“It was actually seven thousand?—”
She waves a hand. “Why isn’t it here?”
I run over to the printer, staple the article together, and quickly pass it to her.
Amelia takes it. “What about the two quotes?”
“They’re there. I finally got in touch with both this afternoon and showed it to Oliver, who approved it.”
“Perfect.” My editor skims the quotes from my article and eyes the spread. She shocks me by taking Samantha’s piece, folding it in half, and putting mine on top of hers. This means both of our pieces will be on the front page, but my full article will be there, while Samantha’s will only take up a quarter of thefront page, and her story will continue on the second page. My name and the article I’ve been working on all week will be on the front page for the first time since I’ve gotten here.
Ben smiles and winks at me, mouthing,Congrats. I want to jump and hug someone, but I compose myself, and instead say, “Thank you for the opportunity.”
“I’m sorry, you know I never, ever doubt you, Amelia, but how can selling art as a student be as important as the political protest that happened at the university?”
Ben, Amelia, Oliver, and I frown. It’s obvious that she didn’t read my piece, not that I think she would’ve.
My editor stands and crosses her arms. “The painting that the student sold is about the political climate affecting the country. It was donated for free to a very exclusive auction because of its high praise by locals, and was bought for a record amount of money that any pre-grad student has ever sold their art for.”
Samantha shrinks at Amelia’s tone and facts.
“And the person who bought it gave it to the owner of the university, who showed it to the mayor of Albany,” Ben adds.
“They also took a picture together, posted it on social media, and it went viral,” Oliver says.
I’m too busy focusing on the last piece of vital information to be surprised by Oliver coming to my defense, so I continue. “Now, the student has a website where she’s selling more of her paintings and is donating ninety percent of the money to different charities, small minority businesses, and shelters. So far, one singer and one massive influencer have bought a painting, and she only launched the website today.” My sentence ends with a smirk from my end and narrowed eyes from Samantha.
“So, as you can see, Samantha…” Amelia raises a brow. “Both articles are about the political climate at the university because one of her paintings is of the protesters from this week. Emma went out of her way to get quotes from the university’s owner and the mayor for this piece. She went the extra mile.”
Samantha nods as Amelia, Ben, and Oliver continue theirwork, but she looks at me with hatred. I feel a little satisfaction at her reaction until she asks, “Who told you about the auction?” Her voice is kind, but fake, of course. Her eyes remain narrowed.
Ben looks at me, checking whether I need backup. Ever since I told him about Simone’s, he’s been more attentive to how the other writers speak to me, but I’m a big girl and can handle myself. I’m also trying to ignore the fact that he might have a small crush on me. He’s sweet and cute. Still, I’m not interested, and I’m pretty sure that one of our news writers, a kind one, has a crush on him. He’s attractive, and if Ben paid attention, I’m sure he’d be more focused on him than on me.
“Hello?” Samantha whispers.
“She went to the museum on campus this weekend, looking for a story when she heard about the amazing pre-grad artist that people were talking about when the paintings were put up last month,” Amelia responds for me, not looking up. “If you’re implying that she stole someone else’s idea or if I assigned the piece to her by playing favorites, then you’re wrong and are asking questions you shouldn’t be.” My editor leaves no room for argument. Samantha might be a go-to writer of hers, but not to sound cocky, I work harder than her. I may not be a better writer, but I’m constantly looking for new things to find on campus and in town that would make for a good article. That’s why my sleeping schedule has been shit and why, although Wednesday was amazing and fun, I had to stay up until three a.m. fact-checking my article.
Samantha’s cheeks redden with embarrassment, and both Ben and Oliver hold back their laughter. All I feel is pride in knowing that I was the bigger person than Samantha, embarrassed her by not even trying, but simply by working my ass off.
Amelia knows I’m doing the profile on Grayson while also writing one article a week for the paper’s print edition. She’s also shown me that I have to earn my spot on the front page through sweat, tears, long nights, and multiple phone calls and emails to the mayor’s office.
“Hey, boss. Am I done for the day, or do you still need me?”
“You’re good to go, Emma.” She still doesn’t look up from the spread, but her next question stops me in my tracks. “How’s the article with the professor going?”
Containing my nerves, I turn. “It’s going very well, and the photo shoot is on Tuesday.”
“At six, right?” Ben asks.
Nodding, I look toward Amelia again, who tilts her head. “Ben, Oliver, leave us alone for a minute.”
They both walk away without hesitation, and my stomach dips. Was she able to read something on my face? Did I give anything away?
No, it’s just my paranoia. Amelia doesn’t know anything about Grayson and me, and I’ve never called him Grayson in front of her or anyone at the paper.
“Okay,” she whispers, “catch me up.”
And so, I do.
