With His Hand In Mine...

As a writer, I look at the world in a different way. In a sense, I see everything that logic and reasoning present to me, and I challenge it. Because let’s face it, everything that anyone has ever told us has had an alternate meaning, or a deeper reasoning for being what is. I began writing in third grade, when my teacher told Rebecca Ears that she was the best writer in our class. So, of course I challenged it, because I had to show the class who was really the best. That year I won four awards and even got to read one of my stories in front of the entire school. Needless to say I was the new best writer. Ever since then, writing has become a part of me. I crave more, to show the class the truth. To show the world the truth.

The text I had written the previous year to apply for the internship at Los Angeles Times was on a looped feed in the back of my mind. It’s all I could think about. It was the first impression my bosses would have of me, and I kept thinking about how terrible and wordy it was. I couldn’t believe they had chosen me to be a part of a prestigious program that was almost impossible to get into based off of the mess of a paper I submitted to the editor. I wanted to just write a new letter telling them how much my writing had improved since then, and how they should pick me based off of the ‘current me’ not the ‘thirteen months ago me’.

I stared blankly into the tequila shot the bartender had set in front of me. My new position began tomorrow, and I wasn’t at all prepared. Tonight I was the irresponsible 22-year-old that dropped everything from her old life to move across the country for a mediocre job that might make me into a better writer, and might also get me a job that could jumpstart my career. That was tonight; but tomorrow, I had to be unstoppable. I had to be something that these reporters and editors had never seen before. I had to be the best. That was a lot of pressure, a lot of things to change within the time span of 24 hours. I downed the tequila shot and motioned for one more.

“The guy two seats over says it’s on him,” the bartender set the next shot down and nodded towards a man that was indeed two seats down on his own stool. I slowly looked towards him. He was an attractive man, maybe thirty or so with dark luscious hair that made the blue in his iris sparkle. He had a notebook sprawled out in front of him and a pressed suit jacket hanging off the back of the barstool. His eyes met mine as he smiled and toasted with what looked to be scotch in his half-filled glass. I raised mine as well and downed that one as well.

I slid my bag onto the chair next to him and scooted down two seats. He looked up from him leather-backed notebook and met me with a smile.

“Thanks for the drink,” I opened with. He turned towards me.

“You looked like you needed another,” he responded. His piercing blue eyes reminded me of the waters they talk about on the beaches of Mexico before the oil spill; they were such a crystal blue, and it was like I could see all the way to the bottom without squinting once.

“You’re the one doing work in a bar,” I went out on a limb; judging by the loosened tie and unbuttoned collared shirt, it looked like he’d had a day from hell. He was probably a newbie in a big law office somewhere, and it seemed as if someone really gave him a beating by piling a ton of work on the poor guy. “You’re probably a big important person somewhere aren’t you?”

He closed his notebook and placed it inside the satchel that was thrown by his feet. He shook his head and looked at me once more.

“Nope. I’m just a guy in a bar.”

“Well good,” I smiled. “Because I’m just a girl in a bar.”

Sometimes as a writer the decisions you make can have an effect on not only you, but your readers. Sometimes using one word instead of another or publishing early instead of late can make or break your article. Myself, I try not to make rash decisions. I try to be the best I can be and not let the fact that I’ve only been legal to drink for a year effect my decisions or my career. But sometimes, a youthful mind gets the best of me, and I end up making choices that I regret in the future, and that can have a big effect on my life, whether I’m initially aware of it or not.

I opened my eyes expecting to see the popcorn ceiling in the main bedroom of my mother’s old house. Needless to say, I was not there. The first thing I noticed was the no smoking sign bolted in solid red letters on the bathroom door. It was cracked open because the light from within was pouring through illuminating my panties and high heels that were scattered about the floor beside the bed. I rolled over and could see where he was sleeping, butt ass naked. It was the guy from the bar. The digital clock on his side of the bed read 4:47 AM. The typical drapes and matching bed sheets screamed 90s, obviously we were in a hotel room. I could only assume it was one down the street from the bar, considering I couldn’t remember anything from the previous night. I never did this. I never slept with strangers in hotels on the night before a big first day. I had to get out of there.

I pulled the sheets around my naked body in a single motion. I quietly grabbed my clothes, but was interrupted by a man’s arm around my waste. His lips met the side of my neck as he pulled me backwards on top of him. The touch of his skin against mine was enough to cause goose bumps and to have me reconsidering my decision to leave.

“Where are you headed?” He spoke in between kisses as he leaned over me and worked his way down my chest and to my tummy.

