Stealing Home
: Chapter 16

ADVANCED MACHINING HAS A COMPLEX OF ALUMINUM BUILDINGS hidden behind a brick and stone office front. I’ve been here twice before with my dad, to drop off-season ticket packages. He doesn’t usually deliver them personally, but Advanced Machining is one of the biggest employers in our town. It drives him nuts that he’s never been able to sell them on sponsoring a giveaway or having an outfield sign. Sure, people in our town aren’t exactly Advanced Machining’s target market, but most companies are looking for ways to build “community partnerships.” The last time I was here, Dad pitched a whole bunch of ideas, but according to their CEO, “Baseball isn’t the right fit.”

Maybe tying their business to a stadium renovation will be. Could they see value in providing the ceiling beams that support the new events center’s roof? Or having an entire wing designed to showcase their craftsmanship?

I’ve pushed yesterday’s incident with Ollie and Pearson to the back of my mind. Okay, fine. Not quite to the back. Every now and then Ollie’s face peeks into my brain’s peripheral vision, and I’ll rehash the whole thing for a minute before I can shift focus.

I’ve got to get my game face on. Campbell and I spent most of Monday afternoon preparing a really informal one-page proposal of what we’re hoping to accomplish with an addition to the facility. No numbers. Very few specifics.

Dad calls meetings like this “fishing expeditions.” You throw out all sorts of bait and see what it’ll take to make a potential sponsor bite. If I can get verbal interest, a promise for a second meeting, I can take that back to my mom. And eventually my dad.

When we pull into the parking lot, Campbell gives me an encouraging grin. “They’re not going to say no.”

“Of course not,” I say, trying to ignore my shivery nervousness. I let him lead the way into the building, while I handle the boxes of bagels, cream cheese, and sandwiches. The marketing director, Jim Stein, didn’t have time to meet me for an outside lunch, so I brought food to him.

Bonus points, please.

The receptionist shows us to the conference room where Jim will meet us. Everything in the building has a cabin-y feel, but the conference room takes the decor to a whole different level. It has dark exposed beams, a stone fireplace that has definitely never been used, and a table that looks like it was made out of an enormous tree trunk. I can even see the tree rings under the high-gloss shine. I set down the boxes, and Campbell sits in one of the leather armchairs on the table’s right side.

Jim comes in a minute later. He’s probably in his early fifties, with steel-gray hair and a gut that suggests he really enjoys Thirsty Thursdays at the ballpark. His eyes immediately fall on Campbell, who jumps back to his feet.

“In all the years I’ve been meeting with the Buckley Beavers and watching y’all’s games, I haven’t had a chance to meet a first-rounder.” He shakes hands with Campbell. “You’re the real deal, huh?”

Campbell gives a nervous-sounding laugh. “I hope so, sir.”

“Sorry to hear you’re hurt. But stitches heal up nicely.” Jim spares a glance for me. “Nice to see you again, Ryan. Your dad coming along?” He looks around the room like he expects Dad to appear out of nowhere.

“No, sir,” I say, turning the bagel box toward him. “Just me today. I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Let’s eat first, sweetheart.” He drops into the chair at the head of the table. “Business is always better on a full stomach.”

Sweetheart. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a Texas thing. Sweetheart. Honey. Love. I’ve been called those names a thousand times, but today it stings like a fire ant bite. Not painful, but irritating.

“Of course.” I open the box and pass him the sandwich that he requested. “I brought plenty of other bagels for the rest of your staff.”

“That’s nice,” he says, taking a bite. “Tell me, Sawyer—it is Sawyer, isn’t it?—you’re only seventeen?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be eighteen in December.” Campbell picks a red onion off his sandwich and sets it on the box lid. “Actually, Ryan has some ideas—”

“And Ryan roped you into this meeting with that pretty smile of hers?” Jim winks at me like it’s a joke, but it feels so patronizing. Two fire ant bites.

Campbell looks at me like he’s not quite sure how to respond to that. “Um. Ryan has a nice smile, but no. Why don’t I let her—”

“After I finish my sandwich, son. You kids are always in such a hurry.” He shakes his head and then takes another bite. “You played in the Junior College World Series?”

The rest of the lunch goes pretty much according to this script: Jim talks to Campbell, recognizing that I’m in the room only when Campbell says my name, then Jim winks again and turns the conversation back to Campbell.

And I swear he’s taking his sweet time eating to piss me off. Ten full minutes after I finished my sandwich, Jim balls up his bag of kettle chips and shoots it toward the garbage can in the corner. It falls short. He clicks his tongue in disappointment but leaves it where it fell.

“All right.” He sucks a tooth, likely trying to get that wad of lettuce out. “Give me your spiel.”

“No spiel, Jim.” I’m done with calling him “sir” for the day. I push the proposal sheet in his direction. I used chunks of text straight from the information Campbell’s friend emailed, so it has a more finished feel than if I’d whipped it together yesterday. “Campbell is from Georgia, and while he lived there he volunteered at a camp for children with special needs.”

Jim’s finger ticks against Campbell’s picture at the top of the page. “That’s nice. What does that have to do with me and Advanced Machining?” His eyes are focused on Campbell, waiting for his answer, but Sawyer turns to me to answer the question.

“To host camps similar to this one, we need to expand and renovate Perry Park. It would make sense to use a company in our own town to supply the girders and framework for that events center.” I lay out all the information I have, and Campbell volunteers a story about some of the kids he’s helped and how that’s only one way the events center could be used in the off-season.

At the end, Jim kicks back in his chair, hands folded across his belly, and weighs us with his eyes. “Well, I have to say I’m surprised. This isn’t at all what I was expecting.”

I clear away the sandpaper lining my throat. “Do you think this is the type of project that Advance Machining could get behind?”

He purses his lips and nods slowly. “It might be.”

I keep my squeal of elation trapped inside. “I’d love to schedule another meeting with you and everyone on your team.”

“Sounds good.” He pulls his phone out of his front pocket and scrolls through his calendar. “I’m out of town for the next two weeks. The following week is bad, but how about a month from today?”

It’s not ideal, but it’s something. “That sounds good.”

“Bring your daddy with you next time.”

I freeze. Hopefully I can get Dad on board before then. And maybe he won’t kill me for visiting one of his personal contacts without him. “Sure thing. I’ll put it on his schedule.”

Jim didn’t give us a couple million dollars on the spot, but he didn’t shut us down either.

Even though my hands are empty now, Campbell holds the door open for me as we leave—because manners are his thing—and I grin as I pass him. He’s frowning.

“What’s with the face?” I ask once we’re out to the parking lot.

“I don’t like that guy. He acted like you weren’t even in the room.”

“Usually I come with my dad on sales calls and that’s pretty much how everyone treats me.” I click the lock and stow the crutches for Campbell, trying to revel in the possibility of something good coming out of this instead of being super annoyed at Jim. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m young or because I’m a girl or because they’re all jackasses.”

“I just …” Campbell pauses as he climbs up into the van, waiting for me to walk around and hop in before he finishes his sentence. “I get what you meant about people not taking you seriously.”

The validation feels nice, even though it doesn’t fix the problem. Someday I won’t have to prove to sponsors like Jim that I know my business. I’ll show up at a meeting and everyone will wait to hear what I’m going to say.

At least I hope so.