The Problem with the Player

Chapter 3

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I can’t help but smile. So, ok, maybe I was too quick to assume he was a conceited monster. He stares at me while I awkwardly glance around the sitting room. I notice a photo of who I’m guessing is a young Ethan, standing with a large man with scruffy grey hair. Ethan is holding a ball in his hands, only partly smiling. I don’t want to question him about it seeing as we’re going back to the normal interview now.

‘Right,’ I say. I look at my notepad where I’ve got nothing but some random shapes I subconsciously drew. ‘Well, Mr Wallace, the whole world practically recognises you’ - except for me two days ago who seemed to be the only person who had never heard of him, ‘as the young and talented soccer player from Melbourne who worked his way up to the top’. Ethan nods slowly. ‘But what were your inspirations as a child? What gave you the passion to do what you’re doing today?’

He looks at me as if he’s heard this question one hundred times. He sits back in his chair, fingers wrapping around the cold beer. ‘My father’. I wait for him to say more, but that’s all he gives me. 

‘Was your father a soccer player too? Does it run in the family?’ I try to sound excited.

He sips his beer slowly and eyes me. ‘Well he adopted me, but yeah, he taught me how to play.’ I’m about to say something before he adds, ‘But, he had lung cancer. Passed away last year.’ 

‘Oh’. I, once again, can’t help but feel awkward. Very awkward. I’m not usually good at comforting people. ‘I’m very sorry’.

He stares at the ground. ‘It’s alright. He had a good life.’ Though he acts as if he’s fine, I can tell Ethan is upset, or at least uncomfortable talking about this. Maybe I’m wrong though because he suddenly looks up at me and grins. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks. 

‘Um, not really.’ Of course my stomach decides now is the perfect time for it to growl.

‘Are you sure?’ 

I laugh. ‘Ok, I may be starving.’

He stands up and places his beer on the coffee table. ‘Let’s go for lunch.’

****

We arrive at a small but booming cafe that Ethan suggested. He drove us in his small car that had a leftover McDonald’s wrapper and scattered coins on the floor. I was surprised when he asked me. Even hesitant to say yes. It’s not very professional to go out for lunch with the guy I’m meant to be interviewing. But we’re not on a date... I don’t think. Why would he ask me on a date anyway? I practically insulted him and all celebrities. Plus I only met him about 40 minutes ago. Well whatever this lunch is classified as, I’m starving. A waiter comes over and I order a chicken burger, and Ethan asks for spaghetti with prawns. Seafood isn’t my thing. We’re positioned next to a table with two ladies practically shouting, and it’s so loud in here that I’m probably inaudible to Ethan. ‘So,’ I say. ‘you come here often?’

He leans in closer. ‘Sometimes, yeah.’ Silence then takes over our conversation. I look around at my surroundings - a waiter pouring drinks, a crying child pulling at his mother’s hand while she attempts to pay - but I can feel his eyes on me.

He smirks. ‘Sorry about the failed interview. I promise I’ll make it up to you.’

‘Oh, yeah it’s fine. I’m sorry about my celebrity rant,’ I say. I pick at a loose thread in my knitted top. I’m so awkward around guys. Actually, I think I’m just an awkward person in general. 

He smiles at me and pushes a lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘Don’t worry about it. Some celebrities are actually the way you described them. So now that you know I’m a soccer player and that I’m not in love with myself, let’s get to know you.’

‘Me? Aren’t I meant to be interviewing you?’

‘Yeah well that interview went in unexpected directions that made both you and I feel very awkward.’ Is my face red? I can feel it going red. I don’t know why though. ‘You’ll get your second interview eventually, but now I want to know about you.’ He has a sweet smile on his face and a very faint sparkle in his emerald eyes.

‘Ok then, prepare yourself for the most interesting life story you’ve ever heard,’ I say sarcastically. ‘My name is Lydia. I’m 21. The reason your interview sucked was because it was the second interview I’ve ever done. I have a brother. He’s 16. I suck at sports. I’m in love with Panic! At the Disco. I’m a cat person.’ I pause to take a sip of my water, but really I’m just trying to stop myself from blurting anything stupid out. Oh God, he asked about me and I told him I’m a cat person. See, this is why I’m so awkward. ‘Oh and I’m more of a movie person than a book person. I find that if I read for more than 5 minutes my mind just wanders off.’ 

Ethan looks at me intently and furrows his eyebrows as if in deep thought. ‘Interesting,’ he says. ‘Would have picked you for a reader seeing as you’re doing journalism.’

‘I prefer non fiction,’ I say.

He nods. ‘Well I could think of a few people with more interesting stories - Martin Luther King Jr, Einstein, even the guys in One Direction - but hey, yours was pretty cute.’

Cute? Cute..? I hope my cheeks don’t go red again. 

The waiter brings us our food and I chow it down in a matter of bites. I could probably be eating more lady like, not licking the sauce off my fingers and shoving handfuls of chips into my mouth at once, but when it comes to food, I’m a piranha. Ethan on the other hand eats his spaghetti so delicately, twirling the pasta on his spoon. The cafe gets quieter as time passes and eventually it’s time for us to leave too. Ethan insists on paying but we end up splitting the bill. I don’t want him to have to pay for me. As we step outside the cafe, a cool breeze hits us and cars zoom past on a busy road. We’re silent as we walk to his car until I hear a beep from my phone. I rummage around in my bag to find it and stare at the screen.

New Message.

Dylan:

OMG LYDIA! Aaron just messaged me and said mrs ellis gave 2 days work to CHRIS to give to ME. LYDIA HE LIVES DOWN THE STREET, HE’S GOING TO KILL ME.

ALVHWIFJSHFBIUE!!!! 

COME HOME AND PRETEND I’M NOT HERE!

Ps. How was the interview with Ethan?

Ok, so what I gather from that message is Aaron is some guy, probably a friend of Dylan’s. Mrs Ellis is the teacher, giving out either two days worth of work or today’s work. I can’t tell. Chris is ‘going to kill’ Dylan with homework, probably dropping it off at our house. Random letters. A demand for my appearance. Interest in Ethan.

Apparently I’ve stopped walking, because Ethan stands in front of me waiting while my face is buried in my phone.

‘Everything ok?’ He says.

‘Yeah, sorry, I just - my brother messaged me about some idiot in his class who’s going to our house soon.’

‘Why?’

‘My brother’s at home sick. The guy’s dropping off homework but he’s a dickhead to Dylan - my brother - a lot.’

‘Oh. Do you need to get home?’

I pause before speaking. I guess this is the end of my outing with Ethan then. ‘Yeah, sorry. My mum and dad are at work.’

‘I’ll drive you,’ he says.

‘But my car’s at your place.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go help your brother out.’