“I have to go. I have this thing,” I smiled as he continued.

“Why don’t you stay, we can continue where we left off,” he whispered into my ear.

Suddenly flashes of the previous night began running through my mind. The beautiful blue eyes from the bar, the receptionist at the front desk and her judg-y glances as he lead me up to his hotel room. I smiled, but then remembered how I was supposed to start a very competitive new job in two hours.

“I can’t… It’s my first day today… I can’t be baggy-eyed and wearing yesterday’s make-up. I have to have coffee… I have to go…” I said as I quickly slid my clothes on and grabbed my bag and heels. “It was nice meeting you….” I trailed off. Oh shit. I couldn’t even recall what this incredibly handsome man’s name was. He sat in a pile of sheets right in front of me and the life faded from his eyes as he introduced himself.

“Oh come on….Zach,” he smiled. “Have a great first day.” He said. He stood up and met me with an incredibly awkward butt naked hug, after which I flashed a toothy fake smile and fled the scene.

There was a nice little coffee spot just across the way from where the Los Angeles Times was supposed to be. I grabbed a seat near the window and glanced out at it. It was five stories tall, and was supposed to be one of the biggest papers on the West coast. I figured this was where I would get most of my writing and interviewing done if I were to ever become a successful reporter here, so I tipped the bartista quite generously.

I entered the building that smelt of fresh ink. It’s something I’d have to get used to. I walked to the receptionist and she directed me to a conference room located on the second floor.

The room was set up similar to a classroom. One main desk at the front with others lined up in rows to the back. It was a fairly small room. In it, four other persons were already seated in the first and second rows. I took a seat in the second row next to a young, brown eyed man scribbling something in a yellow notepad with pages and pages of chicken scratch probably only he could read. I glanced over at him.

“That’s a lot of jotting,” I interrupted the cold silence that was shared between the four.

“I have a lot to say,” he mumbled under his breathe.

“I’m assuming you four are the others participating in the program?” A blonde girl from the front row said. She turned to face me and her hair fell in perfectly straight layers down her back. Her black rimmed glasses were at the edge of her nose and her tight black pencil skirt that hugged her hips made it seem as if she were a porn star about to ask for a favor. Her smile was warm and welcoming as she stuck an arm out and introduced herself. “Alison Reid, Entertainment News.” She forced. I shook her hand. A guy seated at the end of my row scoffed and pulled his phone out, presumably to text or play games. His relaxed posture and casual attire made it seem as if he really didn’t have any interest in being here. But of course, he must have considering the program is very impossible to get into. The fourth aprentice wore her long wavy almost-black hair in a tight bun at the top of her head. She turned, also seated in the front row three seats down from Alison and stared at us. “Amateurs.” She huffed under her breath before turning back to the front of the room.

Just as I opened my mouth to respond the back doors to the conference room swung open and a thirty-something man with a slightly older woman walked determined down the middle aisle and stood behind the half-podium at the front desk.

The woman, with noticeable red hair and an even more notable attitude ripped a sheet of paper from her jot pad and handed it to Alison, who was at the end of the row. “I need full names, phone numbers and two alternate means of contact.”

I looked up at the man at the podium. He didn’t seem to have quite the fire that the red head carried, but I could tell he respected her, and that they worked well together.

“Good morning,” he began as his partner joined him at the front of the room. “My name is Jackson Moore and this is my colleague Karen Atkinson. We are the Copy Editors here at Los Angeles Times and we are also the people you all will answer to for the remainder of the year. We don’t have a lot of time to waste so let’s get started.”

If he was trying to scare us, it worked. He instructed us to follow him as if we were students on a class fieldtrip and he was the tour guide. From the moment he walked in I felt as if either the two of them had way too much coffee this morning, or he wanted us to rush and to be as fast paced as they were. He showed us how article ideas and submissions were submitted on the ground floor, and if they made it, were assigned to a staff writer or a section editor on the second floor. The second and third floors were where all of the offices were located.

“If you are cool enough, one day you may have an office here with us,” were his exact words as we crammed into the elevator and headed to the fourth floor. The elevator doors opened and a research library folded out before us. Shelves of archives and books lined the back of the floor, rows of computers and empty tables covered one side of the room and a coffee stand and four or five couches evened out the other side of the room.

