“I’m glad you get it. We’re transitioning things slowly. Our events calendar has been digital for years, and we’ve done a lot of spot video and highlights on our website and app. Our next section to really embrace the digital space is this one. When we launch, we’d like to have some video stories already in place. You know, to make the section look bigger, have some depth.”
“Sure, yeah.” I curl my hand in my lap to keep myself from fist pumping again. It’s becoming a problem.
“How would you feel about interviewing some of our past subjects? Sort of a where are they now video, kind of an update after their season, or a look ahead or whatever? We were brainstorming and thought it would be cool to get those stories about high school athletes told from someone on their level. And given that you’re a competitor yourself . . .”
My mouth goes dry at her mention of me competing again, but I’m too jazzed about the opportunity to let panic settle in.
“Awesome,” I say.
She tilts her head to the side and squints over her smile.
“Yeah? I was afraid it would be too much to start with, but I feel like you, of all people, can handle it.”
I swallow. I’m not sure what she means by that, and I may be overreacting that she’s talking about my surviving an accident last spring and saving two of my friends.Not three.
“It’s not too much. I’d love to do it.” I let go of my ego enough to bring my fist up for one last pump—a small one, clearly in jest.
Abby laughs.
“Great. Well, maybe spend the morning looking through these issues and come up with your list of potential angles and questions and then this afternoon we can narrow down which five you’ll work on. We have a photographer, so don’t worry about the video part. You’ll be doing the interviewing. But Ken can teach you how to edit if you’re interested after you guys get the interviews in.”
I’m giddy again. Maybe even more than I was after the train when I tackle hugged Theo. I’m working toward something—a dream, or a goal or whatever. I feel like I’m finally turning a new page.
Abby sets me up at a cubicle near the other staff writers, all names I recognize from stories I’ve read. Tony, the guy who covers most of the men’s college sports stories, hooks me up with a coffee, and I dive into the magazines. I’m so engrossed that I don’t realize when three hours have gone by, not until someone pulls my wheely chair back fast and spins it around.
“What the—”
Theo stops the spinning by grabbing the chair arm, along with half of my hand. My fingers grab hold at the touch, almost out of instinct. It’s probably the adrenaline rush that causes it, but the few extra seconds he leaves his hand awkwardly tangled with mine and we simply hold on are because of something else. Something neither of us seems to want to acknowledge, even though I feel it.
All the awful things that have happened haven’t removed that pull we have. It was so easy to bond with him that night at the party, before the accident. It was as if we were old friends who simply picked up a conversation where we’d left off. Along with lots of lingering looks, the kind of stares that stick for way too long and feel both good and terrifying.
Electricity.
Theo backs away and shoves his hands into those protective pockets he seems to store them in whenever we’re together. I stand and straighten my skirt, then mark the article I was reading with a sticky note and stack my magazines.
“There’s a grilled cheese truck on the corner. Come on, lunch is on me.”
My stomach has been growling for the last hour, and the mere mention of cheese makes it roll over and echo cries of emptiness.
“Okay, but I get to buy on Thursday,” I offer, slinging my bag over my shoulder and pushing in my chair.
Theo holds out a fist and I stare at it for a moment before huffing out a laugh. I eventually tap it with my fist. We’ve gone from sparks to bro-taps, I guess.
“What do they have you doing? Filing?” he asks as we head down the main hall back out toward the street.
“No! It’s amazing. They’re letting me do some video interviews for a new digital launch, and—” I cover my mouth when I realize Theo wanted this gig, too. He took the sales offer, but I know he really wanted to work in editorial.
“Lily, it’s fine. I’m glad they’re letting you do things. I’m making cold calls. It’s, well, it might be the fourth level of hell. I’ve found it. And it’s pretty fucking terrible.”
“Circle,” I say, back pressed against the main door to hold it open. Theo stops in his tracks and glares at me.
“Are you serious? That’s what you get out of my story? That I didn’t quote Dante correctly in my analogy of advertising work?” He shoots me a wry smile and I’m not sure whether he’s kidding or not. My gut knots up with guilt either way.
“I’m messing with you,” he laughs out, brushing the back of his hand into my arm as he walks by. I note the way his jaw ticks after he passes, though, and I don’t think he was joking as much as he tried to make me believe he was.
I decide to tone down my excitement a little and change the subject to something I know we can both agree on—Morgan’s family. I don’t know her nearly as well as Theo does, but she and I are close enough for me to have a pretty good understanding of the messed-up power dynamics in her family.
“You’ve known Morgan for a while, right?”