Carrie Warrenhouse. She’s the current editor of BuzzPost and the daughter of the Edward Warrenhouse, the current owner of BuzzPost. It would be one thing if she was a total incompetent idiot, but the thing is that she’s not. Not at all. She’s smart and incredibly put together. Despite her rich family, she probably would’ve gotten into Harvard all on her own accord. She’s five years older than Tom and I are and, over the last few years, she’s made BuzzPost an actual contender in the game of serious news. It made its mark on the world with wacky videos and funny online quizzes, but over the last few years that she has been Editor in Chief, they really transitioned into reporting on important political and international news. And, unlike other online magazines and newspapers, they continue to make money off it. Advertisers love us and the money is pouring in.

“Please have a seat, Ellie,” Carrie says, pointing to the plush chair in front of her desk. Her office has floor-to-ceiling windows and a beautiful view of the skyline.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I mumble and crouch down into the seat. I don't know what we’re going to talk about, but meetings like this always make me nervous. I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office and she’s about to call my mom and report me.

Carrie is the epitome of chic. Her hair is styled in a short razor-sharp bob without a single strand out of place. In comparison, my own long unkempt tresses, which kindly may be described as styled as beach waves, look unprofessional and out of control. I twirl a lock around my index finger, regretting the fact that I didn’t even bother running a brush through them this morning.

“I wanted to discuss with you the last article that you submitted,” she says. This place has about ten editors, but Carrie is such a micro-manager and workaholic that she oversees every part of the BuzzPost with utmost precision.

“Uh-huh.” I nod. For the life of me, I can’t even remember what the article was about.

“It’s this one, about the Kardashians and their new makeup line,” she says. Oh, yes, of course. Now, that’s some hard-hitting journalism right there.

“From reading it, I got the sense that you were not particularly interested in the topic,” she says, pointing to the printed out article on her desk. I glance over and see that it’s all marked up in red. Shit.

“Well, you know, it’s kind of a fluff piece.”

Double shit. I should not have said that.

“A fluff piece?” Carrie asks with a look of shock and contempt on her face. “Are you serious?”

“No, what I mean is that.” I try to backtrack, but nothing really comes to mind. “I didn’t really mean that.”

“I’ll wait,” Carrie says, crossing her arms across her chest.

What a bitch. It takes all of my power to keep myself from rolling my eyes.

“It’s just a sponsored post about their new makeup line,” I say.

“Exactly. It’s a sponsored post, and that means that we’re getting paid good money for publishing it. And that’s why a story like this needs a writer who can at least fake a minimal amount of excitement about the products and the Kardashian brand in general.”

Are you serious? I want to scream. Are you fucking serious? I mean, we both went to Ivy League schools and now you’re asking me to show more excitement for the Kardashians? It’s not that I have anything against them. It’s just that I don't actually really know anything, or really care to know anything, about them.

But, of course, I can’t express any of this. Instead, I bite my tongue and say, “I understand.”

“The thing is Ellie, that this is not just a one off problem with you,” Carrie says. “This is becoming something of a habit. I have been reviewing some of your other work and, frankly, I think you can do a lot better.”

I nod as if I agree with her. There’s nothing really to say since they did publish my other articles.

“I know that your direct editor seems to be happy, but I expect more. I want BuzzPost to be one of the top online magazines around, and we’re not going to get there if our writers are not on top of their game.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” I mumble. But Carrie doesn’t let it go. She just keeps pushing.

“I don’t need you to just try, Ellie. I need you to do.”

Finally, I’ve had enough.

“I don’t really know what you want me to say,” I say after a moment of silence. “I mean, I’m sorry if you think my work isn’t up to some standard, but I think it’s pretty good. Frankly, I think I got as excited about the Kardashian makeup line as any sane person could get. But if you want to employ a celebrity-obsessed teenager to write these kind of articles, be my guest.”

Oh my God. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m not an outgoing person, and I’ve never said what I really thought to a boss before.

From the look on Carrie’s face, she seems to be a little bit caught off guard as well. She straightens her tailored suit jacket and adjusts herself in her seat. Suddenly, a strand of hair breaks off from the rest of her perfect bob, and she no longer seems so intimidating.

“I don’t really know what to say to that, Ellie,” she says after a moment. “Except that you don’t really seem very happy here.”

“Actually, I’m not. Not at all. I don't like writing the kind of fluff articles that I get assigned, and I don't really like to write articles that pretend to be journalism but are actually elaborate advertisements. That’s not why I came here.”

“Then maybe this place isn’t the one for you.”

I think about that for a moment. She’s right. For the first time, I actually agree with her.

“No, it’s not,” I say, getting up. “Consider this my two weeks notice.”

Before I get all the way to the other side of her office, she calls out, “Actually, we don’t need two weeks notice. We can get the interns to fill in for you.”

Wow, really? I’ve worked here for almost two years and she’s going to get the interns to do my work. And she doesn’t have to pay them anything. Perfect. I don’t even bother to acknowledge her statement. Instead, I walk out of her office and head straight to my desk.