One Good Man

“Your French is very good,” I said. “For an American.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Merci.”

“How did you become fluent?”

“My nanny was French,” she said. “She taught me from the time I was a baby, and I continued studying it through school.”

“A nanny, eh? So you have money?”

She bristled. “That’s a personal question, and not relevant to our interview.”

“What does your father do?”

“He owns a vineyard, but—”

I snorted a laugh. “A vineyard? In California? Did he send you to France to learn the secrets of making good wine?”

Janey slapped her pencil on her notebook. “Our wine is perfectly good, thank you very much. Award-winning, if you must know, and our winery is quite successful, though I have no idea why I’m explaining this to you.”

“Well, now we’re even,” I said.

“Even?”

“The rich, arrogant, footballer being interviewed by the rich, stuck-up American girl.” I held my hands out. “I like a level playing field.”

She clenched her teeth. “You are truly infuriating. If we could get back to the interview…?”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t like talking about yourself?”

“Not especially.”

“Then why agree to this?”

“For the team,” I said, and heaved a sigh. “Go on. Let’s get it over with.”

She nodded slowly. “Antoine tells me you’re a medical student. Is it difficult maintaining your studies while playing soccer professionally?”

“I’m only semi-pro.”

“Even so, do you have time to devote to your studies while playing a full season of soccer?”

“For now,” I said. “Next year, I begin the practical training in a hospital. There won’t be time for both.”

“What happens to soccer then?” she asked. “Or is it med school you quit?”

I stiffened at the question. No one had ever asked me that before. Everyone—my team, my sister, my mother—they all assumed I’d quit med school if I had a shot to make it to Ligue 2 or higher. The truth rose up but I bit it back and fought for another diversion.

“Paris Central is Division 3. But we’re two points from the promotion zone, which means—”

“Wait, the promotion zone? Points…?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “We get points. Two for a win, one for a draw, and none for a loss. The top three teams with the most points advance to the higher league. The four teams with the lowest are relegated down. Goal differentials decide ties...”

She scribbled furiously to get this all down.

I furrowed my brows. “You’re not familiar with the EUFA tier structure of European football?”