New city, new life, new beginning. I hate moving, but I know it’s the best thing for my career.

After graduating with a journalism degree from Harvard, I moved to New York City and worked as a reporter at the Times. After that, I floated around working for online publications like Vice and Buzzfeed, mostly just doing some freelance stuff, but that money wasn’t great. And I wasn’t doing the sort of reporting that I’ve always wanted to do.

I don’t know how many Buzzfeed quizzes I can possibly write in my life. And Vice just wanted me to write about sex all the time, which is fun and stuff, but not what I pictured when I was fresh out of school.

I want to do something serious, something with real consequences. There are a million important stories out there that need to be reported, and I want to be the one to do it.

So when I got a job with World Beats News, I didn’t hesitate to move to Philadelphia. I left behind all my friends and my life in New York and I followed my dream.

Now I’m living in a crappy little apartment right off Passyunk Avenue, which is actually a cute neighborhood. All of my things are still in boxes, which admittedly isn’t all that much. I sigh and look at myself in the mirror, at my white blouse and pencil skirt, and I wonder for the hundredth time if I’m doing the right thing.

I don’t know a lot about WBN, although I’ve seen some of their reporting, and it’s damn good. They had a piece about the Ukraine a couple years ago that was fantastic. I’m going to get the chance to do some serious reporting, and although I’m not familiar with much of the staff at WBN, I know they’re a legitimate operation. Sure, the pay isn’t the best in the world, but it’s real work. It’s real reporting.

I just don’t know if I’m ready for it.

I straighten my skirt, grab my bag, and head outside. It’s early, but I don’t want to risk being late for my first day. I hurry to the subway, manage to get a pass, and head onto the first local train that shows up.

WBN is headquartered in a cool old building right off Market Street. I have to ride the subway and switch from the orange line to the blue line then ride it all the way down to Second, and from there I have to walk another block north. It takes me about a half hour, which isn’t bad, and I’m right on time as I head up a steep flight of stairs. The office is above a record store, which I’ll have to check out later, but for now I’m focusing on the task at hand.

First days are always awkward. I’m the new girl here, and I have to expect a little bit of discomfort. I’ve gone through first days before, it’s not a big deal. I still can’t help but feel like I need to prove myself, though.

This is a real website doing real news. They’re not writing clickbait puff pieces about avocado toast and cat gifs. Sure, I did some real serious journalism with the Times, but never like what WBN does. I’ve never traveled for a story and spent weeks researching it firsthand, but that’s exactly what I’ll be doing here.

I reach the top of the steps and head through a door. I come into a small waiting room with a single secretary sitting out front. She’s young with dirty blonde hair and long red nails, and she smiles as I approach.

“Vivian Cross for Greg Tanner,” I say.

“Hi Vivian, I’m Meggy, nice to meet you.” She stands and shakes my hand. “He’s expecting you, head on back.”

I smile and thank her before walking through the halls. WBN’s office looks just like any other office in the world. It’s filled with cubicles in the center, with a few offices around the outer walls and a large, glass-enclosed conference room toward the back. There are some people working already, and a few look up as I pass.

Greg’s office is at the very back of the building. I knock once before opening the door and stepping inside.

“Greg?” I ask, coming toward him.

He smiles. He’s balding with a five o’clock shadow and a rounding middle. I notice nicotine stains on his knuckles and his teeth aren’t perfectly white. I instantly recognize the look of a bullpen reporter from my days at the Times. He was probably a serous vet back in the day before taking over WBN.

“Glad you’re here,” he says, shaking my hand. “We’re excited to have you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m excited to be here.”

“You want the tour?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say.

“Come on.” He comes around his desk and we head back out into the hall. “It’s not much to look at to be honest. Mostly, our people are out in the field. You won’t even get a permanent desk.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “Where should I work today?”

He shrugs. “Any open cubicle is fine, they’re never full.” He points out a few things in the office, the conference room and the breakroom, before we stop near the front. “Listen, I already have an assignment for you.”

