Mom was being discharged on the same day that Grace and I were making our big adventure to the Indiana State Journalism Convention, so Ashley came up to make sure that everything was sorted. Dad booked a hotel room down the street for the next week while Mom got back on her feet around the house. I made sure that everything was clean and that Fiyero went to the groomers the day before she’d be back so that he was the most handsome boy around when she got to see him again.
I’d definitely overpacked for the convention, not sure if I should be rocking a blazer-and-skirt combo, or if people would be more business-casual throughout the whole weekend. Grace had done a bit of due diligence stalking the Facebook page from last year’s convention, but the outfits seemed to be a mixed bag. I’d prepare for whichever scenario seemed to present itself when we got there.
I shoved one last blazer in my suitcase before I heard the honking of Mrs. Brandt’s car in the driveway. Mrs. Brandt would be the chillest chaperone ever, and I couldn’t wait to start the journey with her and Grace to the convention.
“Kick some ass, superstar!” Ashley yelled behind me.
I blew her a kiss as I got inside. Mrs. Brandt used her GPS that she’d programmed to have an Australian accent, and we laughed each time it interrupted our songs to tell us a new direction. Thank goodness we were on this trip together. I don’t know that I could have handled a convention of reporters without them.
Our top convention priorities included a panel with a reporter from CNN who Grace had a professional crush on, a class on producing the news with just your iPhone, and, of course, the awards ceremony. We’d already prepared ourselves to gracefully accept defeat if our article didn’t end up winning. We’d even practiced our “I’m so happy you won” faces to flash at the team that does win. I felt like we were heading to our equivalent of the Oscars.
When we made it to the fancy convention hotel, we marveled at the height of the ceiling and the exposed elevators that took you up to the tippy top. Mrs. Brandt went to the front desk and returned to us with two room keys.
“I’ll be just down the hall from you ladies, if you need anything,” she said, handing me the card. “But you have some free time to explore the convention center while I go to a teachers’ orientation. Want to meet in the lobby after your first panel?”
“Sounds good!” we said in unison.
Our room was on the tenth floor, and we hopped into one of the space elevators that rocketed us up at top speed. We watched all our fellow high school word nerds check in and explore the hotel from above, and it really started to sink in that we’d be spending the whole weekend with like-minded students. That, and complimentary hotel breakfast. Both were pretty exciting prospects.
Grace beeped us into our room that looked just as fancy as the lobby. When you walked inside, you could see a big whirlpool bathtub and floor-to-ceiling mirrors that would be perfect for checking out our morning outfits. We could properly assess our blazer-skirt combos every morning.
“We’re living like queens this weekend!” Grace exclaimed, flopping onto the bed.
“Queens who have to share a full bed,” I grumbled.
“At least the school decided to send us. They still aren’t too happy about the article, and the whole ‘having to open an investigation against Coach Triad’ thing,” she said.
“Semantics, shemantics,” I said. “I still think it’s cool that we get to be here.”
“It’s definitely cool. And if we want to get good seats at that CNN panel, we need to leave now. I must have front-row seats for Instagram opportunities!” she exclaimed.
We made it in plenty of time, beating out most of the other students by a long shot. Grace got her Insta-worthy shot of the reporter, and we continued on to different classes and workshops throughout the day. My nerves started to build as we got closer to the awards ceremony, until it was the last ten minutes of our last workshop and the nerves escalated to peak anxiety.
My phone buzzed and I looked down to see George’s name flashing.
George: No matter what happens I’m super proud of you. Don’t be too nervous!
I smiled, bringing my phone into my chest. How was it possible that we’d only known each other for a little over three months but I felt like he knew me better than myself? He had quickly become the one person I can tell everything, completely unfiltered, and always have it received without any judgment.
The master of ceremonies called the awards to order, and I snapped my attention up from my phone. It was go time. I purposefully kept my expectations low so that if we didn’t end up winning I wouldn’t be completely heartbroken. But when they got to our category, my palms dripped with sweat, which I wiped down my pant legs.
