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  Jeff had been prepared for that answer. “Isn’t this story what you used to call a ‘talkie’?” he asked.

  His dad almost spit up his soda. “Where did you hear that?” he asked.

  “From you,” Jeff said. “You were actually talking to Mom about it one night in the car. You were talking about your early days working for the Daily News. You said a ‘talkie’ was a story that everyone would be talking about over coffee the next morning.”

  “That was back in the days when people read the newspaper every morning,” his dad said. “But you’re not wrong. To be honest, I thought we were pretty much beyond coaches keeping girls off teams, especially at your age. Sounds to me like your coach has never heard of Mo’ne Davis, which is hard to believe.”

  Mo’ne Davis, the dynamo from South Philadelphia who had pitched a shutout in the Little League World Series and made the cover of Sports Illustrated, was living proof that girls could not just compete with boys, they could beat boys.

  “Andi may not be Mo’ne Davis, Dad, but she’s very good,” Jeff said.

  His father nodded. “Let me see what I can do,” he said. “We need a plan.”

  8

  Andi was dozing off watching a baseball game between the Phillies and Reds when her cell phone pinged to let her know she had a text.

  She picked up her phone and saw that it was from Jeff.

  Call me, was all it said.

  She was about to dial his number when she was pinged again.

  Please.

  She smiled. She didn’t know Jeff all that well, but she knew he was polite to a fault.

  She dialed.

  “Thanks for calling right back,” he said, which made her smile all over again.

  “What’s up?” she said.

  “What are you doing Sunday morning?”

  The question was a bit odd, but she played along. “Not much,” she said.

  “Church?” he asked.

  She laughed. “My parents tried it with my brothers and me until I was about eight. Then they figured out we were all going just for the doughnuts. So we haven’t gone for a while. Why, what’s going on Sunday morning?”

  “I want you to go with my dad and me to the Eagles game,” he said. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” she said.

  “We’ll get there early and go to the press box,” he said. “Then we’ll walk over to the TV studio and watch my dad do the pregame show. Then we’ll go home.”

  “Why are we going to the stadium to not go to the game?” she asked.

  She heard Jeff sigh on the other end of the phone.

  “My dad wants to help,” he said. “He thinks what Coach Johnston is doing to you is a story, but he knows his bosses won’t go for it because it’s not about the Eagles or the Phillies or the Sixers or the Flyers. They won’t get it.”

  “So he’s giving me a behind-the-scenes tour as a consolation prize?”

  “Not at all. If he can get Michael Barkann and Ray Didinger to hear your story and get them on his side, he thinks he can get his bosses’ attention. If he asks on his own, they’ll just start saying, ‘There’s no digital traffic for a story like that, blah blah blah.’ But if Barkann and Didinger back him up, they have to listen.”

  Andi knew who Barkann and Didinger were: Barkann was the longtime host of a weekday sports talk show and also hosted the Eagles pre- and postgame shows. Didinger was one of the most respected sports columnists in the city and also appeared with Barkann on the Eagles shows.

  “So what does going to the game have to do with Barkann and Didinger?” she asked.

  “They’re going to meet us in the press box at ten thirty to talk about the story,” Jeff said. “My dad thinks they should meet you. Actually he wants to meet you, too. He’ll drive us to the studio, where he has to get ready to do the pregame show. We’ll walk across the parking lot from there to the press gate. Then, after we meet with Barkann and Didinger, we’ll walk back, watch the show, and then take Uber home.”

  “Why can’t we stay for the game?” Andi was thinking if she was going to go to the stadium it would be fun to see the game.

  “The NFL doesn’t allow kids in the press box during the game,” Jeff said. “We can go in there before the game but not during. That’s why we’re doing it this way.”

  Andi understood. “I’ll ask my parents, but I think it’ll be okay.”

  Once a year, Andi’s dad took her to an Eagles game and they sat in his law firm’s box—which was pretty cool. There was lots of food, and the seats were very comfortable. This would be different, she thought, but cool in a different way. Most important, it might help her get a chance to play soccer.

