I shook my head. “I don’t know anything about sports. I want to work with artists.” My dad’s love of music had definitely been passed down to me. The whole reason I was looking to graduate early was so I could start working with him. His streaming service just formed an agency that focused on promoting independent artists. The future of the entertainment industry was through the indie community, and I wanted to lead that division for him.

“I’m good friends with the head football coach. Since all the other internships were taken, I was wondering if you’d be open to working with one of the players on his image.”

My eyebrow rose. Working with a football player? It wasn’t exactly on my projected career path, but that could work. In Texas, football was God, and that multi-million dollar stadium was church. They attended religiously. It was an entire thing—a thing I didn’t particularly care for. But, if I did a good job, it was a networking wet dream. Working with the football team could open a few doors. Yeah, I could get excited about that.

But still. I didn’t know what this would entail. “I don’t know if I’m qualified for that. I’ve catered all my courses to brands and musicians.”

“I think you’d be surprised how much crossover there is,” Mr. Tuesday began. “Public relations is about creating and maintaining a positive image—in this case, for the athletes or sports clubs they represent. You’ll be responsible for coordinating the seamless flow of favorable information about this player. Monitoring his social media. Keeping him out of trouble and out of the news. Fans are more likely to buy tickets, purchase merchandise, and fill stadium seats when there’s a public interest, and right now, the good wholesome Bible Belt of Texas is not amused with our star running back.”

“What’s the damage?” I asked.

Mr. Tuesday slid his phone across the desk to me, and I picked it up, frowning at the social media feed I saw there. Picture after picture showed a tall, muscular guy with bulging muscles and thick lips in compromising photographs. He was kissing random girls and doing keg stands. There were even a couple of him cupping his junk. This was a media clusterfuck of epic proportions. He was kind of hot, though, if you were into that kind of thing.

“Doesn’t the coach have rules about this?” I asked. “Is there a scholarship on the line?”