I could barely focus on what the presenter was saying when he explained what qualified people to enter the investigative-reporting category. Grace gripped my hand fiercely, and I thought she might cut off my circulation.
“In second place … Merrill High School for their story on refugee families in their town,” the announcer said.
I held my breath as he took out the envelope for first place. You might not win. You might not win, and it will still be okay. You might not—
“Springdale High School for their story about unethical recruitment practices in their high school baseball program,” the announcer said.
“That’s us!” Grace yelped. We shuffled our way to the front of the stage and shook hands with the announcer. First-place medals were placed around our necks, and Grace and I couldn’t help but flash giddy smiles at each other. We’d done it. After so many interviews and so many hours doing research and making public-records requests, we won.
After all the award winners were announced, we were invited to a mixer with the students, speakers, and representatives from different colleges at the convention. Networking wasn’t normally my scene, but I felt like I could strike up a conversation with anyone while I had that medal around my neck.
A woman in a suit-dress combo started walking my way, and I put on a big smile for her. She reached her hand out and I took it.
“Hi, Savannah, I’ve been dying to talk to you,” she said.
“Hi!” I said, feeling my whole body flush at the thought of someone wanting to seek me out.
“My name is Marlene Jenson, and I’m with the journalism department at the University of Missouri. Mizzou is known for its stellar journalism program, and we’re always looking for students who have a gift for reporting. Ever since I read your story as a judge, I knew I had to keep my eye on you.”
“Oh, thank you! I’m so flattered,” I said.
“Trust me, the irony of my ‘recruiting’ you from your story about illegal recruitment is not lost on me. But here’s my information anyway,” she said, holding out a crisp business card. “I can’t promise any under-the-table scholarships, but if you have the right grades, there might be money available for you here. Just something to think about.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the card. “I definitely will think about it.”
By the end of the night I had cards from five more schools who had sought me out. They each had a slightly different pitch about why their journalism school was the best and, honestly, they all sounded wonderful. Going to any school that took reporting seriously and wanted to continue on the tradition of responsible media sounded like a dream to me.
When we got back to the hotel room I wanted nothing more than to call George and tell him all about the win and about all the cards I’d gotten. Grace was already wrapping herself up in the bed cocoon-style, and I looked at her sheepishly.
“Do you care if I call—”
“Fine, fine, go be lovebirds. But do it quietly. I need some beauty rest,” she said.
I snuck off into the bathroom and perched myself on the counter, resting my feet near the sink. The phone rang twice before he picked up.
“So, what’s the verdict?” he said.
“We won,” I said.
He started playing a recording of “Who Let the Dogs Out” and I had to hold my mouth to keep from cackling. It was so random, but the most wonderful celebration song that I ever could have asked for.
“I knew you guys would,” he said. “Take that, Merrill! This really is your Oscars moment. You beat Merrill!”
“Ha!” I burst out laughing. Grace groaned from inside the room and I vaguely heard “shut up” mixed in with it. “And then after the ceremony I ended up talking to about five journalism advisers from different schools around the country. They came to find me. How wild is that?”
“Again, I’m not surprised,” he said. “You and Grace obviously put a lot of time and effort into that story, and it shows. I mean, you got that old perv put on indefinite leave. Not every student group in the school has the power to expose a horrible teacher for who they truly are. And only a fraction of the people in that group has the guts to pursue it. I’d say you’re pretty incredible.”
“You are playing out your role as my official hype man spectacularly well,” I said. He laughed on the other end of the line. “But truly, thank you for helping me believe in myself. I sometimes need the extra boost.”
“And I’m always happy to boost. You should get some rest—I know you have more to do tomorrow,” he said.
“Yes, and then I’ll be home again with Mom and Ashley. Things are finally going to go back to normal,” I said.
“You deserve some normalcy,” he said.
“That I do.”