  When she told her parents what Jeff and his father were proposing, her father smiled.

  “I think the plan is fine—except why don’t I see if we’ve got three seats in the firm’s box. I can meet you there, you kids can watch the game, and then I’ll drive you home.

  “I gotta admit I’m a little jealous,” he added. “I’d kind of like to meet Didinger and Barkann myself.”

  “Do you want me to ask if you can come to the press box?” Andi asked.

  He shook his head. “No, you two kids should go on your own,” he said. “It’s a better story if it’s two kids fighting to make a coach do the right thing. The less the parents are involved, the better.”

  As it turned out, Andi’s dad was able to snag three tickets for the law firm’s box.

  “We got lucky,” he said. “Weather’s supposed to be good, so a lot of guys are stealing one last weekend at the beach.”

  That was fine with Andi. Even if Mr. Michaels couldn’t do the story, she was getting a chance to see the press box at “the Linc,” as everyone in Philly called Lincoln Financial Stadium, and see the Eagles play the Lions. In all it should be a pretty good day.

  * * *

  It was warm and sunny on Sunday morning when Jeff and his dad got in the car to drive to the stadium. The temperatures were supposed to hit the low eighties during the game, warm in Philly for mid-September, but not uncomfortable.

  They picked Andi up at her house and pulled into the media parking lot shortly before ten fifteen. The guard didn’t even look at Mr. Michaels’s parking pass, just waved him in with a “Good morning, Tom,” and a friendly salute.

  NBC Sports–Philly was actually located inside the Wells Fargo Center, where the 76ers and Flyers played.

  “Just cross the street right there,” Jeff’s dad said, pointing at the road that separated the arena from the football stadium. “If you have any problem with security, just ask for Mr. Moore. He’s the boss, and I gave him a heads-up you were coming.”

  They were supposed to meet Didinger and Barkann at ten thirty. Jeff’s dad’s philosophy was always to be a few minutes early when possible.

  “Especially,” he said, “when the people you’re meeting are doing you a favor by being there.”

  There were no issues with security. Their credentials clearly read, PREGAME ONLY, so if the guards had any doubts about letting a couple of eleven-year-olds into the press box, they were assuaged.

  They went through security and took the elevator up to the press level on the sixth floor. Then they walked through the double doors leading to the press area and were struck by how crowded the room was even at 10:25 in the morning for a 1:00 p.m. kickoff.

  Jeff stood and looked around the room. He was relieved when he saw Didinger walking in their direction with a cup of coffee in his hands.

  “Jeff, good to see you again, buddy,” he said, shaking hands. He turned to Andi and said, “I’m guessing you are the soon-to-be-famous-we-hope Andrea Carillo?”

  “Andi,” she said, accepting his hand.

  “Come on, Andi,” Didinger said. “Let’s get you and your sidekick something to eat before Michael gets here. If we’re lucky he’ll only be a few minutes late.”

  Led by Didinger, they went through the buffet line—Jeff grabbing some French toast, Andi scramb
led eggs. Didinger simply refilled his coffee.

  “I eat at home in the morning on game days,” he said. “Food’s a lot better there. I stick to coffee here.”

  Jeff didn’t see much wrong with the food but figured Didinger had eaten in about a million press rooms in his career.

  They found an empty table near the back, and Didinger said, “Let me apologize in advance for Michael. He’s the only guy I know who can show up late for a live TV show and get away with it.”

  “Not fair,” a voice said behind them. Michael Barkann, also with coffee in hand, had walked up while Didinger was talking about him. “I’m never late for a live shot. Only taped ones.”

  He had a friendly smile on his face. Introductions were made. Everyone sat.

  Barkann looked at Andi and said, “So, young lady, Jeff’s dad tells me you’re quite the soccer player.”

