Hollis pulls out a notebook. “So, we’ll get you guys to the hotel where there’ll be an NFL scout at the front desk to check you in, show you where to stow your stuff and get you going on registration. There’ll be a Meet-n-Greet breakfast kind of thing for you guys to mingle with the other prospects. Later you’ll go to the hospital for the pre-exam and x-rays. Then lunch. Then it’s orientation at Lucas Oil Stadium. After that it’s interviews with coaches, scouts, and general managers. Dinner. Then you’re done for the day.”
“I’d go to bed early,” Sloane cautions. “You have more interviews with teams tomorrow but you also have to sit down with the media. You’ll want to be sharp for that. Bombing an interview with a team burns you with that team. A bad interview with the media will go public. You could lose fans as well as prospects, and you should never underestimate how much a Draft pick is influenced by public opinion.”
“When do we take the psych test?” Reed calls from behind me.
“Third day,” Hollis answers. “You’ll take both the psychological evaluation and the Wonderlic IQ test. You’ll have more interviews. Then it’s the bench press.”
“Quarterbacks are exempt from the bench press so you’re lucky there. Your injury won’t be an issue,” Sloane whispers to me discreetly. I lower my head, leaning closer to hear her better. “But you need to stay visible and on their minds so go watch the test. Mingle with other players, congratulate them on their scores. Always wear the gear the NFL gives you with your position, name, and number printed on it. If you leave your room, you’re in that gear. You want to be seen everywhere. Make them forget you didn’t participate in some tests by always being there. Always in their eye line.”
I nod my head in silent understanding. Inside my stomach turns as my hand clenches reflexively against the splint, my index finger pinching angrily.
“It won’t hurt you in the Draft.”
I look at her, surprised by her tone. It’s quiet, but stern. Almost scolding.
She looks to my hand, then back into my expectant eyes. “Your hand. It won’t matter. I promise.”
“That’s not what I keep hearing.”
“You’re listening to the wrong people.”
“How can you be sure it won’t hurt me?” I ask low and deep, my nerves winding tight around the topic.
Sloane leans in closer, so close it feels invasive. Intimate.
“Because I’ll make sure of it,” she promises. “If you let me do my job, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt you.”
I have no reason to trust her. I just met her. I don’t know her at all, but the way she says it, the confidence in her voice that goes beyond self-assurance and delves deep into a well of certainty, it puts me at ease. It settles the roll in my stomach, eases the tension in my hand, and even if it’s bullshit, I’m grateful to her for it. For this fleeting moment of peace.
My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, immediately answering it because this is the one woman I’ll never screen. I’ll never tell her to call back later. I’ll never brush her off, because she’s the only woman in the world I respect enough to give her all of my time. All of my love.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer quietly.
“Hi, honey. How was your flight?”
“It was good. I slept for most of it.”
“Were they waiting for you at the airport?”
“Yeah. I’m in the van on the way to the hotel now.”
“Are you nervous?”
“No,” I lie.
She doesn’t buy it. “Keep your head up, Trey. You belong there. You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not.”
“Alright, have it your way. Your cousins said to tell you good luck. We’re all going to watch when they have it on TV.”
“Where are you going to watch it?” I ask curiously. My parents have one TV in their apartment and it’s not connected to any kind of cable. They can’t afford ESPN.
“My manager at the hotel said we could watch it in the breakroom. The Draft too.”
“Mom, I told you, I’m going to fly you in for that.”
“I don’t want to argue with you about this again,” she tells me firmly. “There’s no money for it, and if you have any you need to save it. It’s yours. You earned it.”
I bite my tongue even though I want to argue. Even though I want to send her the entire check in my wallet.
“Trey?”
“I’m here.”
“Do you understand me?”
“Yeah,” I answer obediently. “Maopopo i a?u.”
“Now you’re trying to soften me up. Don’t think I don’t know you and your dad speak the language when you want something.”
“Aloha au ia ‘oe, makuahine.”
“Stop, stop, it’s too much,” she laughs. “I love you too, Trey. Try and have fun while you’re there, okay? Remember, it’s supposed to be a game.”
“I’ll try.”
“Bye, baby.”
“Aloha.”
“Kiss ass,” she scolds.
Then she hangs up on me.
I stow my phone in my pocket. I’m very aware of the silence in the car and the fact that everyone heard at least my side of that conversation. Sloane probably heard my mom’s side too, but if she did she doesn’t let on. She sits stick straight, her face blank as she stares out the front windshield at the city surrounding us. Behind me Reed starts to snore peacefully.
I envy him.
March 1st
NFL Combine Day #3
Crowne Plaza Union Station