Coming in from sector ten.
Emily stood in front of the main gates of Drexel Memorial Stadium, gazing at the gargoyles perched atop the columns flanking the gates. She tentatively put her hand against the cold, vertical metal bars and pushed. The gates were locked.
“Something I can do for you?” A male voice cut through the crisp morning air.
Emily spun around.
“Oh, it’s you,” the male added.
“My uncle says that you’re to step in for Gene Fenway,” Emily remarked as she plunged her hands into the pockets of her navy jacket.
The man took several more strides towards her and extended his hand, “I’m Kyle. Kyle Pacer.”
“Your uncle told you.”
“He’s the head coach over at the high school.”
Emily nodded as she soaked in Kyle’s features and physique. She was right–he did look like an older version of Fred “gel-on” Stables. His eyes flickered with an intensity that, under certain lighting schemes, could inspire fear. At that moment, however, Emily saw it as determination. If Kyle wasn’t in the business of making money for himself or for someone else, he would probably be quite good at it. She wanted him to take two more steps in her direction so that she might smell that cinnabon scent.
“So, uh, what are you doing here at 8:30 AM on a Sunday?”
“I’m not entirely sure…sometimes I come here and just stare at the front gates when I’m feeling a bit…lost.”
Kyle nodded somewhat blankly then abruptly asked Emily if she knew anything about connecting entertainment systems.
“Like a new stereophonic sound spectacular?”
“Ummm no. I mean, I need a manual to hook up DVD players to TVs and tape decks.”
“Huh-ha,” Emily uttered as she smiled triumphantly. “You’re in luck.”