Page 33 of Chasing Headlines
“Uh Liv?” Her voice dropped. “These look like emails. Does the name Hank Schorr mean anything?”
I frowned at my computer screen. “Yeah, he’s the Strikers head Coach. Why?”
“Looks like someone sent you the Coach's entire email archive. Is that what you were looking for?”
My chest tightened. “No. Weren’t there some, I dunno, Excel files? Database exports? Something with actual data?” I rubbed at my temple.
“The coach didn't send this to you, did he?” Her voice held a strange timbre.
“No, Lan did.” I found myself pacing the floor. “The trainer guy? I guess Coach gives him access to his emails?”
Cathy blew out a breath. “If you say so.”
“I mean, Coach does everything via hard copy. He asked me to create tracking sheets and keep his calendar. Then handed me a bunch of paper—lots of printed off emails.”
“Oh.”
“Someone has to actually respond to people?” Maybe that’s why my emails went unanswered. “Could be why Lan was given access?” Seemed plausible, right? Maybe. Hopefully. My stomach churned, telling me it had its doubts.
“I’m logging my opinion as ‘sus’.” Cathy’s voice took on a grump-tastic tone Curt would’ve been proud of.
“That’s fair. I’d hoped he’d send data files. As it is, I’m still stuck having to do a bunch of manual?—”
“Shit work.”
I sighed. “Joke’s on me. Coach did say it wasn’t going to be exciting work to start.” I rolled my eyes and sat back in my chair.
“Sorry, hon. There’s quite a bit of stuff to sift through.”
“I only need emails back to, well, let me find it.” I flipped through the pages of the paper block of doom. “Looks like May of this year.”
“You want me to delete the rest?”
“I mean. Yeah? I’m curious. Nosy, even. But also super gut wrenchingly anxious that Coach would think I . . . did something wrong.”
“You flirted and got access to stuff you shouldn’t have. There’s a name for that.” She lowered her voice to a whisper: “social engineering.”
“Ok ok.” My breath was now coming in gasps. My heart raced in my chest. “Delete everything before May, but let me get you the list of what I do need.” The paper shook in my hand. “But even you can agree that printed hyperlinks are horribly unfair.”
“Yeah ok. He deserves flogging for that.”
I forced out a laugh. “I’ll try to find out what the situation is with Coach’s email—who has access and why. But just in case. I don’t want any record . . .”
“Leave the last part to me,” Cathy said. “See ya Friday.” She hung up.
What would have possessed Lan to send me Schorr's entire email archive? Was it just easier than backtracking through the files that were printed off?
Find an angle. Tread lightly. Maybe it’s no big deal.
My stomach said it didn’t believe that either. Maybe it was just grumpy cause it needed food. Real food. Not another chicken sandwich with extra-dry sand-based bread. I needed to renegotiate my allowance with my dad.
Two weeks later . . .
“He acts like I’m somehow personally responsible for his-his bullshit.” I groused to the ceiling of my dorm room. Stretched across the lone couch made quite possibly of stone, I threw myhead back against the square-shaped arm. “I’m a reporter forthe school. Not here to embarrass our team or the players. It barely counts as real journalism: so and so went one for five before hitting the winning run. Jerk. Imbecile. Certified asshat.”
“Who cares?” Dublin the “real world” human behind the social influencer handle GirlBoss-Power hissed back. She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. “He’s a delinquent. He shouldn’t even be here.”
“Coop’s not adelinquent. If his mom were still alive, he’d be in the majors this season. And I would be deprived.”