Chapter 7

: Andi

I ’m fine. No, really , I am.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I am the furthest thing from fine that I can get. All because ... society sucks, that’s why. And because some baboon named Brandon Nix had to get in my face.

That’s it.

And now, instead of being upset that the USSLRA pays its women referees less than they pay their men and being able to get fair pay for fair work, I’m put on notice that my career could be over because of a perceived —what? I don’t even know what to call it. Flirtation? Impropriety? Attraction?

HA! That makes me laugh. Brandon Nix? Foul-tempered, loud-mouthed, hasn’t-had-a-haircut-this-decade Brandon Nix? The thought of anything with that man has me cackling away like a maniac. I don’t remember the last time I laughed like this. You know, the gut-busting kind where you literally bend in half and slap your knee. Because I’m alone, I let myself laugh until I notice tears falling in drops onto the floor.

This is so unfair.

That’s a familiar mantra in my life. Familiar enough to pull me up straight, my face quickly falling back into its neutral resting position.

I only ever complained about something being unfair once when I was a kid. Once was enough. A well-meaning family friend heard me complaining that someone was cheating while we were playing soccer in the neighborhood. I still remember her pulling me aside, her words stinging like a wasp.

Andi, you know what’s unfair? That your brother will never be able to walk. He doesn’t ever get to play soccer. That’s a big deal. That’s unfair. This is child’s play. Your parents don’t need to deal with your whining. Figure it out yourself.

Every time I think about something being unfair, I always return to that moment. Of course, I knew Benj was different. He wasn’t walking, but I didn’t know he wasn’t ever going to walk. Not until that moment. When Mrs. Cheney said that my whole world shifted on its axis. Benj is six years younger than me. I was probably about ten, which made him four. Whenever I’d asked Mom or Dad about it before that point, they said he hadn’t read the book on development and was on his own schedule.

That made sense to me, because what baby can read a book?

Later that night, I straight up asked Mom if Benj was ever going to walk or play soccer. That’s when she told me he had this thing called Spinal Muscular Atrophy—SMA—and no, he wasn’t ever going to walk. She told me he was going to be getting an electric wheelchair when he went to school, and that we would be building a new house that would be accessible for Benj.

I nodded along like I knew what that meant. I didn’t want to ask my mom any more questions, when this was obviously so hard for her to talk about. I decided in that moment that I’d never stress my mom out again.

We moved a few months later to be closer to the hospital, and I never saw Mrs. Cheney again. But her words echo in my brain all the time.

Figure it out yourself .

I should get that tattooed on my body.

I think about texting Benj, but I can talk about it tomorrow when I surprise him. I’m flying out of Logan on the 7 a.m. flight, which will put me there in time for lunch, barring any flight delays.

Until then, I’ll work on how to figure this out myself.

I wasn’t looking forward to the early morning flight when I booked it, but with it being such last minute, I didn’t have much of a choice. Now I’m thankful for it. My alarm is set for 3:30 a.m., which gives me enough time to shower, brush my teeth, and head to the airport. It’ll still be dark and the T won’t be running, so I’ve already scheduled an Uber to get me there.

I can always sleep on the plane.

That’s what will have to happen because sleep certainly isn’t finding me now. Thoughts are swirling around my brain, causing my heart rate to spike and cold sweat to break out across my chest. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, my eyes wide open.

When the adrenaline rushing through my veins doesn’t permit sleep to come, I try the next strategy—opening ClikClak and mindlessly scrolling.

After a bit, I stumble across a parody of a sportscaster calling dogs at the dog park as if it were a major sporting event. They’re hilarious, and I find myself watching the entire playlist. I don’t know who this person is, but she needs to be in the business. She’s more entertaining than some of the ex-athletes they hire to be on TV.

@HannahLaRosa

After I finish the Dog Park playlist, I start watching some of her other videos. Her most recent shows the Eiffel Tower.

I’d kill to be in Paris right now. I’d kill multiple people to be there officiating the Global Games. I’m guessing murder won’t help my case with the USSLRA though. I can practically hear Nathan. Well, this is what happens when we let hysterical women with raging hormones into the league—they just can’t control themselves.

Okay, this line of thought will not be productive. Back to Hannah’s ClikClaks of Paris. The video is a photo montage. I have to watch it several times for my brain to be able to process all the information my eyes are seeing. In addition to the traditional Paris landmarks and French cuisine, she’s got pictures from the Global Games. Specifically, the ones the US played in.