  9

  At the urging of the others, it was Andi who told the story. Occasionally Jeff jumped in with a detail—like an incident with a handful of the guys, led by Ron Arlow, who had attempted to bully her during a scrimmage—but she told most of the story herself.

  Only at the end, when describing her brief meeting with Coach J after the team list had been posted, was there the tiniest quaver in her voice. Jeff noticed that the soda he was sipping from was shaking a little bit when Andi talked about the posting of the team list.

  The two reporters looked at each other when she finished, as if deciding who should speak first.

  It was Barkann.

  “The truth is, a couple of years ago, we wouldn’t even need to have this meeting,” he said. “Tom would have just come in, talked to me, and we’d have assigned him a crew to go out to your school and do the story.

  “This time of year, the Eagles are always most of our show, and we’ve only got a half hour nowadays.”

  “Used to be ninety minutes, just a few years ago,” Didinger inserted.

  “Right. And it used to be that no one calculated how many Web hits a story would get before deciding whether to do it,” Barkann said. “A story was a story. Period. This is a story—period.”

  “Except…” Andi said.

  “Except now we have to sell it to people who think a story is only worthwhile if they think it’ll get those Web hits I mentioned,” Barkann said. “It may be that we need to lure them into this, go through a back door.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Jeff asked.

  “We start with Ray,” Barkann said. “They never tell him what to write for the website because, well, he’s Ray Didinger, and if you have someone writing for you who is in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, you don’t mess with him.”

  “When he’s writing about pro football,” Didinger said. “Something like this might not be quite so automatic.”

  “Come on, Ray,” Barkann said. “You write the Eagles for Monday, then write something midweek on Andi. Change of pace for the readers.”

  Didinger smiled. “I suppose I could do that,” he said. “Maybe write it on Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “But the first game is on Tuesday!” Andi said, then stopped herself, realizing she was raising her voice.

  “I think we have to accept the fact that, realistically, you aren’t going to play Tuesday,” Barkann said. “Our goal is the long term.”

  “When’s the next game?” Didinger asked.

  “Friday,” Andi and Jeff said at the same moment.

  Barkann nodded. “Ray, if you can write the column for Tuesday, I’ll bet we can generate some interest and get a crew out to the school with Tom on Wednesday. I’ll push to get it aired that night.”

  “And if all goes well,” Didinger said, “the combination of the column and Tom’s piece will put all sorts of pressure on the coach by the time he gets to school on Thursday morning.”

  Jeff looked at Andi. “What do you think? Sound like a plan?”

  “How would you do it?” Andi asked.

  Didinger looked at his watch. “I can spend some time right now interviewing both of you. I’ll need some contact information for the coach and for the principal. I can call them tomorrow and have the column up early on Tuesday.”

  “Coach Johnston won’t talk to you,” Andi said.

  “That’s fine,” Didinger said. “I just need to make the call so I can say I gave him a chance to tell his side. What about the principal?”

  “I think he’ll talk,” Andi said. “He’s a decent guy. He’s the one who made Coach Johnston let me try out. He just didn’t know the tryout was fake.”

  Didinger took out a digital recorder. “Everybody ready?” he said.

  Everyone nodded. “Andi, I’ll start with you,” he said. “Michael, make yourself useful, okay? Get me some more coffee.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take long for Andi and Jeff to retell the story.

  When Didinger was finished with Jeff, the two kids went back downstairs with Barkann and Didinger and across the street to the NBC Sports–Philly studio. Andi and Jeff watched most of the pregame show and then they headed to the suites’ entrance back at the stadium with Andi’s dad, who had met them at the studio during the broadcast.

  The security line was short, because the game had just kicked off and most fans were already inside. They took the elevator up to the suites’ level, and Jeff was not surprised to see another big spread of food lying just inside the door. They bypassed it to take their seats.

  The Eagles were well on their way to winning the game 31–14 when Mr. Carillo suggested leaving to beat the traffic at the start of the fourth quarter. That was fine with Jeff. He was wiped out. It had been a fun day but a tiring one.

