Not to brag or anything, but the Southwest Star was kind of on its last legs when I took over. I turned this whole paper around. With the help of Laney, obviously.
The truth is, Laney and I weren’t even planning to be on the newspaper. The whole thing was kind of an accident. We were both looking for the debate club but we ended up walking into the newspaper office instead. It’s actually how we met.
The creative writing teacher, Ms. Testerman, had been trying to keep the newspaper afloat for months. They had this sad little online site with the totally uninspired name of “The Southwest News,” and no print edition. The school board was about to shut down the club because no one was actually reading the paper.
When Laney and I walked into room 212 after school on the first day of freshman year, thinking it was the debate club meeting, Ms. Testerman was trying to rally the five completely lethargic students who called themselves the newspaper staff by asking for story ideas.
I happened to have just been complaining to Austin earlier that day about the disproportionate funds that went to the football program as opposed to the library, so I raised my hand and pitched the story.
Ms. Testerman was positively thrilled and told me to look into it, which I did.
That story ended up winning us our very first Spartan Press Award. It turned out the head football coach was illegally siphoning off funds from other programs in the school. So while the tennis team and the cheerleading squad had to sell lollipops or frozen cheesecakes to be able to go to their state finals, the football team always seemed to have plenty of money to do whatever it wanted.
After the story ran, the head coach was fired and the money was returned to the rightful departments. Now I always snicker quietly to myself when a football player comes up to me in the hallway and asks if I want to buy a lollipop.
By my second month as a freshman, I was unanimously voted in as editor in chief. Now, more than three years later, with three award-winning front pages framed and mounted on my bedroom wall, I have the enormous burden of releasing a kick-ass issue every month.
But this issue is more stressful than most. Because this issue is the one we send to the Spartan Press Award for consideration. And once you’ve won it three years in a row, people kind of expect you to win it again.
The issue is due to the committee in two weeks and the winners are notified by email on December 15, which just happens to also be the day Columbia early decision letters arrive.
Let’s see those Tibetan monks deal with that kind of pressure.
* * *
After school, once the entire newspaper staff has assembled in the office, I call for everyone’s attention. “Okay. I know everyone wants to get out of here at a reasonable hour, so I’ll try to make this short. First, I want to thank you all for being here on Drop Dead and giving up whatever you had to give up today. Second, the new layout has been causing some formatting issues with the sections, so please quadruple-check everything before saving. I know it’s kind of a hassle, but I really think the new layout will impress the judges at the SPA. The old layout was getting stale, and if you want to keep winning you have to keep evolving, right?”
There are a few apathetic echoes of “Right” on top of Laney’s overly enthusiastic one. I flash her a grateful smile and she nods back at me.
“I have an idea,” Horace interjects, without even looking up from his monitor. I know he’s playing his stupid computer game instead of actually working on a story. I can see it reflected in his glasses. “Why don’t we write a story about how no one reads newspapers anymore because everything’s online?”
I can feel my temperature rising. Laney gives me a look that says, “Just let it go. It’s not worth the fight.”
Horace is technically our design editor. But all he really does around here is annoy people with his bonehead comments while he plays Excavation Empire.
I’ve tried to play. Just to see what the fuss is about. And I don’t get it. You build things. With bricks. And then you wait for people to tear them down. It’s like a digital version of the sandbox when we were four.
I would have fired Horace ages ago if I was actually allowed to fire people. But it’s school rules. Since newspaper isn’t a sport it’s considered a “club,” and the rules clearly state that anyone who wants to be in a club is allowed to be.
Trust me, I’ve read the rules over and over again. Extensively. I even asked my mom, the lawyer, to help me find a loophole, but she claims the document is ironclad and even looked a little impressed when she read it.
So bottom line, Horace is on the newspaper staff whether I like it or not.
“Thank you, Horace,” I say tersely. “That was very helpful.”
“No problem, chief,” he says, before pounding angrily on the keyboard and shouting at his screen, “I hope your city gets bulldozed by the Inferno Dragon!”
“Okay,” I say brightly. “Remember to save your files every three minutes so you don’t lose any work. As soon as your section is done, message me so I can add it to the final file. Let’s try to get out of here before dark.”
“I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Laney says, coming up to me after the staff has dispersed. “You save this paper’s balls like every single week.”
“We work as a team,” I remind her. “But, thanks.”
She touches my arm. “I better go proof this article so I can get home in time for How Is This My Life?”
I let out a groan. “Oh God. I forgot you watch that thing, too.”
Laney looks practically offended. “Of course I watch it. It’s only the best show on Netflix.” She lowers her voice an octave. “Here comes the big one! Here comes the whaaaaammmy!” Then she laughs so hard, she snorts.
“That show is so stupid! I can’t believe both you and Aus—” I break off, my mind suddenly putting pieces together. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
“Laney!” I say urgently, grabbing her arm.
I can feel her stiffen. “What?”
“You have to go over to Austin’s and watch it with him!”
She’s silent for a full five seconds before stammering, “W-w-why would I do that?”
God, based on her reaction, you would think she’s secretly hated my boyfriend’s guts for the past three years and was too afraid to tell me.
“Because,” I say, as though it’s obvious. And it is. At least to me. “You both love that show. And I feel bad because I have my dad’s gallery thing tonight so I can’t watch it with him. But if you go over there, then you can watch it together!”
It really is one of my finer ideas, if I don’t say so myself.
“No,” Laney says brusquely, picking up a stack of papers off a nearby desk and straightening them like it’s the most important job in the world. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Yes it is!” I insist. “You guys even quote the same stupid line from his bit. You’re clearly meant to watch this together.”
Laney lets out a weird chipmunk laugh. “Yeah, right. Me and Austin? We’re not meant to do anything together. We have like nothing in common.”
Why is she acting so strange? The three of us hang out all the time and she’s never acted like this. What’s the big deal?
“Um, you have me in common. And apparently also this lame comedy show.” I grab her hand and tug on it. “Please do it. It would mean so much to me. You’re just going to be watching the show tonight anyway, right? Why not watch it with Austin? You know stand-up comedy is more fun to watch with someone else. Please, please, please!”
Laney stares down at my hand. Is it just me or does her breathing look a little erratic?
I tilt my head. “Laney? What’s going on?”
She lets out that weird rodent laugh again. “Nothing. Nothing’s going on. I’m fine. I’m totally, one-hundred-percent finesies.”
Finesies?
“So you’ll go?” I confirm.
She gnaws on her bottom lip. “Yeah. Why not? I mean, if it’ll make you happy.”
I let out a sigh. “Yes. It will make me very happy.”
“Great,” Laney says, but I hear a hint of uneasiness in her voice. Maybe she really does hate Austin. Maybe she’s just been too polite to tell me this whole time. Sure, he can be a little weird sometimes and he has a knack for saying and doing the most embarrassing things in the middle of the hallway. And he totally overuses the phrase “for all intents and purposes,” except he says, “for all intensive purposes,” which is actually not the phrase. And he …
Well, anyway, the point is, he’s my boyfriend and I love him and if Laney has a problem with him, then a few hours of hanging out with him might do some good.
Laney scurries back to her computer and slides into her seat. I stand in the front of the room, watching my team at work.
Relax. Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
The issue is on track. Austin has someone to watch his comedy show with. It looks like I might get out of here in time to make it to Dad’s show.
Everything is working out great. All it needed was a little delegation.