AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Jack Briggs and Marc Jillson—kings in here because they ran the most successful opinions and party page columns of the last decade—sniggered across the notebook-studded table.
Jack calmed down and Jill came snorting after. Hannah, next to him, shifted her notes, though she should have lifted her notebook to protect her face from the discharge rushing her way.
I swung off my messenger bag, shrugged out of my wet sweater, and palmed the cool metal back of the last free seat as the chief gave Jack and Jill a bland stare that shut them up quite nicely.
“Let’s continue, shall we? Right.” Chief Benedict opened the frayed leather binder before him, thumbing the worn spine with tender strokes. “This year we are going to have a few structural changes.”
My pulse picked up, ringing in my ears. The chief came sharply into focus. He stroked the beard he’d spent the last year cultivating—to stop pulling the hair on his head—and scanned the paper before him. Changes. Yes. This was it. His gaze lifted straight to mine. Any second now, he’d promote me to the position I’d worked toward my entire undergraduate education.
He pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. One by one, he looked at us: content editors, copy editors, and columnists. But he lingered on me, and surely that was a spark in his eye?
“Tell me, what are an editor’s best attributes?”
Was he drawing this out on purpose? Perhaps he was demonstrating how to hook an audience. Heat thickened in the room, the frictional anticipation of twelve ambitious student journalists. Come on, chief. Look at me. Let me answer, and then we can get on with the promotion.
The chief laid his gaze on Jack. The lucky son-of-a-gun. “Vision,” Jack said, shrugging his broad shoulders like it was obvious. “The ability to see beyond what the magazine is to what it could be.”
“Good. What else?”
Chief was really going to milk this today, wasn’t he?
Jill’s turn. He whipped his sandy bangs out of his brown eyes with a jerk of his head. His slightly upturned nose made him look as arrogant as he was. “He must be able to draw in readers with eye-catching headlines and choose the most evocative photographs and captions.”
“He or she. Good.” Chief Benedict swiveled his gaze to me with a subtle raise of his brow.
I returned it. “They must also understand the technical aspects of publishing.”
The Scribe quarters were my second home. Maybe even my first, since I knew it better than my own apartment. Some nights I stayed here until the wee hours of the morning and didn’t leave campus at all. I knew this place. All the ins and outs. Everything.
Chief knew that too.
He narrowed his eyes, and glanced at his binder. Again, he stroked the spine with his thumb. “And,” he continued, “editors must not only be exceptional writers. They must be creative. They must be able to see the team’s creative vision, then help materialize that vision.”
He picked up a sheet of paper, and the light from the windows behind him made the paper transparent. What did it say? Were those names? If the chief would just tilt—
“With that in mind, I’m doing something a little . . . unexpected this semester.” He rested the paper back in the folder. “I’m reassigning most of you to new positions. Something that I feel will challenge you, broaden your horizons, and make you better columnists and editors.”
Getting the features editor position would definitely be a good challenge. I straightened my glasses and pulled out the pen I always, always carried in my pocket. Grabbing my notebook, I was ready to take notes of the new structure.
Jack rolled his eyes and pulled at the black Desperado T-shirt that hung loosely on his frame. If he were an ounce less of a prick, he’d be an interesting guy to have a conversation with; as it was, he needed taking down a peg or two. If I ever got to be executive editor, I could do it, too. Oh yes, my pen is mightier than any sword . . .
“Jack,” Chief Benedict said suddenly, “say goodbye to the opinions column and hello to politics.”
I stilled, my pen scratching to a halt against the fresh page of my notebook. “Jack, politics?”
“Me, politics? But you need me for the opinions—”
The chief drew a sharp line in the air that silenced Jack. “Hannah will take over opinions for the semester.” Jack gripped the table, his lips parting as if to start protesting again, but the cold, staunch stare of Chief Benedict made him hold his tongue. Instead he jerked back violently in his chair and raked a hand through his short black hair.
I blinked down at my page. Just a minor blow. I didn’t need to run the politics column if I got the features editor position. That would take up most of my time anyway. I probably wouldn’t have time to contribute regularly.