  Ray Didinger had promised to keep everyone posted on whether he was able to reach Coach Johnston or Mr. Block the next day. Other than waiting to hear that news, there wasn’t much left to do.

  They were home in time for the postgame show, and Jeff sat and watched his dad and his colleagues discuss the Eagles’ chances to add to the Super Bowl they had won at the end of the 2017 season.

  * * *

  At lunchtime the next day, Jeff and Andi both got a text from Jeff’s dad.

  Just heard from Ray. He talked to Block. Helpful, he said. Nothing from Johnston so far. More later.

  “Coach J won’t talk to him,” Andi said.

  “Probably right,” Jeff said. “But Mr. Didinger didn’t think it mattered much.”

  Andi smiled. “I’ll tell you when it will matter,” she said.

  “When?”

  “This afternoon at practice. I’ll bet you anything Johnston will figure your dad’s behind this somehow and he’ll blame you.”

  Jeff hadn’t thought about that. He smiled, too. Then he laughed, remembering the words from one of his parents’ favorite Billy Joel golden oldies.

  “Only the good die young,” he said.

  * * *

  It wasn’t as funny when he got to practice. Coach J didn’t say anything, but when the players lined up to stretch, Coach C came over and waved Jeff to come talk to him.

  “What’s up, Coach?” Jeff asked, surprised. He liked Coach C. He didn’t appear to take himself nearly as seriously as the head coach did.

  Coach C looked around for a moment as if he was about to do something he really didn’t want to do.

  “I’m guessing you know that Coach J got a call from Ray Didinger today,” he said quietly, draping an arm around Jeff’s shoulders and steering him away from the other players, who were no doubt wondering what was going on.

  Jeff hadn’t planned on this happening. For a moment, he was tempted to play dumb and say something like, “Ray who?”

  But that clearly wasn’t going to fly.

  “I didn’t know for sure that he’d call, but I guess I’m not surprised,” he said.

  Then, feeling a little braver than he probably should have, he added, “As long as Coach J believes he did the right thing by cutting Andi, there’s no reason for him not to talk to Mr. Didinger.”

>   Now it was Coach C’s turn to look surprised.

  “What I think Coach J wants to know is how Ray Didinger got involved in a story involving a sixth-grade soccer team.”

  Jeff shrugged. “He and my dad work together. I thought you knew that.”

  “So you told your dad about Andi being cut?” Coach C said, almost sounding accusing in his tone.

  “Of course I did,” Jeff said. “Andi’s my friend, and my dad is, well, my dad.”

  Coach C nodded.

  “Well, my advice for right now is to say nothing to Coach J unless he brings it up,” he said. “He wanted to kick you off the team, but I think I’ve got him talked out of that. At least for now.”

  Jeff didn’t say anything in response.

  “Go finish stretching,” Coach C said. “And try to stay out of Coach J’s way the rest of practice.”

  Jeff jogged back to his teammates. Coach J, he was convinced, was glaring at him. Jeff looked the other way.

  10

  Once stretching and drill work were over, the players were again divided into two teams—with one player watching from the sidelines. Jeff wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that player was him.

  He got even fewer chances to see the field than he had the previous week. The only reason he got in at all, he suspected, was that Coach C would wave him in to sub for someone when that player looked winded.

  He managed to make a couple of good plays on defense, then made what he thought was a pretty good nutmeg move with the ball, dribbling it in between Taylor Jackson’s legs and then going past the defender to recover the ball and keep going.

  He had open field in front of him when he heard a sharp whistle. He stopped and turned to see Coach J walking in his direction, hands on hips, whistle in his mouth.

  “Michaels, if you want to showboat, you can go play in the schoolyard someplace,” he said. “Or maybe show off your skills on TV. But on my team, you just play soccer. Understood?”

  Arlow was constantly making what could be called showboat moves, and the coach had never called him on it. But Jeff wasn’t Arlow.