Hog Heaven by Ben Rehder

could be dropped after the first season if he didn’t perform, or even if the staff simply found another player to replace him. It was business. The school would feel no more allegiance to this boy than they did to the crew that cleaned the stadium after games.
    “The thing is, I already made a verbal commitment to—”
    “We all know that carries small meaning.”
    “I, uh, well, even so, I’ve really been thinking about Texas. They’ve been rebuilding the last couple of years.”
    She said immediately, “Have you not been aware that the Texas assistant coaches are receiving offers that cannot be resisted?”
    She knew no such thing to be true.
    “Which coaches?”
    “Offensive coordinator,” she said. “Offensive line coach.” She shrugged. “Perhaps they remain, or perhaps not. Timing is key. Do you want to participate in a program that is...” She struggled to find an appropriate phrase in English. “... descending from a peak like a rollercoaster?”
    “Couldn’t that happen at OTU?”
    “We have endless history of success. Why would any coach leave program of that caliber? Our head coach understands the value of planning for the long term. That is why he is attentive about you.”
    She said “we” and “our head coach” to give Colton the impression that she was an employee of some sort within the Oklahoma Tech University athletics department. She was not. She was a freelancer. A specialist. What some people might call a hired gun. But no actual universities were on her list of clients. As far as she knew, nobody at OTU even knew she existed, and they would almost certainly condemn the tactics she used.
    She herself did not know who her client was in this case, because that was the way she had set up her business. The client could remain anonymous. It could be an OTU booster skirting the NCAA rules. It could be an independent recruiting scout who had recommended this young man to the OTU coaches. There were many different types of people who had a vested interest in college football recruiting. They didn’t know what tactics Aleksandra Babikova used. They only knew she got results. Nothing else mattered. They also knew she could not control what happened in the weeks and months that followed one of her visits. The young man might change his mind once again. That was out of Aleksandra’s control. But it was a risk her clients were willing to take.
    Unfortunately, this particular young man did not yet appear convinced. He was not making eye contact. She waited. And then he said, “I need to think about this some more. Talk to my mom.”
    It was not acceptable to allow him to think. She would not earn her fee if she allowed the boy to think.
    So she nodded, then gave him a large smile—the one that said, It is obvious that you are a wise young man . She said, “It is obvious that you are a wise young man. You understand how these things happen in the real world, no? I believe you do.”
    She briefly glanced around the kitchen—at the ancient avocado-green refrigerator that was making strange noises, and at the peeling vinyl flooring—subtly reminding him of his living conditions. Reminding him that his mother made minimum wage and they lived in a rat hole.
    She lowered her voice, to give it an air of intimacy and confidentiality, and she gave him her most engaging smile. “We make special deal, okay? You make the verbal commitment today to OTU—I give you five thousand dollars. In cash, of course.”
    She had to hope nobody else had beaten her to it. Five thousand might seem small in comparison to other offers he might have received.
    The boy said, “Whoa.” He was attempting to hold back a grin, but he could not. She now knew she was the first to make this sort of offer. He obviously found it enticing, but still he shook his head. “Five thousand bucks. Man, I don’t know...”
    She waited again.
    He said, “I appreciate it, but I don’t know if I should do that. Isn’t that against