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My name. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t . . .
“That can’t be right,” I said, scanning through the list again. I must have overlooked it—
Nothing?
I blinked at the paper over and over as if somehow my name would suddenly appear. I scratched the back of my neck, my glasses popping forward with my frown. I rubbed a knuckle against my brow, and slowly picked my way to the chief. Hannah sent me a sympathetic smile as I passed. How long had she already known?
The tight lump in my throat hurt to swallow, but I swallowed nevertheless before moving into the chief’s office.
He wasn’t in there, but I’d seen him talking to the sports reporter. He’d be here soon. The chair dug into me and the seat was still cool after ten minutes of sitting on it. I fumbled with the pen in my pocket, but it was a lazy, irresolute touching. I couldn’t even summon the energy to click.
The air stirred as I waited for the chief to round the desk.
He did, slowly. “Liam,” he said as if he’d been expecting me to pop in. “How are you doing?”
He sank into his chair and stroked his beard, gaze leveled to mine.
“There must have been some mistake,” I heard myself saying. “My articles should have placed.”
“It’s a blow, I understand. But you did well with one of your three submissions.”
“Twenty-eighth? It’s a good ranking for that piece, but—”
“That piece, Liam, is good, and it is what your peers want to read. I’m sorry you didn’t do as well as you wanted to, but that is the nature of competition. From what I’ve seen developing in your party page columns, I’m very sure you’ll do even better next year. Look at this as a learning curve, not a curve ball.”
I let go of my pen, withdrawing my hand from my pocket, and stood. The chief had certainly made his point. Perhaps I should be thanking him for submitting the story that placed at all, but I couldn’t. Every swallow was bitter and painful.
Chief Benedict sighed and smiled, soft and empathizing. “Look, Liam, It might not seem like it now, I’m just trying to help nurture your potential.”
My glasses kept sliding down my nose, and I pushed them up again as I stood. “I’ll still wow you with my feature article, chief.”
Crazy Mocha Coffee. Two o’clock, and half full. I sat at our usual table and lethargically leafed through a Booster Gold I’d had carefully tucked in the back pocket of my bag.
Hunter rolled in at quarter past, a smug smile on his face. “Get me a latte. I think it’s your turn to shout.”
When I came back, two coffees in tow, he slapped the comic shut. “That’s a good one,” he said with a wink.
I nodded and slumped onto the chair.
He took a sip, placed his cup on the table, and reached for his camera. “What party is up for tonight? I was thinking, maybe you want me to take some pictures that you could add to your column? If you want.”
My column. Oh, the party page. I couldn’t remember what party I was supposed to go to tonight. It was on my calendar. I’d check it later. I gave Hunter a short nod and dipped my finger into the foam of my coffee, swirling it around.
“That’s it?” Hunter asked, cocking his head at me. “I thought I’d get more than a nod.” He flipped off the lens cap. “Say cheesy balls. . . . Still a no? Okay, then cheesecake.”
Snap! Snap!
“I’m good, you know,” he said from behind his camera. “This could add some cutting edge to the whole overall impact of your column.”
That sore lump rose in my throat again.
“And that’s exactly what my work needs to be enjoyable, isn’t it?”
Hunter drew back, lowering his camera. “Whoa, man. It’s just an idea. I’ve been searching for something to do besides economics and thought maybe you’d put in a good word at Scribe.”
I played with the froth on my coffee some more. “Sure, I’ll put in a word.” I glanced up at him. The last time we met had been the night we discovered the true identity of The Raven. “Have you had a chance to talk—?”
His jaw flexed and he rested his camera on the table with a light thunk. “I tried.”
“And?”
“I didn’t know what to say, so I rambled on about basketball for longer than anyone wants to hear.”
Had he also been heavy with nervousness? Had his limbs felt as if they’d never feel normal again? “Were you nervous?”
He chuckled and veered his gaze away from mine. “Ah, fuck it,” he said picking up his drink. “I was shit scared. All I could think was, dude, I’ve known you my whole life, how could you not tell me about this? And suddenly, I didn’t want to hear the answer.” He shrugged, and gave a cursory glance toward his legs.
