OFFSIDE

Chapter 3

NADIA

The Athletic Department office smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

I know that sounds dramatic. But I'd been summoned, really summoned, via a calendar invite with no subject line, which is the institutional equivalent of a knock at midnight to a nine a.m. meeting on a Wednesday with Director Callahan, and nothing good had ever come out of a meeting with no subject line.

Bex had texted me three question marks when she saw the invite.

I'd sent back: no idea. probably fine.

I'd known it wasn't fine.

The conference room had a long table, bad lighting, and six chairs, four of which were occupied when I arrived. Director Callahan at the head—fifties, reading glasses pushed up on his forehead, the particular tired expression of a man who'd delivered bad news so many times it had become a personality trait. Beside him was Coach Farley from the hockey program, who I recognized from the schedule conflict last week and who had the decency to look mildly uncomfortable.

In the chair across from the empty one beside me, already seated, already with a water bottle and a notebook like this was a class he'd prepared for was Cole Hartley.

Of course.

He looked up when I came in. I sat down without acknowledging this.

"Thanks for coming in," Callahan said. "I'll keep it straightforward."

He did not keep it straightforward.

What followed was fifteen minutes of budget language; restructuring, consolidated programming, stakeholder visibility, regional sponsorship alignment that I parsed in real time into its actual meaning, which landed somewhere between ‘we need money’ and ‘you two are going to hate this.’

The short version: Hartwell's two highest-visibility athletic programs—hockey and cheer—were being co-listed under a single sponsorship package for the semester. One deal, two programs, presented jointly to potential sponsors at every major event. The idea being that a combined package was more attractive to regional sponsors than two separate smaller tasks.

The further short version: Cole and I were being named co-chairs of the joint public relations committee. Shared events. Shared appearances. One showcase at the end of semester where both programs performed on the same night.

I let Callahan finish.

Then I said, very calmly: "Can you walk me through the timeline for when this was decided?"

Callahan looked at his folder. "Formally approved about three weeks ago."

"And the co-chair structure. Whose idea was that specifically."

"It came out of a joint recommendation from both coaching staffs."

I looked at Coach Farley. He looked at his water bottle. I looked back at Callahan.

"I appreciate the transparency," I said, in the tone that Bex calls my ‘very calm voice that is not actually calm’. "I do want to flag that a decision directly affecting the squad's public programming and scheduling would typically involve some consultation with the squad captain before it was formally approved."

"That's fair feedback," Callahan said.

"Thank you. I'll have more."

Across the table Cole made a small sound. I didn't look at him. I was not going to look at him.

"Is there a structural reason it needs to be co-chaired rather than just coordinated?" I asked.

"Sponsors want a unified front," Callahan said. "One point of contact representing both programs. It reads better."

"And the co-chairs were selected based on what criteria."

"Team captains. It was the most logical-"

"Right." I sat back. Picked up my pen. Put it down. "Okay."

Callahan looked relieved in a way that suggested he'd expected worse. He hadn't seen worse yet, but I was in a professional setting and I had been raised to save it for after the room.

"Any questions from you, Cole?" Farley asked.

"No," Cole said. "I think we have what we need."

We. Already we.

I wrote three words in my notebook; ‘not his call’, and underlined them.

The meeting wrapped in another five minutes. Callahan gave us a committee brief, a list of dates, and a folder each with the sponsorship proposal inside. I took mine without reading it. Cole took his without reading it either, which meant he'd already been briefed separately, which meant this meeting had been less about informing us and more about putting us in the same room so we couldn't separately object.

That was actually organized. I hated it.

In the hallway outside, Cole fell into step beside me.

"Don't," I said.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"You were about to say something like it won't be that bad or we can make this work and I'm telling you in advance, please don't."

A beat. "I was going to ask if you wanted to set up a first committee meeting."

I stopped walking. He stopped a half second later and turned to face me in the hallway, and this was the closest we'd been since the equipment corridor and I was acutely aware of that in a way I refused to be useful to.

"This week?" I asked.

"Thursday works for me. I can find a room."

"I have practice until five."

"Five thirty then."

I looked at him. He waited. No pressure in it, no angle I could find, just that same level patience that I remembered from the ice and from three years before that and from a version of myself I'd already decided didn't apply anymore.

"Fine," I said. "Send me the room number."

"I will."

"And Cole." I held his gaze. "This is a professional arrangement. We produce the committee outcomes, we get through the semester, we go back to our separate programs. That's all this is."

Something moved through his expression. Gone before I could name it.

"Understood," he said.

I walked away first. Down the hall, out the side door, into the September air which was sharp and cold and exactly what I needed on my face.

My phone buzzed.

Bex: so??? What happened???

I stopped on the steps and typed back;

Me: I'll tell you everything. Also I need coffee. Also I genuinely might be cursed.

Three seconds later;

Bex: WHAT DID THEY DO?!

I looked up at the sky for a moment. Then back down at my phone.

I typed: Walk to the cart with me, this requires caffeine to explain properly.

She sent back a running emoji and I almost smiled, which was the first time I'd almost smiled since sitting down in that conference room and seeing him already there with his water bottle and his notebook like some kind of organized nightmare.

Almost.

I started walking.