Page 72 of Pucking Only
Motherfucker.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Ferguson nods, motioning for me to take a seat. “Yes, Skyler. I wanted to discuss your game coding.”
My heart skips a beat. This is it — the moment I’ve been waiting for. I worked so hard on that game, poured everythingI had into it. Maybe, just maybe, this is the one bright spot in an otherwise disastrous week.
But if he just wants to discuss my coding work, why is Samuel here too?
“I reviewed your development,” he begins, his tone measured. “And I am impressed with your work. You’ve clearly put in a lot of effort.”
I nod, a small flicker of hope igniting in my chest. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”
Shooting a glance at Samuel, I’m surprised to see that he still appears smug. Why hasn’t he said anything? He usually doesn’t shut up when I’m around.
Mr. Ferguson leans back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. “However, after some thought, I’ve decided that Samuel will be taking over the project.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. For a moment, I can’t breathe, can’t think.
“What?” I manage to choke out.
“Samuel will be getting the promotion,” he repeats, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he’s discussing the weather and not tearing apart everything I’ve worked for. “He’ll be leading the development of the game moving forward. While your game is more impressive than Samuel's on a technical and design level, and it will be the build that we use to finish our project, there are a few flaws that I've been unable to look past, and so I've decided that Samuel will be taking over from this point forward.”
I feel like the floor has been pulled out from under me. My heart is racing and the room seems to spin. I clutch the arms of my chair, afraid that I’ll tip over and fall to the floor because I feel so dizzy. This was supposed to be my chance, my opportunity to prove myself. And now, just like that, it’s being taken away from me.
“But… but this is my game,” I stammer, my mind racing to make sense of what he’s saying. “Why would you give it to Samuel? If his game wasn’t as good as mine, then I’m the one who should be getting the promotion!”
“Samuel is more equipped to finish the game.” Ferguson’s words are short and clipped, but they offer no real explanation for this decision.
More equipped? My mind races, trying to understand. What does he mean by that? I’ve put in the hours, I’ve done the research, I’ve poured my heart and soul into this project. This game is mine. I built it from the ground up. Now he’s just handing it over to Samuel, whose game clearly isn’t as good as mine since he’s clearly stated that they will be going with my work? He’s not even giving me a chance to improve on whatever flaws he claims there are.
I glance at Samuel, who’s looking at me with an expression of concern, though I can see right through that bullshit.
“Skyler, I know you’re upset,” he says in a tone dripping with faux-sympathy and barely concealed smugness. “I was impressed with your game too, but like Mr. Ferguson said, there were mistakes in it that were hard to overlook. I did warn you, remember? That you had to be careful and not make those mistakes?”
I want to scream at him, tell him that he has no idea what he’s doing, that this game is mine, but I bite my tongue, waiting for my boss to give me some kind of explanation. Some reason that will make this make sense, even though I can’t imagine what that could be!
When I look back at Ferguson, all I see is indifference.
“Skyler,” he begins in that condescending tone I’ve come to loathe, “I value your contributions. You’ve done great work, but Samuel has more experience. I believe he’s better equipped to lead the project moving forward. I trust that youwill continue to bring your best foot forward in this project under his guidance.”
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
“What exactly makes Samuel more equipped?” I ask, struggling to keep the anger out of my voice.
“He has more experience leading a team,” Ferguson explains. “He has an eye for final details that you haven’t demonstrated that you possess, and while your game is better on a creative level, you have shown a lack of discipline through the process of putting your demo together and refused any offers of collaboration and cooperation given out by Samuel. That shows me that you’re not the team player I need for the assistant director position.”
His words sound rehearsed, and when Ferguson exchanges a quick glance with Samuel, it hits me. This was all planned. He’d already decided to give Samuel the promotion before I even presented my game, and nothing I say will change his mind. It doesn’t matter how hard I’ve worked, how much I’ve proven myself. He doesn’t see me as capable. He never has. I am a team player, and I’m all about collaboration, but it’s Samuel who never wants to work together. He either degrades me or takes over, and that’s exactly what he’ll do as a team lead.
The realization crashes over me like a wave, drowning me in frustration and disappointment. I’ve been blind. Grace and Carson were right all along. I’ve been wasting my time here, believing that if I just worked hard enough, if I just proved myself, I’d finally get the respect I deserve.
But that’s never going to happen. Not here.
I’ve always known there was an unspoken bias in this company, a glass ceiling I couldn’t quite break through, but I convinced myself that I could shatter it if I just kept pushing. Now, sitting here, looking at Ferguson and Samuel, I realize it’snever going to happen. They’re never going to take me seriously, no matter how much I accomplish.
I feel a strange sense of calm wash over me. It’s the calm that comes when you’ve made a decision and finally see things for what they really are. I know what I need to do.
Leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his desk, Ferguson says, “So, Skyler, are you ready to join us on this team to make the best hockey game to ever hit the market?”