Chapter 28
A Substitution
Olli
For this being an away game, I was relatively calm. Normally, my thoughts were focused on the condition of an unfamiliar field and crowd and trying to measure up the opposing team.
But today I was just relieved that Kodi was in the crowd, in sight, and there was no chance she’d be whisked away to the announcer's booth by a hot older gentleman who liked to flirt. Instead, Kodi was seated in the stands, right behind the bench, with the other family members.
Throughout the game, I was able to occasionally look over and see her cheering with Jimenez’s wife, enjoying herself. And I could do that without being completely distracted by her. It was a perfect balance.
Or at least it was until half time and Kodi ran up to me as I headed to the locker room.
“Kean!” she shouted, eyes darting back to the away team stands.
“What?” I stopped, looking around for a possible problem. My mind immediately jumped to the assumption that some guy was harassing her, but no one outside the team was around.
“Wave and smile and shit,” she said, grabbing my elbow to turn me to the stands and waving wildly.
“Why?”
“Just do it,” she said, huffing. Teeth gritted, I looked over at the audience with squinted eyes and waved. But Kodi pinched me and added, “Smile!”
Irritated that I didn’t understand what was going on, I pulled out of her hold to look at her with a deep-set frown.
“What’s going on?”
“Ugh.” She threw her head back dramatically. “Have you not looked over at the sidelines at all during the game?”
I had looked over plenty of times. I just hadn’t paid attention to anything other than her.
“It’s kind of my fault,” she said, chewing at her bottom lip. “But I didn’t think it would catch on so fast.”
“What caught on?”
Kodi sighed and pulled me further down the sidelines to the front of the visiting team section.
There, Lunez was doing … crowd work, I guess.
He was running from one side to the other, hands up, getting the audience to stand in time with him to do the wave.
And while it wasn’t my thing, it looked like everyone was having fun with it.
“So Lunez is entertaining the crowd, so what?”
“So what,” she scoffed. “He’s got a hashtag trending.”
“Hashtag?” I repeated. I knew vaguely what it was in terms of social media shit, but I didn’t understand what it meant in this situation. “Also what do you mean it’s your fault?”
“A hashtag is — actually, it’s not important. Carlos came over asking for advice on social campaigns 'cause he really wants to get on the field.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with him?” I asked, a little jealous.
“He asked me to.” She waved her hand at me dismissively. “Anyways, I felt bad for him, so I gave him a couple of tips. And he doesn’t want to actually replace you, he’d rather get transferred down to Tampa or whatever. So like, him getting some audience love wouldn’t hurt you. But …”
She trailed off, looking back at Lunez and winced.
“But what?”
“He’s gotten enough attention that the owners are taking notice. Which, you know, isn’t … ideal in the long run.”
“Uh-huh.” If I was being honest, I’d tell her she was blowing this whole thing out of proportion.
One little social media trend wasn’t enough to get me benched, especially when we only had a three-point lead.
But that felt condescending, so instead, I said, “I appreciate the concern. But I think he’d have to keep this up for several more games before —”
“Kean!” Coach shouted and I turned to him, body going tense. Christenson followed behind him, face wrinkled in a grimace. And I knew right then whatever Coach was gonna say, I wasn’t going to like it.
“Yes, sir?”
“Look.” He paused to sigh, tapping his clipboard on his thigh. “Owners called, they wanna see Lunez on the field. We’re ahead, he’s got decent stats, and if he chokes under pressure, we’ll just put you right back in, all right?”
He gave me a tight nod, lifted his clipboard like a wave, then went off.
“Boyd, can we talk about this?” Christenson shouted after Coach, who just waved over his shoulder.
Christenson ran his hands over his face, mumbling something under his breath before turning back to me.
“Sorry, Kean. He’s …” He paused, jaw tightening.
“I think the owners are putting a lot of pressure on him.”
Beside me, Kodi hummed. “I bet they sell in between seasons.”
“That’s …” Christenson sighed. “Extremely possible.”
This is the kind of situation I should call my agent about, get them to explain what it would mean for me if team ownership changes hands. But I trusted Kodi more and looked to her.
“I mean, different owners value different things. Some want wins and some want money.” She shrugged. “The current owners are probably the latter. So they try and bank on trends.”
Christenson nodded, opening his mouth to say something before deciding against it and shaking his head.
“Okay,” I grumbled, looking around like I’d be able to find an answer on the field. But then my eyes landed back on Kodi and my mind was set.
A few months ago, before Kodi was back in my life, I would’ve dug my feet in. I would’ve insisted that my record would speak for itself. And while I still believed that to some extent, I also saw the value in what Kodi said.
And this could be a chance to get to know her better. Know who Kodi was know without my failed attempts at small talk.
“So … can you make me trend, too?”