“Here is where you will spend most of your time.” Karen interjected. “You are the fact checkers. You will check the facts on every article that comes through those doors and you will submit your work to either myself or Jackson. This is how you learn to do what everyone else in this building already knows how to do. If, by chance, a writer wants an assistant or asks you to write with them, you will not take the lead. You will do everything they say and if you do, you may even get published. You are little babies. You will do all of the scut work and get none of the credit. And you will do this until you’ve learned to be a good writer.” We nodded. “Usually the mornings are slow. Carry an AP style guide with you and study it like it is the bible. You never know when you will be asked to help out. That’s the only advice I have to give.”

“Article assignments are being handed out on the second floor. Familiarize yourself with this area, and Jackson and I will come back with your assignments.” Karen added as she and Jackson got back into the elevator.

I stood in the middle of the floor with the other aprentecies around me. This was my new home. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked through those doors but this was something else. I had prepared myself for a lot worse though.

“So we’re pretty much just a bunch of scut monkeys? What a load of crap,” the phone guy from earlier said.

“Yup. It’s the chain of command.” I added.

“It’s freaking hard core,” the dark haired girl said as she strutted up to one of the computers. “This is what I’ve dreamed about since I was like 9. I don’t care whose ass I have to kiss, as long as my position here is secured, I say bring on the scut work. Do you idiots even know what kind of facility this place is? This is where writers are discovered, awards are given and careers begin.”

I rolled my eyes and looked at Alison, the blonde that approached me from earlier.

“This is going to be interesting,” she scoffed.

“I’m Mia by the way,” I introduced myself.

Just as she was about to add something else the elevator dinged and the doors opened. A middle aged man with a terrible comb over stepped out of the elevator. He was dressed in a blue buttoned up shirt and suspenders with the alphabet written in cursive plastered all over them.

“Mia Olsen, Alison Reid, Gale Norris, Isaac Brown and Chris Emerson?” the man called out.

We all nodded and turned to him in the order he called. “I’m Logan Grimes,” he pushed a tense smile out between his teeth. “I’m the Editor-in-Chief of this facility.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Grimes,” the crazy dark haired girl stepped forward and reached out her hand.

“Only speak when spoken to Ms. Norris,” he interrupted. Gale stepped back in line and wide-eyed side glanced at me.

“Today you will be shadowing each of our section editors. You will interview them and have a personal interview edited, printed and in my office before eight tonight. Chris Emerson, you are with our Sports Editor John Phillips. Isaac Brown you are with the Feature Editor Alice Greene, Alison Reid you are to follow Dana Eads, our Entertainment Editor and Mia and Gale, you two are with Edwards, our new News Editor. It’s his first day so I expect a top notch detailed article from each of you.”

As fast as he swooped in he was out of there. “He scares me…” Chris muttered from behind me. He was still jotting things down on his yellow note pad even as he spoke. I wasn’t sure how he was doing it, but he was. It takes a certain type of brilliance to be able to multitask like that.

Gale and I had determined that this new Zachary Edwards character was located on the third floor. As we entered the room I took note that his brand new office was as big as my bedroom. Boxes were still piled in the middle of the room with a great view of the strip from his wide angled window. I was so nervous to meet an actual section editor that I didn’t hide my awe, but neither did Gale so I wasn’t too ashamed.

“So I get two shadows today? How lucky am I?” A voice called from behind us. His words weren’t drenched in sarcasm; he seemed to actually be cheerful. I turned around to put a face with a name and my jaw dropped when I see my one night stand from last night right in front of me.

He looks at me, and a condescending smile stretches across his face when his eyes and his brain are finally on the same page.

“Hi, I’m Gale Norris, it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Edwards,” Gale begins by grabbing his hand and shaking it rigorously. If she only knew what that hand was doing to me last night.

“I-uh… need to run to the restroom…” I wasn’t sure where the restrooms were, I just knew I had to leave. I walked out of the room as quickly as I could, and Zach somehow found the need to follow me. I got onto the south elevator and vigorously pushed the button for the doors to close but it was too late, he had gotten on with me just in time for the doors to trap us both there.

“Mr. Edwards…” I began.

“Mr. Edwards? This morning it was Zach…” he lowered his voice. “Last night it was big boy…”

I could feel my face turning red. “That was before I….”

“Mr. Edwards we should pretend it never happened…” I trailed off.

“What you sleeping with me last night or you running out on me this morning?” his eyes sparkled with the little smile that was etched on his face. He turned and faced me, putting one hand on the wall behind me just above my head, he looked down and deep into my eyes.

“That was before I knew you were my boss…” My eyes darted over to the poster on the left of the elevator that explained how much more healthier the stairs were… “This is inappropriate…”

“Inappropriate? What’s inappropriate is you taking advantage of me last night.” He whispered.

