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“You won’t do it,” she snarls. “Daddy would just kick y’all off the team.”
I scoff, my jaw slacked as I raise my eyebrows at her.
“You seriously think Coach is gonna release the entire D1 team from his roster? That’d be national news. It would never happen. He needs us far more than he needs to pay for your sorority house, or your car, or your tuition–”
“Ugh!” She stamps her foot comically, like a little girl throwing a temper tantrum. “Henry, why won’t you just accept that we’re meant to be together?”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have fucked Watson when we were dating – on my birthday.”
“You didn’t seem to mind a few months ago. You don’t remember that night at the party? When you followed me upstairs? We had so much fun–”
“That was before Georgia.” My tone is cold and harsh as I wave her off, not bothering to look in her direction.
Her manicured hands anxiously fiddle with the tie around her robe as faint party music echoes from downstairs. She stares at me, blue eyes darkened in the vivid overhead lighting and mouth slightly agape, as if she’s trying to figure out what to say.
“You’d seriously tell Daddy?”
“Natalia, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
40 | Georgia
“THEY’RE CANCELING THE Tribune?!”
Eleanor’s shriek echoes through Dr. Randie’s office, a look of horror distorting her features.
“I’m so sorry, girls,” Dr. Randie murmurs, her tone and expression sullen in a way that I’ve never seen before. “Coach Bryer contacted me on Saturday morning. He says the article about Mr. Anderson did little to increase their ticket or merchandise sales for the first playoff game, and that he would be speaking to my dean personally to ensure that the Tribune no longer receives funding.”
“How could he be so selfish?!” Eleanor exclaims, her cheeks reddened with fury. “What does the Tribune existing have to do with his stupid team?”
“We had a deal with Coach Bryer, Eleanor. We publish the article that brings in more students, more ticket sales, more support for the Titans… or his team absorbs our funding.”
“It can’t be that simple. There’s gotta be something we can do, Dr. Randie.”
“Unless one of you has $10,000 to hold us over until next year, when the university’s administration will review the school budget, there’s not much we can do. It’s out of our hands.”
Dr. Randie glances at me, a pained look on her slender face.
“Georgia… are you alright? You haven’t said a word.”
I clear my throat as a glimmer of determination settles across my features.
“How soon do we need the money?”
“There’s no way we can raise that kind of cash, Georgie. We might as well give up.”
Eleanor clutches her stack of textbooks as we make our way across the campus courtyard, the bronze statue of Ole Donny watching over us like some sort of deranged Civil War shrine.
“Eleanor, do you hear yourself? We’ve spent two years building this newspaper from the ground up. What about our dreams of being professional journalists? Are we just going to give up on those, too?”
“I hear you, G, but $10,000 is a lot of money. We don’t even have jobs.”
“We’ll figure something out. I know we will. We just have to put our heads together–”
“Good mornin’, pretty ladies.”
“Henry!” Eleanor’s face lights up as he approaches, her eyes glimmering behind her thick-rimmed glasses.
“Hey, El, how’ve you been?” He smiles at her, dimples and all, as he pulls me into a sweaty hug.
