Page 10 of (La)Crosse My Heart (Sweet Sports Kisses #7)
Jessa
M y mind has been going a mile a minute since our shopping trip yesterday.
Maybe it’s the urge to fix things in me that makes it hard to concentrate if things aren’t just so, but part of me wonders if Daphne and upper management know all the missing pieces for this Lancers team.
The lack of a photographer and social media person are two slots that should be filled almost immediately.
Sure, it can be a colossal pain in the behind, but there’s something about knowing there’s some tangible growth happening for this club, even if it’s just in the slow uptick of followers.
I have to make this into a seamless, understandable schedule for my brain and so far, it’s not quite fitting nicely.
I’ve contacted the two companies sponsoring Clark. He’s set to head back out to their studio to get the photos and media they need for his campaigns in two weeks.
That means I have fourteen days of major work on his media presence and confidence in front of a camera before we have to go back, but I think we’ll be fine.
What would be great is to get some shots of the guys now. That’s one problem with being thousands of miles from my hometown. I don’t have a contact for everything I need.
I used to love photography and even took a few classes in high school and college, loving that it was an escape from the harder subjects I didn’t enjoy.
There are a bunch of other things I should do, like coming up with a detailed guide of how I’m going to get Clark comfortable in front of a camera, but I’m now hyper-focused on finding a good camera on the local classifieds.
There’s been enough scams for me to realize what’s good and what’s not.
So after scouring through the listings for a bit, I finally find one for a decent price.
I’ll have to order a better lens, but at least it’s a start to taking photos of the team.
I might be the image reform gal for Clark, but I can imagine a few others would benefit from this system.
After meeting the person in a Walmart parking lot, we exchange the money for the camera. The guy is kind of shifty and so once I’m in the car again, I go through every single pocket, making sure he didn’t leave any random allergens or possible dangers in there.
Everything looks to be in order.
I don’t have time to go back to the house and change, so I drive to the arena. At least I’m in jeans and a T-shirt, which is going to be a lot easier to take pictures in than a pantsuit.
On the way over, I call Coach Martin to ask if I can take pictures of the guys, to which he willingly agrees.
I’ve got at least twenty minutes before the team comes out to practice, so I set up at the door of the locker room and wait. I take a few pictures so I can test out the different buttons. In the past, I’d used a competing camera brand I’d rented for my classes, so this will be a test run.
“I don’t recognize you without the robe on,” Jackson says, walking out of the locker room.
I laugh and shake my head. “You must’ve at least a little to know I’m your neighbor.”
I lift the camera and take a pic of him.
“Why do you have a camera?” he asks, looking nervous.
“Just trying to help build the team with fan engagement. Give me a smile.”
With his hair sticking up, I click a few pictures, knowing I’ll be able to use this at some point.
The team slowly streams out of the locker room and then I see Clark, his dark-blue eyes locked with mine.
To break the awkward release of bubbles in my stomach, I lift the camera and take a candid of him.
“Is this part of the remodeling process?” he asks, looking as though he’s going to throw up.
“Yeah, I need a few pics to post to your social platforms. What better way than to start here?”
I lift the camera and take another picture, but he only looks worse. “Okay, you look like you drank straight lemon juice. What’s going on in your head?”
He swallows and my gaze travels down to focus on his throat, surprised at how much I enjoy seeing his Adam’s apple move with the action.
Don’t be weird, Jessa.
“I’m just not the greatest at pictures, you know?”
I tilt my head to the side and say, “That’s a lie. You were always taking pictures when you’d hang out with Brock. Remember when you made that water slide out of an old billboard sign? I think you filled an entire memory card with videos that day.”
“That was a long time ago,” Clark mutters.
It’s then that Burton comes out and puts an arm around Clark’s shoulders, looking like he’s more than happy to share.
“Look up the Lancers vs. Rattlesnakes game from two years ago. The post media interview is worth the stomach cramps from laughing.”
Clark isn’t laughing, though. He looks like he’s ready to run through a wall so he doesn’t have to stand here any longer.
I lift the camera and take a quick picture of the two of them, knowing it doesn’t show Clark in the best light right now, but he needs to get used to the camera.
“Good luck at practice,” I say, giving Burton a silent thank you when Clark turns away. If Clark is going to be guarded about it, at least I’ll know what his past trauma is from.
I decide to delay watching the video. I don’t need Clark to crawl into a worse place if he knows I’ve seen whatever’s eating him. Not until I can make some notes and create a plan.
I spend the rest of the practice walking around and taking pictures of the guys, happy to have at least some content for a few days. These can go into carousel posts and some reels to get us started. I’m not an expert at it, but anything is better than nothing.
Instead of sticking around for the rest of practice, I head out, knowing I’ve got a lot ahead of me.
My careful plans are going to need to be tweaked after I watch whatever I hope is causing Clark’s struggle with interviews.
I’m inside and take my laptop over to the countertop, opening my search engine and typing in the information Burton gave me earlier.
From the amount of views on the post, this is going to be a sizeable piece of trauma.
The reporter standing next to a slightly younger Clark says, “Walk us through that last play. Few people can send their team onto the next round of playoffs with a last second goal.”
The mic goes in front of Clark. He looks so confident there, like he knows exactly what he’s supposed to be doing. So different from the man I photographed earlier.
“Uh, yeah, so I had the ball and—I mean, I didn’t really have the ball until I did, and then it was just, you know, go-go-go... turn off the brain and let the muscle memory take over. And then... goal! Yeah, we won. It was cool.”
Okay, so it was a little awkward. But he was probably talking himself through the process as he remembered it.
I scroll down to the comments, and that’s where it begins.
“He speaks fluent panic.”
“Is that what we’re calling zoning out these days?”
There are thousands of other responses, but my heart hurts for him. The Clark I know is just that passionate about lacrosse and I love him for it. Okay, definitely not love. I admire him for following his dream. I only wish I’d done that sooner.
I click out of the video to see he was made into a meme. I’m actually surprised I didn’t see this before.
This has to be why he’s so uncomfortable around cameras.
I stare at Clark’s face, trying to see his underlying feelings. The guy looks okay until the end, almost relieved that he’s been able to describe the play.
Was something said after the interview?
It takes a minute to find the longer video, but I watch the same footage as before and then it continues.
“That’s all? Maybe I need to try lacrosse,” the reporter says.
“Well, I mean, it takes some practice, but lacrosse is the perfect game for anyone who can take a hit.”
“How often do you get hit in the head?” the reporter asks, but there’s something different in his tone, like he’s steering this entire discussion to make fun of Clark.
“It’s illegal to hit someone in the head, but accidents happen.”
“You heard it here, folks,” the reporter says, turning to face the camera. “This sport isn’t for the weak in body.”
The clip shut off and I again went to the comments.
“That guy talks like he’s been hit in the head a few times.”
“Did you catch how the reporter mentioned ‘weak in body’ and not in mind?”
Of anything I’ve learned about Clark, he’s far from dumb. He obviously hasn’t had the training some of the more well-known athletes have had when dealing with lame questions from reporters.
I spend the next few hours studying the interviews of many athletes and celebrities, noting when to deflect, when to avoid, and when they were outright blunt. If it can be used to help prep Clark, I’ll use it.
I thought I was invested before, but it seems I’ve taken on second-hand revenge for what that reporter did to Clark and his confidence in front of a camera.
It’s late, and I’m thoroughly exhausted. I can’t help but smile though, because I’ve got a plan, one of the best I’ve had in a while.