Page 13 of How To Tackle A Crush
I slide into a chair in the back row, exactly where I planned to be. Close enough to hear. Far enough to disappear.
Strategic invisibility.
I open my notebook.
Write the date.
WriteFC Carlisle – Press Conference.
Underline it twice because structure is calming and if I do not control something I may dissolve into mist.
I am here to observe. I am furniture with a pen.
That I can do.
The room shifts slightly then. The kind of small change that happens when someone important arrives.
Conversations dip. Chairs straighten. People subtly rearrange their expressions into professional interest.
I look up.
Jack Westland walks in.
He is taller than I expect. Broad shoulders. Dark hair threaded with grey that looks deliberate rather than accidental. What black-and-white newspaper photos don’t show is those piercing blue eyes. Not light blue. Deep ocean blue.
He moves like someone who is used to being watched but not particularly interested in it.
Not flashy.
Contained.
His face is calmer than the photos. Less dramatic. More… attentive. Like he is taking in the room rather than performing for it.
That surprises me.
I find myself watching the small things.
He thanks the media officer who hands him notes. Properly thanks him. Eye contact. Uses his name.
That feels important.
Most famous people forget the names of those who are not on their level of fame.
He sits and places his hands flat on the table for a second before the questions begin. Grounding gesture. Control. Someone who prepares himself before the noise starts.
I write that down without really knowing why.
Very composed.
The first question comes from a man in the second row who does not introduce himself because he clearly assumes everyone already knows who he is.
“Jack, most managers in your position move upwards. Bigger clubs. Bigger budgets. So why Carlisle?”
The wordCarlislelands with just enough emphasis to suggest he meanswhy here of all places.
I write:
Question sounds polite. Is not polite.