“I didn’t take advent-“

“I was drunk, good looking and you took advantage.”

“I was the drunk one, and you are not that good looking.” I said, fighting the urge to drop my panties there.

“Want to take advantage of me right now? How about tonight?” he smirked.

“This is inappropriate Mr. Edwards… stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he grinned.

“Like you’ve seen me naked…” The elevator dinged once more and I menuvered under his arm to get off.

“I have seen you naked,” he whispered in my ear as I walked by.

I stuck a foot in front of the elevator door. “Mr. Edwards, this is inappropriate. I’m going back up stairs. We should forget it ever happened and get to work. I have an article due at the end of the day and I don’t want to mess anything up. Please. Let’s just get through the day, and we can move on with our lives.”

His face seemed amused. I let the elevator door close and took the stairs back to his office where I found Gale going through his things. She pulled out some of his awards from one box, and some pictures from another. I couldn’t help but look closely at the pictures. It was of him and an older lady, that might have been his mother. There was another one with five other females, all seemed to be younger versions of him; all of which I safely assumed were his sisters.

I couldn’t help myself. I sat in the floor next to Gale and started pulling things out. Old articles, old letters of recommendation, they all seemed to help me get to know him just a little more. I kept thinking how I had a slight advantage, considering the fact that he was living in a hotel last night, he probably isn’t from around here, but nothing could confirm these facts except an interview, and considering I probably scared him shitless by leaving him in an elevator after rejecting his come-ons, he probably wouldn’t want to do an interview with me anyways.

“This is excellent,” she said to herself as she started snapping pictures of things with her iphone.

“What would be even more excellent is if Zach- Mr. Edwards would get his ass back here so we could do an actual interview with him,” I muttered under my breath as I piled more of his personal belongings out on the floor.

“We have until eight, piece of cake,” Gale said, trying on a pair of his old glasses.

“What angle were you planning on going with?” I questioned, trying not to seem so anal.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she snapped. She moseyed over to his computer and started digging through the files that were already on his desk. “What, he’s got an interview with the kid from yesterday’s forest fire at 12!” she exclaimed.

I eyed her. “He’ll never let us come with him. It’s our first day.”

“Speak for yourself.” She mumbled under her breath. “I’ll be in the research library. I want to see what other papers have covered this kid.”

When Gale walked out I couldn’t help but to be envious of her drive. She was a force of nature, unstoppable. It was something I could have been if I didn’t let twelve shots of tequila and my vagina think for me. Maybe I would be her right now if I hadn’t have slept with him.

“You can’t let the fact that we slept together keep you from taking your shot.” I heard Zach’s voice. I looked over to see him leaning against the door frame. He had his suit jacket pushed to the side with his hand rested on his hip.

“So let’s get started.”

For the rest of the day, I followed him everywhere. I followed him as he got his new press pass from down in central office, up to Logan’s office to get an employee handbook or some stuff, then back down to his office to finish unpacking and organizing the mess Gale and I left. I followed him to get three cups of coffee, and to the restroom twice. I followed him to the same conference room I started in this morning when his interview with the Forest fire kid, named Carson was about to start. I did learn something today. I also learned that once I made it to the door, Gale was also standing there with her recorder in hand, already jotting down preliminary notes.

“Where have you been?” I hissed in a low tone. Zach was only a few feet away talking with Carson and his family about what the interview would contain.

“I’ve been… around.” She whispered. Little did I know she was doing all of the research she could on this Carson kid, leaving me in the rearview mirror still pining over this stupid personal biography for Zach.

When Zach turned to us his eyes met mine, then Gale’s. “Well ladies we are ready to begin, but unfortunately we can only have one of you in there.”

“Carson Evans, Age 12. When on a camping trip with his older brother the two were caught in a forest fire. Carson was able to escape with his brother who suffered minor burns and scrapes and lived to tell about it. He drove his brother’s truck down to the main road and stood by his side and waited for help to arrive.” Gale began before I could get a word in edgewise. “He is very shaken up, but otherwise capable of media attention.”

“Great job Norris.” He looked at Gale then back at me. “I’ll see you in there.”

Just like that Zach disappeared behind the doors while Carson and his parents followed. Gale’s face had a look of sheer happiness, whether from kicking my ass or from getting to conduct an interview on her first day as a freaking fact checker. I scoffed.

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t be a sore loser.” She huffed just as I turned to go back upstairs.

