Page 6 of And Now, Back to You

And while I’ve never had a problem looking ridiculous on camera, it’s starting to feel a little mean-spirited.

This was supposed to be my dream job, not my living nightmare.

“I’m really not doing the weather today?” I ask Mark again.

“Not today.” He pauses in his collection of camera equipment and squints up at me. “Sorry.”

God, it must be bad if Mark is saying sorry. He once whacked me in the head with a mic boom and told me it was good for my overall constitution.

“It’s fine.” I slip the fins off my hands and shove them under my arm. “Hey, did Luna try that recipe I gave you?”

Mark’s whole face brightens at the mention of his daughter. “Yeah, you really saved the day with that, thanks. It worked great for her science experiment.” He scratches at his jaw. “Why did you have a recipe for slime lying around anyway?”

Because I was a nerd of a kid who turned into a nerd of an adult. “Do you not have slime recipes lying around?” Mark blinks. “Okay, well, your loss.” I push my sleeve up and glance at my watch with a sigh. “We should probably get going, huh?”

Mark’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Yeah, we should.”

“Back to the station.”

“Back to the station,” he agrees, his entire being basically the dictionary definitions of confused and alarmed.

I bet he was prepared to toss me in the van and hightail it back, me kicking and screaming the entire time. But I don’t have the energy. I could fight Keith on the whole bullshit assignment thing, but I’ve never been much of a fighter.

I always thought if I just did a good job with the tasks assigned to me, then I’d be able to climb the corporate ladder. But the corporate ladder has turned out to be a bottomless pit from which there is no escape, lorded over by a man with a severe superiority complex.

“Where did you park the van?” I ask.

Mark loops our stash of wires over his shoulder. “Down by the dolphin fountain.”

He’s watching me like I’m about to make a break for it. Like I’m going to sprint down a Baltimore side street in full turtle costume.

“Great. I’ll meet you there.”

“You better.”

The threat is unnecessary. The walk to the van is as uneventful as a walk through a busy downtown area in a turtle costume can be. Cars slow down and honk. A guy on a bicycle yells, “Fins up, bro!” as he speeds past. Someone bellows, “AND NOW, BACK TO YOUUUUUU,” from one pier over, his hands cupped around his mouth. I laugh and wave cheerfully at the attention, a bit of my Keith-inspired dread slipping away.

I love this part. I love connecting with my community. I love making people smile. I love knowing that somewhere on the other side of the city, my grandpa is sitting in his favorite spot on his favorite couch, watching me on his television. No matter how silly the story, there’s always a part of me that hopes I’m brightening someone’s day.

I grew up in Baltimore, watching the news on a staticky television in my grandpa’s cramped living room. The live, local, and late-breaking has been the backdrop to every major event in my life. I’ve always wanted to be a part of that magic.

I just never thought it would be dressed as a turtle.

The news van is right where we left it, tucked between an out-of-service ice-cream truck and a dumpster. I finally manage to get the shell off my back and fling it inside, grabbing for the duffel I left just behind the passenger seat. I unzip it while muttering under my breath about slime recipes and Keith and turtles named Domino, all while wishing desperately that the ice-cream truck would slide open its doors and deliver me a strawberry sundae.

I rummage around in my bag. Two empty water bottles. A police scanner. A flyer from a Christmas tree farm on the Eastern Shore and a postcard from some antiques shop in Annapolis. A compact, my favorite ruby red lipstick, and a brush with a broken handle.

Not a single sweater to be found. Or the navy blue slacks I could have sworn I packed last night.

“No,” I breathe, digging through the bag like a secret compartment might open up and reveal a wardrobe decision that isn’t a turtle suit. “No.”

Mark tosses his cord collection in next to my shell, then his camera case. “Ready to go?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t find my clothes.”