“I’d like that.”
“Good. I’ll cook that lasagna you love. Thursday night?”
“It’s great. Thanks, Mrs. Conley.” She quickly hugged me and left, and I dashed to my phone.
“What’s this?” Debbie screamed.
“Are you mad?”
“It’s amazing, Sam.” She let out a low whistle. “Girl, you can write.”
“That’s all you can say?”
“You haven’t been very open with your friends. Is that what you want me to say?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re okay, Sam.” Debbie paused. “Coffee later? My treat, if you talk.”
“Sure. Grab Ashley so I won’t have to tell it all twice.”
“Ashley’s in New York all week for the Sotheby’s interview. Tell her over spring break. I can’t wait.”
“Sure. Let me make some calls and I’ll meet you in an hour.”
Then I called Josh. I opened with “The article came out today.” No hello. We’ve gone to dinner a couple times since Valentine’s Day, but there’s a distance now. I suspected he was deciding if I was worth his effort. And frankly, it ticked me off. Now I don’t know what to think.
“Yeah, Sam, I’ve seen it. In fact, Logan and Steve already called. You’re the talk of the town, sweetheart.”
“I am?” His endearment surprised me.
“They thought you were smart and pretty before, but now you’ve got grit. You know, guys find that very appealing.”
“They do?”
“Of course we do.” He dropped his voice just above a whisper. It felt intimate and flirtatious.
“I thought all this upset you.” I tried not to sound accusatory, but I could hear the tension, the hurt in my voice.
“Sam, let’s forget all that. You took me by surprise, and I’ve been slammed at work. Have you seen the new IKEA ads? That’s my group. It’s been crazy. You know I support you?”
“I didn’t know how you felt about me.”Did I get all this wrong?
“It’s time to celebrate. Why don’t you come down for dinner tonight, and I’ll plan something special?”
I couldn’t because I had a final article due and an analysis for statistics, but that was okay. I didn’t want to go. Josh’s new attitude felt suspect, but as I said, maybe I’d misread things. Either way, I should be thrilled the storm passed.
Then this afternoon Susan Ellis called. I know, Mr. Knightley, does the drama ever stop? My heart jumped to my throat when I saw her number on my caller ID.
She wasted no time on preliminaries. “Sam, your article was first-rate, and we’ve received a tremendous response from it. While we’d like to see anything more you’ve got, Kevin and I have selected another candidate for the internship.”
“May I ask why?”
“Your work is solid and has potential, but you need a track record. Get a larger body of work and you’ll be ready. A smaller paper will give you the support you need.”
“I understand.” But I didn’t. I wanted to cry. “I have six short-subject treatments about aspects of the foster care system, child rights, and youth in America that I’ve submitted to some smaller papers. Could I send them to you?”
She paused, then said politely, “Send me everything. I do think you’ve got the makings of a fine journalist.”
