‘No,’ I say, running out of the door, ‘Something more important.’
I get home and run upstairs to my laptop. Words are all I’ve ever had. And even if I can’t use them to beat Tori, maybe I can use them to fix this.
I start drafting an email to Ms Harkness, hoping I can make it in time.
Forty-Four
That girl, she grew up to be an
Actress with blonde curls
Always pretending, started forgetting
Until the part hit her too hard
‘The Part’ fromDreamers
This is only the second day at theCroydon Post, but I love it! I’m sad it’s going to be over soon. Even though we’re not exactly covering breaking news, there’s something exciting about working on live stories, watching the writers plan and pitch articles. I mostly observe, trying to be as helpful as possible, and I get this huge rush of satisfaction when someone thanks me.
Disaster has struck in the form of my interview though. I was meant to interview Annie yesterday, but she has a family emergency in Scotland and will be gone for the rest of the week. So now I’m back to square one.
‘Who do you think I should interview?’ I ask Gareth. We’re sitting together, going through some library archives on the history of the city. Gareth is doing an article of strange laws that are still in existence today, and we’re trying to cross-reference.
‘Ah, I am the judge of the competition, Selena. I don’t think it’s fair to hand out advice,’ he says.
‘A fair judge,’ I say teasingly. ‘Can you at least give me an idea of the criteria? I don’t really have any connections, and I want to be in with a shot of winning. My first proper byline. And I’m a huge Rose Conrad fan.’
‘You do have a shot of winning,’ says Gareth. ‘And no part of the criteria is about how famous a celebrity you interview. I would focus on the story you’re telling. And a good story can come from anyone.’
‘Okay . . .’ I say, finding his advice more mysterious than helpful. I’ve still no clue who to interview.
At lunch, I meet Tori and Doug.
I’ve been getting along much better with Tori over the past two days. I think it’s abundantly clear she is not top dog in these circumstances, and the levelling of the field has made her more approachable. She even asked me for help yesterday on how to navigate a database I had used the day before.
But I know Tori, and she still wants to win.
‘I overheard you talking to Gareth earlier,’ she says, as I sit down. ‘It’s a small office. I know you care a lot about Rose Conrad, Selena . . . but I want the bylines. I want to prove myself as a writer.’
I look at her and realise, ‘So do I. It’s not about winning the tickets for me. I want to prove to myself that I’m good at this. And of course win the tickets.’
‘Well then, let the best woman win,’ she says.
‘Or man,’ says Doug. ‘My girlfriend really wants to go to the concert.’
I laugh. ‘Fair enough. Some healthy competition will be good. I’ve already lost out on tickets once, it’s not going to kill me to lose them a second time.’
We start talking about the projects we’re working on, when mine and Tori’s phones vibrate.
My hands start to tingle, a nervous feeling spreading throughme. I think I know what this is.
Tori opens her phone. ‘It’s an email:The Common Room: festive edition,’ she reads out loud, slowly and confused. ‘But I haven’t created a festive edition ofThe Common Room. It’s also a Tuesday, not a Thursday. We decided not to release anything on the last week of term, as I’m here.’
I tap on the email on my phone and open it up, although I know exactly what it says.
?The Common Room?
A FESTIVE MESSAGE FROM THE NOT-SO-SECRET SENDER