Then there’s a picture of her wearing a jersey with the name “Entay” on the back. That’s the US National Team’s goalie, Callaghan Entay. Funny, I wouldn’t have pictured this girl for a cleat chaser. Not that I know her at all. I’m simply judging by her content.

And I was right. She’s not a soccer groupie. She’s legit dating Callaghan Entay.

The last picture is of them on the plane back to the States. Over it is text that says, “The US may have lost, but I certainly won. Stay tuned for big news coming soon.”

Aww, I’m guessing they’re engaged. I click on Entay’s ClikClak to see, but there’s just generic coverage from the games, and one repost of the picture of his girlfriend wearing his jersey.

A quick glance at the clock shows it’s after one, and my window to sleep has long passed. I continue my deep dive on ClikClak, specifically Hannah LaRosa’s profile.

She’s really good at this social media thing. Plus, she knows sports—soccer specifically.

I’m not sure if it’s desperation or sleep deprivation, or maybe a little of both, but I send her a message.

@Andi: Hi Ms. LaRosa, My name is Andi Nichols. I stumbled across your profile, and I wanted to tell you your dog park series is brilliant. I can see you having a great career in broadcasting. I was wondering if you ever do consulting to help people build a positive reputation on ClikClak? There’s a relatively unflattering video of me making the rounds, and it has real potential to negatively impact my career. Would you have any suggestions for how to counteract that effect? Thanks in advance!

I don’t have to wait too long before my phone vibrates, indicating I’ve got a new message.

@HannahLaRosa: THE Andi Nichols?

I have to smile. I’m not looking for fame or celebrity status, but I do want people to know the work I’ve done. I can’t believe she knows who I am.

@Andi: The one and the same. And I’m sorry this is so late. I didn’t think you’d answer.

Her response is immediate.

@HannahLaRosa: Sleep is for the weak. My body doesn’t know what time zone it’s in anyway. Brandon needs some sense slapped into him. He’s seriously a PR nightmare. I would not want to be his agent.

I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks that. I’m not sure that even the best agent and PR team could spin him into a likable guy.

@HannahLaRosa: Sometime I’ll have to tell you about the time he kidnapped me.

Okay, now I need to know more. I put his name into the search bar.

An hour later, I’m quite convinced that Brandon Nix is exactly who I thought he was—on and off the field. I really can’t believe that Nathan would think I had anything to do with the likes of him. Nathan obviously doesn’t know me very well.

Not many people do. I’m a closed book.

That’s what Mike said when he asked for the divorce. That I was a closed book, and he was no longer interested in reading it.

Yeah, those words still sting.

Not to mention he had already picked up a trashy magazine from the USSLRA headquarters.

I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but no one wants to hear that. It’s not like I don’t know that I’m ... standoffish. I’ve worked hard on that. I mean, look at what’s happening now. If I were to show more emotions or passion or even reactions, can you imagine what would be said then?

I was literally standing there like a statue while Brandon Nix screamed in my face, and it’s been sexualized. What is wrong with our society?

And what is wrong with Brandon Nix? There’s a video of him outside practice today, his hair in its stupid man bun, making duck faces at whoever was filming him. Ugh, and he winked too. And no surprise, he drives a souped-up fancy sports car. He’s about as clichéd as you can get.

I bet he has a small penis.

Actually, there’s footage of him jumping rope in gray sweatpants which supports just the opposite. Doesn’t matter. You know he’s got diseases.

He is what’s wrong with our society: because of his ability to kick a ball, we value him. We’ll overlook all the faults, like the temper and the womanizing, and the lack of an internal filter, just because he’s physically fit and somewhat attractive.

Okay, pretty attractive, if you got rid of the hair.

I get the sociology and biological drive behind it. Men who were strong and healthy were found to be more desirable to mate with to carry on the species. But we have to have evolved from there, right? The whole idea of the alpha male leaves nothing but distaste in my mouth, and Brandon Nix is the prime example of an alpha male. No, thank you.

But now, without sleep having crossed my path, it’s time to get up and put myself together to go to the airport. As the excitement of getting to see my brother takes over, all thoughts of Brandon Nix slip from my brain.

That’s the way it should be.