smiling. Whatever came of this viral tweet, at least she had her father's understanding—and her mother's entertainment value.
She took a cinnamon roll and opened Twitter again, watching as her follower count ticked steadily upward. Small pond, big dreams. Maybe it was time to test the waters of a larger lake.