Chapter 34 Indianapolis Summer
Summer in Evergreen Hollow always carried a particular sweetness—the kind that came from long evenings on the porch, the hum of cicadas, and the quiet pride of watching children chase their dreams. This year, though, the sweetness had an extra layer: Lily was spending eight weeks in Indianapolis as part of a prestigious NCAA program focused on Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) policy development.
The opportunity had come unexpectedly in late spring. Lily’s entrepreneurship professor at Denver, impressed by her work redesigning the Heartstrings Spark quiz and her thoughtful class contributions on ethical branding, had nominated her for a selective summer cohort. The NCAA, still navigating the evolving landscape of NIL since the 2021 interim policy, had created a small initiative to involve current student-athletes in shaping future guidelines. They wanted real voices from the ice, the field, and the court—people who understood both the opportunities and the pitfalls of monetizing one’s personal brand while competing at the highest level.
When the acceptance email arrived, Lily called home immediately.
“Mom? Dad? You’re on speaker with Evvy and Clara,” she said, voice bubbling with excitement. “I got it. The NIL Student-Athlete Advisory Cohort. Eight weeks in Indianapolis starting June.”
The family erupted in cheers. Everett demanded to know if she’d meet famous basketball players. Clara just kept yelling “Lil-eee Indy!” until everyone was laughing.
Holly felt the familiar tug—pride mixed with the gentle ache of distance—but this time it was easier. Lily was thriving, and this was the next step.
The program was structured thoughtfully. Twenty student-athletes from across divisions and sports, housed in university dorms near the NCAA national office. Mornings were spent in workshops and meetings with policy experts, compliance officers, and even congressional staffers who were drafting federal NIL legislation. Afternoons involved group projects: researching best practices, interviewing athletes about their NIL experiences, and drafting recommendations for fair, transparent rules that protected both amateurism and opportunity.
Lily’s group focused on women’s sports and underrepresented athletes. She brought her Heartstrings perspective—how authenticity and personal storytelling built stronger, more ethical brands—and quickly became a quiet leader in discussions.
Evenings and weekends were hers. She explored Indianapolis: the canal walks, the children’s museum (where she FaceTimed Clara to show her the dinosaur exhibits), the minor league baseball games. She made friends with a softball player from Alabama, a swimmer from California, and a football player from Ohio who taught her how to throw a perfect spiral.
She flew home for the Fourth of July weekend, tanned and full of stories. Over backyard fireworks, she told the family about a panel she’d spoken on: “NIL isn’t just about money. It’s about control—telling your own story instead of letting someone else write it for you.”
Rowan listened with quiet pride. Everett hung on every word. Clara fell asleep on Lily’s lap clutching a tiny NCAA lanyard Lily had brought her.
That night, after the kids were in bed, Lily lingered in the kitchen helping Holly wash dishes.
“I love Denver,” she said softly. “But I miss this too.”
Holly dried her hands and pulled her daughter into a hug. “We miss you. But look at you—changing the rules for the next generation.”
Lily smiled against her shoulder. “I learned from the best.”
The internship wrapped in early August with a presentation to NCAA leadership. Lily’s group recommended expanded education for incoming freshmen, a centralized disclosure platform to reduce administrative burden, and stronger protections against exploitative deals. Their report was well-received; parts of it were already being folded into upcoming policy discussions.
On her last day, Lily took a photo in front of the NCAA headquarters sign and sent it to the family chat: “From mistletoe bets to national policy. Thanks for teaching me how to dream big. Love you all.”
The flight home felt shorter than the one out. When she stepped through the airport doors, Everett tackled her first, Clara second, and Holly and Rowan brought up the rear with the longest, tightest family hug yet.
That night they celebrated with Lily’s favorite—homemade tacos and root beer floats on the patio. Fireflies blinked around them like tiny stadium lights.
Everett raised his glass of root beer. “To Lily—the coolest sister and future NCAA boss.”
Clara clinked her sippy cup solemnly. “Boss Lil-eee!”
Rowan and Holly shared a look over their children’s heads—pride, gratitude, and the quiet certainty that every step of this journey, from a fake holiday date to national policy tables, had been exactly right.
Later, when the house was quiet and the stars were bright, Holly and Rowan stood on the porch swing, arms around each other.
“Our girl’s changing the game,” Rowan said softly.
Holly smiled. “Just like we taught her.”
They stayed there a long time, swaying gently, listening to the crickets and the distant hum of the rink lights that never quite went out.
In Evergreen Hollow, under an August sky full of possibility, the Kane family welcomed their daughter home—changed, stronger, and still very much theirs.