My heart skips a beat. “Really?” I ask.

“Really,” he says. “Unless you feel like you’re not ready and want to just bang out some copy for a few days?”

I shake my head quickly. “Not at all,” I say. “I want to get out there.”

He grins at me. “Good, that’s what I wanted to hear. Truth is, this is a pretty easy assignment as far as they go.”

“What’s the story?” I ask him as we walk more slowly back toward his office.

“It’s a piece on the opioid epidemic,” he says.

“Fentanyl,” I say, familiar with the story. “Serious stuff.”

“Horrible stuff,” he agrees. “There’s a town in Alabama called Sellersville, a little tiny place in the middle of nowhere, that’s been hit real hard by all this. You’re going there, putting a story together about it.”

I nod, my mind already spinning. “That sounds really interesting,” I say.

“I hope so. You’re in it for a few weeks at least.”

“When do I start?”

He grins at me. “Next week. You get settled here for now, and then we’ll ship you off.” Before we reach his office, he stops and gestures at the cubes. “Hey, Henry, come over here.”

One of the people sitting at a desk slowly stands and turns to face me. As soon as I stare into his deep, intense blue eyes, I’m instantly transported back in time.

It’s freshman year. I’ve been with Henry for a few months already. We’re standing down by a little river that runs behind his house, more like a creek. He throws a stone into the water.

“What’s your plan?” he asks me.

I shrug a little. “Lunch in a little bit, I guess.”

He grins. “No, I mean, for life. What do you want to do?”

I shrug again. “I dunno. Never thought about it.”

“You’re a good writer,” he says, throwing another rock. “And you read the news a lot.”

“Yeah,” I say. “ But I can’t get paid to read the paper.”

“No, but you can write it.” He turns to me and grabs my hand. “Ever think about that?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, stumbling down against his broad chest. He grins in that awkward way of his and kisses me deep on the lips.

I’m pulled back into the present day as Henry sticks his hand out at me. “Hello, Vivian,” he says to me.

I blink and stare at his hand. I haven’t seen him since high school, since he broke my heart. I was just a girl back then but I haven’t forgotten him, not for a single second. We were together for two years, were making plans to be together for much longer, when he suddenly ended things. He didn’t speak to me for the last half of senior year. I ended up going to Harvard, accepting a full academic scholarship, and last I heard he went to Michigan.

We lost touch. Well, truth is, I haven’t wanted to speak to him. He destroyed me back then. He was the boy next door, the guy I grew up with playing in mud as kids. We didn’t realize we were more than friends until we got older. And then he ended everything, just like that.

“Uh, hi, Henry,” I say, taking his broad palm.

He grins and shake my hand.

I’m at a total loss for words.

“Well,” Greg says finally, and Henry lets my palm go. It feels like being torn from a wall socket, and my skin’s still buzzing. “Henry here just about blackmailed me into letting him produce your first story. So you two will be spending a lot of time together soon.”

“That’s right,” Henry says, that awkward grin returning, this time all grown up. “We’re going to be working really well together, I think.”

My heart hammers in my ears and I can only nod my head blindly, barely able to speak.

Henry’s back, and somehow he’s my producer. Somehow we’re working closely together. I don’t know how I didn’t realize he worked at WBN. I had no clue he was even in this business, to be fair, and I didn’t do much research on every single employee that works here. Still, I feel so stupid for missing this. It’s the biggest piece of news I could possibly imagine, and I wasn’t on top of it.

Henry, the kid that broke my heart, the one that got away, is back now. And he’s all grown up. He’s taller, broader, more handsome, more rugged. There’s an edge to him now, like he’s leaner and stronger, like he’s seen a few things. He’s starting to look like Greg, actually, like a serious, grizzled veteran. And we’re the same age.

I don’t know how I’m going to do this, how I’m going to work with Henry again. But as Greg shows me to an empty cubicle, I know that I have no other choice. I’m not backing down, not for any reason.