Chapter 58: The Reporter

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"If I am invited, why would I not?" Nolan said.

High School Sports Magazine published national rankings in every issue, and football received the most detailed list: one hundred names.

The All-Star Game was built on those rankings. It invited the strongest high-school football players from the East and West. Competition mattered, but the event cared even more about honor, entertainment, exposure, and the cameras that came with all three.

Officially, it was nonprofit. Players were not paid. They could, however, bring two family members, and the organizers covered tickets, lodging, and meals.

The host city rotated by region.

This year, it was Orlando, Florida.

Summer. Florida. Orlando.

Those words brought heat, theme parks, resort pools, bikinis, sunburn, tourist buses, citrus, and beaches close enough for postcards straight into the imagination.

Eric had been ranked somewhere around eighty-fifth the year before. Tonight, Nolan had beaten him directly, and Eric was injured. Nolan should take that spot. California was rich, Los Angeles had a huge audience, and television liked attention.

The real question was who he would bring.

That thought stayed with him after the interview ended.

Then he saw Thomas finish with the Prime Ticket reporter. The woman turned, looked in Nolan’s direction, and noticed him looking back.

Before the crowd could trap him again, Nolan walked over.

She accepted him immediately.

"Congratulations on the win," she said, settling into the practiced warmth of a field reporter.

She had deep brown hair, gray-green eyes, a broad camera-ready face, and a jawline sharp enough to give her smile an edge. Her features would not look out of place behind a serious news desk, yet she was still obviously pretty.

Her body made the impression stronger. A dark Prime Ticket polo sat neatly over a lean frame, and jeans made her legs look even longer. Nolan had looked twice at her from behind and expected the face to disappoint.

It did not.

She was tall too. Nearly to Nolan’s ear, around five-eleven.

With that face, that height, and that poise, field reporting felt like a waste. Maybe it was only a stepping-stone. In American television, plenty of older executives treated every ambitious woman like a private audition. A reporter this attractive probably had to fight more than the job itself.

"After speaking with Coach Thomas," she said, "I learned the wave-defense strategy came from you. That was a very creative adjustment."

She offered the microphone.

In Penny Webb’s mind, Nolan was clearly a smart player.

She could not think of another teenager who would dare try that plan, let alone pull it off.

"Helping Coach solve problems is part of a quarterback’s job," Nolan said modestly. "This was only the beginning."

"So there will be a next time?" Penny raised one curved eyebrow.

"Who says there will not?"

"Why did you consider switching positions yourself?"

"Ask God why He gave me this body. I am just a block. Wherever the wall cracks, Coach throws me in."

Penny gave him a thumbs-up right there on camera.

"Do not worry," she said with a wink. "This is taped. They will edit it."

The interview continued longer than planned.

Penny liked how Nolan spoke. Clear, confident, quick, never frightened by the camera, and willing to joke just enough to keep the segment alive. Most young athletes stiffened under a microphone. Nolan did not.

To Penny, communication mattered almost as much as what he had done on the field.

When they finished, Nolan said, "One more thing. You may want to crop the lower half. This uniform is not doing me any favors on camera."

He had not forgotten the ridiculous padding setup people had joked about all season. Word was the team would redesign colors and fittings next year.

"Of course," Penny said, covering a laugh. "We are a family program."

She wished more interview subjects were this easy.

"I look forward to interviewing you again."

She offered her hand.

Before Nolan could answer properly, a familiar figure pushed through the crowd behind him.

"You were amazing today. Like Superman."

Lisa rushed in, hooked an arm around Nolan’s shoulder, and kissed his cheek several times, happier than Rice had ever managed to make her look.

Work had delayed her until the fourth quarter, but she had not missed the ending. Once the game ended, she came straight to him.

"Ms. Virgil," Penny said, recognizing her. "Is this your son?"

Only then did Lisa notice the reporter.

"Oh. You are here too?"

With an outsider present, Lisa’s joy vanished almost instantly, replaced by casual indifference.

"Yes," Penny said with a small laugh. "It is the offseason, so I am filling in on high-school coverage."

That was not the whole truth. Inside the station, Penny had been pushed toward the edge. Her bureau chief had repeatedly invited her to dinner, and she had repeatedly refused. That kind of "attitude" made promotion difficult.

She was not a journalism-school product either. Some colleagues said she had entered the industry on luck and looks. It made her easy to isolate.

"I see," Lisa said. "Nolan Callahan is the son of a very close friend. I have known him for years."

"Of course." Penny nodded.

She wanted to promise that the segment would include more of Nolan’s highlights. But she was only the field reporter. She did not control the edit. All she could do was smile.

After they parted from Penny, Nolan did not wait for the crowd the way he had last time. He left with Lisa and headed for the charity station.

On the way, Lisa explained.

"Her name is Penny Webb. Former pageant girl out of Alabama. Miss Alabama finalist, I think. She was not trained for sports journalism. A friend of mine at Prime Ticket gave her a chance after some college-football sideline work and a swimsuit spread got attention."

Lisa’s mouth curled.

"That friend moved to FX as a program director this year. Once Penny lost her protector, the station stopped treating her like a future star."

FX was Fox’s newly launched entertainment channel.

"Since we are on the subject," Lisa said, "I will call that friend tonight and see whether I can get you onto a few Prime Ticket programs."

Nolan had no reason to refuse his unofficial career adviser.

By the time they reached the stands, the scene was not what he expected.

The crowd had mostly emptied from the bleachers. Volunteers were already taking down posters.

Nolan stopped them.

"The sale is only halfway over," he said. "The second half starts now."

He pointed toward the crowd still gathered on the field.

He had left the celebration quickly because long autograph lines and photo requests did not pay.

With the charity station, the equation changed.

This was a direct conversion of attention into money.

Not so different from selling products on a livestream in the life he remembered.

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