I SPENT THE REST OF THAT Saturday night doing bits of research on Tartt's total assists, connected passes, and solo goals compared to the rest of the team. I took into account the stats for this season and his stats for Manchester City, where he typically played in previous years. The data proved my thesis that Tartt being a team player would lead to a better overall performance of the team.

While he was still an obvious stand out on Man City, he had a (slightly) higher assist number. Goal numbers were more spread out through his teams. They operated as a team, not as eleven individuals thrown on the pitch together, and those benefits showed in their performance in previous years compared to Richmond's current one.

I pulled a semi-all nighter that Saturday, word vomiting all my ideas onto the document so I wouldn't lose the momentum I had already established. I went to bed at 5 am, first draft done and my introduction and first few paragraphs already having gotten some tweaks applied.

I woke up Sunday at 9 am and, with those four hours of sleep under my belt, I continued my writing process. I wrote and edited and rewrote and deleted like I'd never before. Each change I made improved the piece just that much and I felt good. The article was a little rough, sure, but it was genuinely good.

I felt like I had said something. Something worthwhile and interesting to read. Something publishing worthy.

☕︎︎☕︎︎☕︎

My body buzzed with nervous energy as I pulled into The Independents parking lot on Monday. I had both the physical copy ready and had emailed Trent the document right before I work my apartment. The conversation played in my head.

I'd walk in, hand him the coffee and the article. I'd assure him that I knew it was rough still, that some parts had not yet been fine tuned to all they could be, but that I felt good about it. He would read it. Make small comments about it and tell me what I needed to fix on it before congratulating me on a job well done.

Yes. Yes, that was okay. I was okay. The article was great.

I was stalling.

After a final long exhale, I got out of my car and headed inside The Independent building. The elevator ride up to the third floor dragged on for what felt like hours. The papers tucked between my arm and torso felt like they were about to light on fire.

I entered my office first and placed my coffee down. James was already sitting behind his desk and I felt his eyes track me.

"Good weekend?" He asked, not so subtly trying to sense out if I was still in my mood from Friday.

I hummed a small yes as I logged into my computer to check my email quickly. "I made this new article my bitch."

James smiled, obviously amused by me and happy that I was no longer storming around like the last time we talked. "I'm not sure you can do that."

"Well, I did," I replied, playing up my confidence. A small part of me whispered that the article was just like all the other ones; I thought they were good, but Trent would tear them apart.

I finished up on my emails and collected Trent's coffee and my papers. The walk to Trent's office was short but anxiety inducing nonetheless. I knocked softly on his door and opened it slowly.

Trent looked up at me, his eyes going from the papers in my hand, to my face which I was sure was riddled with overthinking, and then to the coffee cup I held.

"Good morning, Sabrina," he said, gesturing for me to sit as he readjusted the position of his office chair. I placed the cup on his desk, along with the printed article, and sat down. "I've already read through the emailed copy of your article."

Crap. Why would he do that? I thought he had regressed back to paper and pen after Fridays blind feedback-attack. The email had been more of a formality than anything else. I thought he would read it on the papers I printed.

"Oh," I said, forcing myself to recover and ignore the pit in my stomach. "It's not perfect. I know that, it's kind of rough in some parts. But, I mean, two days to write an article..." My voice trailed off as I realized I was rambling.

Trents face remained impassive, but he clearly wanted to say something. I cleared my throat. "What did you think?"

"Your article was beautifully crafted," Trent said and my heart swelled up like I was the god damn Grinch.

It was good. I could write something that was totally awful. No, I could write something that was 'beautifully crafted.' I smiled slightly and bit my cheek a little to keep myself from grinning like an idiot.

"It needs some tweaking, just a few format things and basic editing," he continued, leaning back in his chair slightly. "But it's good, Sabrina. Excellent. Get the edits done by the end of the day and I can get it in Wednesdays paper."

My eyes widened slightly. Wednesday. I was less than 48 hours away from having my paper published. "Yeah! Yes," I said. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. You're the one who wrote it," Trent smiled softly and I again felt pride flush through me.

When I arrived back at my desk, I smiled my way through an explanation of the conversation to James. He sat and listens intently, nodding and grinning along with me.

"Sabrina Lewis: Published journalist," I mused dreamily, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Certainly has a nice ring to it," James agreed.

☕︎︎☕︎︎☕︎

I spent the rest of the day editing and polishing, as well as re-editing and re-polishing. By the time I turn in my final copy, I feel invincible. For the first time in my career, I feel entirely good about what I've written. My commentary is fresh, smart, and at times I even found myself a little funny.

I allow myself to soak in the ego boost of it all on my drive home. Hitting send on the email to Trent with the final article had sent a rush of adrenaline and what could only be described as dopamine coursing through me. I thought about the fact that in less than 48 hours, I would officially be a published journalist in something other than my high school and college papers.

