The Boyfriend List by R.S. Novelle, Renee Novelle

players.” Without a
pause, the coach blew a long breath into the whistle, and Reagan jumped at the
shrill sound.
    “Listen
up!” He screamed, commanding their attention. “This is Abbey Wentworth with the
Daily Sun. She’s gonna be hanging around, interviewing a few of you for the
article for this weekend’s game. Be nice, and remember your answers represent
me.”
    Suddenly,
more than 20 pairs of curious eyes were on Reagan, and there was nowhere for
her to hide. She felt herself being sized up, checked out, and otherwise
analyzed. She felt the red flush work its way up her cheeks and she wished very
much at the moment that she’d never come up with this stupid recon mission. A
smile was managed, and she nodded her head firmly in the direction of the
crowd. Even though some smiled back at her, she’d never in her life wanted to
disappear more.
    “I’ll
just go sit over there,” She started walking toward the bleachers behind her,
“and talk to you one by one I guess.” And as the first player strolled
confidently over to her, ready for her expert line of questioning, she began to
wonder what she’d gotten herself into. She wasn’t a reporter, had barely passed
her English final last term and rarely picked up a paper. She was in absolutely
no way qualified to take on this task.
    Reagan
smiled awkwardly at him as she fumbled with pad and pen, but he offered little
in return. “So, I guess I’m supposed to ask you questions. Right?”
    “Yeah,
that’s usually how this works.” His smug expression and audible impatience told
her this wasn’t the first time he’d been interviewed by the press. Though
Reagan would’ve liked nothing more at the moment than to slap the expression
off his face, she knew it wouldn’t get her very far, and certainly wouldn’t get
her closer to Brett.
    Setting
her jaw in grim determination, and putting the idea on the backburner for
another day, she did her best to proceed unfazed. “Right. Um, how long have you
been playing for?”
    “All
my life. Since I was six.”
    “And...do
you like playing soccer?”
    “Well
sure. That’s why I’m out there.” His brow pinched together slightly as
skepticism set in.
    “Okay.
Do you make many points?” Reagan was doing her best not to make eye contact as
she fumbled her way through the questions. She could feel him analyzing her,
and hoped he wouldn’t call her out on her charade.
    “I’m
the goalie.”
    The
slow, flat tone he used caused Reagan’s head to pop up in concern. She wasn’t
entirely sure exactly all that being a goalie consisted of, but she was pretty
sure she’d just made a big mistake. “So... that’s a no?”
    “Is
this interview for real, or am I being Punk’d right now?”
    A
nervous laugh escaped her throat, and she decided his answer was definitely a
no. “God, I wish you were.”
    “We
done here?”
    She
nodded in defeat though the goalie had already stood and began walking away,
not waiting for her acknowledgement. Please
let this be over soon ...The next couple of interviews were an equally
confusing mess, but by the time the fourth guy came her way, she felt like a
pro. If people did this for a living she was seriously considering pursuing the
option. What a shame she wasn’t really writing the story she’d said she was, it
probably wouldn’t have been half bad.
    After
sending her fourth interviewee away, she nodded to the coach to call up the
next one.
    “Brett
Hanson!” His voice was loud enough for the entire school to hear him, and
certainly the name didn’t get past Reagan. Her heart stopped in her chest, and
when it began again, it was racing at triple the speed in borderline panic
mode.
    Brett
Hanson was actually here. The Brett
Hanson was jogging up to her right this very second. They were about to be face
to face for the first time. She’d get to talk to him. She’d get to ask him
anything she wanted. Well, within reason that is. But her mind drew a blank.
She’d never