I looked around at the lobby. There was a receptionist behind the desk, but it was otherwise empty. “I’ve been kissing his ass all day, following him around like a little puppy dog and you look at articles from another publication to learn the basic facts and you get to join in?” I shook my head. “You’re definitely not the competition I thought you’d be. You’re low, but you’re not as good as you claim to be.”

I turned before she had a chance to say anything and I loaded onto the south elevator. I thought I could make friends with this Gale chick since we were going to be stuck together all day, but she undermined the assignment we were given. I scoffed to myself. She behaved just like a reporter. It was brilliant.

I collected my pages of sloppy notes and piled them next to one of the mac’s that were for our use in the research lab. I had just opened a blank word document when Chris sat next to me with the same yellow note pad he’d been scribbling in all morning sitting right next to my mouse. I glanced over at it. I didn’t want to stare too long without it being obvious I was reading it, but the writing was so sloppily smashed together it looked as if he were fitting one line of words onto, ignoring any margining rules we’d learned in elementary school.

“John Phillips is an ass.” Chris finally mumbled under the soft hum of his fingers working away on a fourth paragraph, already.

“Gale Norris stole the story I was going to help co-write… or thought I was…” I opened up.

“You were going to write a story on your first day? Wait, Gale is writing a story on her first day? What?” he turned to face me.

“She’s a conniving little….” I trailed off. I just met this guy. I couldn’t be gossiping about our co-fact-checker already. “Why is John an ass?” I whispered. I noticed Alison and Isaac were also in the research lab, so I tried to speak softly.

“He’s the Sports Editor. He’s only 45, and he’s had that position since he was 24. I just… I hate him…” Chris kept typing.

“He’d had a section editor position since he was 24?” I raised an eyebrow. “No promotion? Grimes has only been EIC for fourteen years, wouldn’t you think they’d give that job to someone more experienced?”

Chris looked over at me. “Do you think he lied?” Before I could even respond he was already Google searching John Phillips.

“It says he’s only been a section editor here for three years. He moved from Boston to write under a different state…” I trailed off. It made no sense. Why would he lie to Chris? Was he trying to sabotage what little work he’d done here already?

“Why couldn’t I be assigned to classy women like Alice Greene or Dana Eads? Why did I have to get the asshole? He sexually harassed at least three secretaries, one professional assistant, and the bartista across the street before lunch time how could….” Chris was babbling on.

I looked through my research. Zach had told me that he graduated from Harvard, but last night told me he went to school in the south. When I asked about his siblings earlier in the morning, he declined to respond. Yet, he had at least three framed family photos in his packed up boxes. If he didn’t want to discuss his family why would he so lovingly display their pictures in his office?

Then, it appeared to me. “You are the fact checkers. You will check facts on every article that comes through those doors…. You do all of the work and get none of the credit.” I thought about the words that the Copy Writer… Karen so indiscreetly jammed into our heads this morning.

“Of course!” I called out. I leaped up, then realized I was in the library and quickly sat back down.

“What?” Chris called. Alison and Isaac were eying us from the opposite side of the computers.

“We’re fact checkers. All we do is check the facts. We aren’t supposed to take the lead- it’s genius!” I gathered my papers and started scribbling out what I knew were lies, and googling what was the truth, and comparing the answers.

“Freaking psycho,” Isaac whispered under his breath and continued typing.

“She was normal this morning I swear…” Alison shook her head and continued writing.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, I was still lost in my article. I sat on the sofa in Zach’s office while he and Gale were apparently putting the finishing touches on their article. They were down the hall in the conference room and I could hear them yelling and spouting stupid ideas at one another. My heels were kicked off into the floor and my collared shirt was untucked and unbuttoned. I had let my hair down and was eyeing my work that appeared on my laptop screen. I wanted to share the news with the rest of the group about how the whole assignment was designed to make us fail, but I figured I would keep the viable for myself so I could take all the glory. Besides, Gale was writing an article as we spoke, and it’s not like she gave a damn about me when she left me on the sidelines while she finished my race with Zach. I was still in awe about him not choosing me anyways. We’d slept together and apparently that didn’t curve his decision at all. I sighed and took a break. I needed another coffee. Or even something a little stronger.

I caught the next elevator to Grimes’ office with Chris, Isaac and Alison. They seemed to be relatively normal, but everything was a competition here. Maybe I could be their friends, or maybe they were my worst enemies. They say you meet the most interesting people in news reporting field. Maybe they didn’t mean your coworkers.

