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“The games,” she snapped, “are what you’re supposed to cover. It’s your sole purpose until the season is over, and I don’t really care about the rest.”

“But—”

Penny raised a finger to silence me, and I could instantly tell that I had gone too far. Her gaze burned into me like a red-hot poker, but I didn’t look away. This wasn’t something I could just give up on. If I did, I would have to admit that I looked at the time counting down and still decided not to go. That I told myself it would be fine to catch the next one instead. That missing one game wouldn’t make a difference because it wasn’t my story, which meant it wasn’t my problem.

“You missed the entire game,” she said, her tone softening just a little.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t think that would be a problem?”

Guilt crept in, but I quickly squashed it. “I was working on something that actually matters. I didn’t think a single game recap would—”

She dragged her hands down her face and let out a heavy sigh. I could tell that she felt defeated, but I didn’t understand it. It was just a stupid game. Compared to what I was working on, it was a penny in a pond, a ripple in the ocean. It meant nothing when it came to the big picture.

“Trace Prescott,” Penny mumbled as something hardened in her.

The name meant absolutely nothing to me, and that somehow made me feel worse.

“What about him?” I asked with a frown.

“He’s a rookie who carried the team to a win,” she said flatly. “He was the story you were supposed to write, and you don’t even know who he is. You didn’t interview him or anyone else, for that matter.”

My fingers dug into my notebook. “I can get the details from someone on the team and write something up real quick.”

Even as the words left my mouth, I could tell that they sounded thin. It wasn’t a good counter at all. It was just a way for me to get out of the discussion a little faster.

“Real quick? Like a ham sandwich you slap together when you have nothing better to do? Do you, as a journalist, seriously think that’s acceptable?”

“It was just one game,” I muttered. “I can still make up for it.”

“This isn’t about catching up. It’s about deciding which parts of this assignment are worth your time and effort.”

I stiffened. “I’m trying to find a meaningful angle. Something with depth. That’s because this assignment matters to me. My work matters to me.”

Something that justified my time with the paper. Something that didn’t feel like words poured into yards gained or points scored. There were bigger things underneath all that, and that was what I wanted to focus on.

“And the worst thing about all this is that during the process of your ‘research’ you ignored the most basic part of your job. You are supposed to be the one who shows up and reports what happens. That’s what you build on. You don’t get to ignore the system and do whatever you want.”

I didn’t agree with her, but knew better than to say it out loud. I had shown up before and done everything right, but it hadn’t changed anything. The thought came and went just as quickly.

Penny leaned forward slightly. “Let me make something very clear. I have been and will continue to give regular updates to Professor Adler. If you don’t meet the requirements of this project, you’ll fail the semester, and so far you’ve been ignoring them all.”

That was a blow I didn’t see coming. I had never failed at anything, and I wasn’t about to start either. I forced myself to nod in acknowledgement.

“I understand, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Penny said, straightening. “Then fix it.”

I turned and walked out before anything else could be said. Frustration was simmering in my gut and slowly moved to consume me. I wasn’t wrong with what I was doing, but that was also the part that bothered me. The research I had done wasn’t pointless and it most definitely wasn’t fluff. There were patterns buried in the depths. There were cases across different schools, small stories that never made it past local coverage, and inconsistencies that didn’t quite line up.

Talks about academic leniency for athletes and donations that showed up at very convenient times. Then there were quiet adjustments that kept players eligible when they clearly shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t concrete proof, but it was enough to arouse suspicion and get people to ask the questions that were worth asking. If I were going to be forced to write about football, then I wasn’t going to waste my time writing shallow pieces that didn’t mean anything.

I looked up and realized that my feet had carried me all the way to the athletic facilities. It was the place I needed to be, but it didn’t dull my frustration in the slightest. Instead, it sharpened it into something far more focused. I needed to find a football player. Any of them would suffice.

With my approach, the gym doors swung open, and a group of players filtered out. They were still wearing their gear while having low, easy-going conversations, but I barely looked at any of them because my attention had already shifted to the man at the back.

“Coach Harris?” I said as I quickly closed the distance between us.