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“It’s not my thing,” I said, slipping a bookmark into my book and resting it on the second pillow.
“I’ve been bored out of my mind the last few nights,” he said as he laid himself on his side and propped his head up with his elbow.
“Don’t you have studying to do?”
“I can’t be studying all the time, I’d go nuts.”
I glanced at my required reading. “You could invite someone over if you like. I won’t disturb you.”
“Don’t have anyone I want to invite over right now.”
“Not Shannon? Hunter?”
“Nope.” He shook his head sadly. “Shannon is taking Hunter out to dinner tonight.”
“Is there something wrong with that?” I asked.
“No. It’s just . . . she tries too hard sometimes. Not that she’d ever listen to me when it comes to Hunter.”
I thought back to the moment at Crazy Mocha Coffee. “She’s very protective of him. I’m sure that’s normal for a sibling.”
Quinn plucked at the blankets close to my toes. “Yeah, sometimes.” He pinched my foot. “Let’s play some cards or something. Game?”
I hesitated a moment and then pointed toward the small bookshelf I had in the corner next to the dresser.
“Third shelf from the top. And Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m good at cards.”
Chief Benedict leaned back in his chair and gazed at each of us sitting around the oval table. I sat at the perfect angle—the Cathedral of Learning looked like an extension of his prominence.
I shifted on the hard seat, my fingers gripping my pen, poised to take more notes. After an hour in the room, surely we were close to winding down.
“Last delegations,” Chief said, focusing on Jack, who sat next to Jill with crossed arms. He jerked a thumb behind him toward the cathedral. “Write a report on the reopening of the 32nd floor. The rest of you, BCA placements twenty-five through fifty come out the beginning of November. I’ll hang a list on the noticeboard.”
Chief stroked the spine of his frayed leather binder. “One last thing before you go.” He cleared his throat. “I am pleased at the results I am getting from you. I’m proud of this team, and I look forward to reading more of your skilled work. Thank you.”
Jill slumped further in his seat, and both he and Jack sent me a withering glance—one I happily reciprocated.
“Well? What are you all still sitting here for? Get back to work. Liam, hang on a moment.”
I waited until the others left before I approached Chief Benedict. “Yes, chief?”
He stood from his chair, coming to a stand in front of me. “How’s it going?”
“As well as can be expected. I am assuming you held me back for a reason?”
He let out an amused huff. “About your party page pieces . . .”
My fingers itched for my pen as I waited for him to continue.
Chief stroked his beard. “They’re solid, and they’ll do, but I think you might be missing the point.”
I folded my arms. “And what point is that?”
“To diversify your style. To get you to jump into the shoes of others.” The chief glanced over my shoulder at the thrum of the office behind us. “What you are giving me is the same in tone as your politics articles. I want to see you challenge yourself by pitching your writing to your target audience.”
I had nothing to say to that, so I gave him a sharp nod. I wasn’t expecting his hand to clasp my shoulder, but when it did, the awful tightness in my throat made it difficult to swallow.
“I truly just want to help you become a better writer,” he said. “That’s all.”
“Yes, sir. I want that position we talked about.”
“You know it won’t be the end of your career if you don’t get it, right?”
I did know that. There would be other jobs out there for me, but I wanted the apprenticeship, and maybe . . . maybe there was a part that wondered what it would be like to have my father’s approval. “I’m going to land the position.”
The chief dropped his hand. “I like your focus, but be prepared for me to say you’re not ready.”
Dismissed, I went back to my desk and finished jotting down the names from past Scribe issues that had anything to do with The Raven.
Hannah looked over her desk at me and gave a shy smile as she picked up an eraser and fiddled with it.
“You seem like you want to say something,” I said, leaning back in my chair to focus on her.
In this light, her hair looked less like mahogany and more like sixty-percent chocolate. She tucked a strand behind her ear as she cleared her throat. “Sunday’s only a few days away now . . . ”
I grabbed my pen and started clicking. “Yes, it is.”
Click. Click. Click.
“Liam?” Hannah asked.
“Yeah, I still need to think. We work together. Things could get awkward—”