I had told Jess and Lily the news earlier in our group chat, and, unsurprisingly, they were insisting we celebrated. I was unsure who went out for drinks on a Monday night, and made the fact that the last thing I wanted to do was get drunk very clear. We eventually settled on going to the Crown and Anchor, where I could eat a meal and they could also drink.

It also just seemed fitting that we went to celebrate my first published article about Richmond in the same place I typically watch all the games.

When I arrived home I threw in a new outfit and attempted to organize my desk area that I had destroyed while I was being entirely consumed by writing.

At about 5:45, we headed out the door and made our way to the pub.

"Lewis!" Baz yelled suddenly as soon as we walked through the door.

"Hey boys," I greeted, fighting a smile off my face. Their egos were big enough, they didn't need to know I actually enjoyed their company.

"Ohh, okay Miss Popular," Lily teased. "Jess and I will grab a seat, yeah?"

I nodded them off and walked over to where Baz, Jeremy, and Paul sat at the bar. Mae was cleaning glasses behind it, stuck in a heated conversation with Jeremy.

"Mae, I'm just saying," I caught Jeremy saying as I approached. "Business would be a lot better if you offered dollar pint night!"

"You seriously trying to give Mae business advice?" I asked, arching my eyebrow. Jeremey was not exactly the most business oriented person. Or really anything that required him to use a little forethought. Paul and Baz laughed.

"Ah, thank the good Lord," Mae sighed. "You can keep 'em occupied now, Sabrina."

She walked to a different part of the bar and I mini-saluted her. The boys immediately launched into questions about where I was for the game on Saturday. When I told them I had been offered tickets (and who I'd been offered them by) they immediately launched into more questions. They asked what Colin was like ("he's a nice guy") and how we'd met ("Isaac McAdoo was hitting on my roommate").

After being properly informed and their thirst for information was subdued, Paul asked, "What's the occasion tonight?"

"Huh?"

"You're normally not here on non-game days," Jeremey explained. "And if you are, you're not with friends." He pointed over to where Jess and Lily sat in a booth, now sipping on drinks.

"You're all here way too much," I commented. They really were, but Mae kept them from hurting themselves or others so it wasn't that bad. "But, we're out to celebrate my first article being published."

"Really?" Baz exclaimed.

"Well don't sound so surprised."

"No, no! Well, I mean, I kind of thought you were maybe shite at writing since you'd gone so long without a published article, but this is good!"

"Baz!" Jeremy and Mae from across the bar exclaimed together, but I just laughed.

"You're an ass," I laughed. The other two congratulated me, and I went to the join Jess and Lily.

I ordered myself some food and the three of us talked and discussed the events of the last weekend in depth for the first time. We had debriefed the interaction between Lily and Isaac enough that we were picking apart how he had moved his hands.

"He's into you," Jess said assuredly. "He wants you in his bed, I know it."

Lily crinkled her nose at her. "I don't know."

"Lily!" I said, fake exasperated. "Colin said he wouldn't stop talking about you!"

"Yeah, but..." she trailed off, smiling into her drink.

I rolled my eyes at her as lovingly as I could. We couldn't force her to have faith in herself and her great, appealing personality, but it was still disappointing that she didn't want to admit how into her Isaac was.

"Pennsylvania!" An accented voice exclaimed suddenly. I immediately recognized it as Ted Lasso's.

I whipped my head to the side as he left Beard at the bar and came over to the booth. A bright smile plaster his face, as per usual, and I couldn't help but smile softly as well.

"Congratulations on the beautiful win," I said, raising my glass of water. He smiled modestly and I continued on before he could speak. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, I was about to ask y'all the same thing," he said, smiling at my roommates. He introduced himself and Lily and Jess did the same.

"We're out celebrating. I love this pub, I watch every game here," I explained. From the corner of my eye, I saw Baz, Paul, and Jeremy staring and whispering to each other.

"Celebrating! Which of you should I be congratulating?"

"That would be our soon-to-be published journalist," Jess patted me on the shoulder.

Teds eyes lit up and my heart clenched slightly. Something about older guys being proud of me still punched me in gut, no matter how long it went since Dad passed. "Alright! Trent finally let you have one?"

I laughed lightly. "Yeah, he did. You know, it was the game on Saturday that inspired me. Guess I have you to thank as well."

An emotion passed over his face, like worry. In a second it was gone, and I'd almost thought I'd imagined it. I realized the fact that I had gotten inspiration from the game might have come off that I was writing something that would be bad for him. The tightness in my chest went from one of happiness to one of panic.

"Nothing bad, just an analysis," I added quickly. Ted smiled again and we said goodbyes, him returning to Beard and my roommates shooting me looks.

"What?" I asked, placing a fry in my mouth.

They exchanged a look, one that I'd seen before. One that said I had done something they thought counted as people pleasing or something else that highlighted my need to be liked. I thought it was dumb. And maybe a little correct.

"Whatever," I said. "This is a good night! A great night, even!"

"Yeah, yeah. I need another pint," Jess said.