We arrived at the door all at once, and one after another we piled our papers on Grimes’ desk, where he clearly planned on mutilating them. He had us stand in the hall and wait for his verbal evaluation of our work. At 8:15 I could hear someone tromping up the stairs in a clearly cheap pair of heels. We all looked down the hall to see Gale appear at the double doors just at the stairwell. She’d mumbled something about her having to submit the final draft of their article to Jackson and Karen and how she knew she was late. She straightened her hair and adjusted her skirt and barged in Mr. Grimes’ office. Three minutes later she was in the hall with the rest of us.

“Did you really write your own article today?” Alison broke the awkward silence that was shared between us as she looked down at Gale, who had taken a seat on the floor beside me.

“It was Edwards’ article. All I did was put in some of my previous research…” she whispered in a sort of modest tone. There was a moment of silence and she continued. “Hell yes I did, while you bitches were doing grunt work I am going to be published tomorrow. Take note, you are looking at the top of this class.” She reached an arm up to high five me. I turned and eyed Chris. His head was down, deep into his writing on his same yellow note pad.”

“How many of those do you buy in a week?” Isaac remarked.

A simultaneous bit of laughter was shared between the five of us.

“Twelve.” He laughed to himself and looked up at the ceiling. “It depends on what’s happened.”

“We’re going to survive this, right?” Alison whispered to me.

Before anyone could force out an awkward answer, the office door immediate to our right opened up and out stepped Logan Grimes. He carried five hard copies of our first ever articles, and distributed them to each of us.

“Isaac, I can assure you Alice Greene is not an ‘old bat who gets thrills by butting into other people’s lives’. This sounds like an opinion article. It’s not.” Logan spat. He stepped onto Chris. “Chris, 95% of this article is a lie. I do like the little tidbit about John sexually harassing secretaries. Because it is true… Alison, you’re work was beautifully written, but not at all what I was looking for. Gale Norris, you’re work was completely wrong. Zach didn’t go to Harvard, why would he be writing at a Newspaper? Don’t you think he’d be a doctor or something more science-like? You were also late. When my deadlines are set, that’s what they mean. So your article means nothing to me. Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered to even read your work.” Logan’s eyes moved on to me, and I swear I saw a glimmer in the left one and maybe a hint of a smile, because what he said was probably the most positive thing I would ever hear from him considering what a dog he was. “In all my years of performing this and assigning this task, you are the only one who didn’t completely fuck it up. Nice job Olsen. You slaughtered some of the grammar things in there but nothing some practice won’t fix. I’ll give you an hour to revise my edits and take it to print and we will feature it in tomorrow’s issue. Alright folks I’ll see you tomorrow morning eight am. Now go home.”

As the rest of the group started to pile in the elevator, Grimes’ stopped me in the hallway. “You’re a spitting image of your mother. Let’s hope you have as much talent as she did.” And in an instant, he was passed me and headed towards the double doors that Gale had come from only half an hour ago.

I thought for a moment, only a moment. How did he know what my mother looks like? She, along with the rest of my life, is still in a small town on the east coast in North Carolina. My mother lived here before I was born, but she never mentioned a guy like Logan Grimes.

I got onto the elevator with the rest of my class.

“Great job,” Chris whispered. Alison congratulated me and Isaac said that I didn’t suck. I looked over at Gale who was curled against herself near the far wall. All of our eyes must have pierced into the back of her skull because she turned around.

“What?” She looked between us. “I’m not going to say congratulations.” She eyed me. “We were supposed to be a team.”

“Yes, says the girl who stole my article from under my nose!” I fought back. I wasn’t going to be accused of something that she’d done earlier that same day.

“This is a newspaper, I’m not going to be your best friend or hold your hand the whole way. This is a competitive field, one of the most. If you can’t handle it, leave.” She shoved through the elevator doors just as they dinged open for the ground floor. She disappeared around a corner and like that she was gone.

“I think it’s some kind of psychological thing where she is talking to you but really talking about herself,” Chris whispered.

“It’s the pot calling the kettle black.” Alison picked at her fingernails as she led the group out the front doors, and finished our first day.

“See you tomorrow?” I smiled.

“Ya,”

“You too.”

The decisions you make about your work can affect your readers, your coworkers and sometimes even yourself. Its one reason writing can be so difficult. If you say the wrong thing, or don’t say anything at all, the negative responses are enough to have an impact on your life. You’ve just got to find the guts to make these choices, and hope that everything works out for the best in the end. Because the whole decision making process is a part of the whole adult thing, which is life. And life can suck.