THURSDAY 11:35AM
Jerry Williams, sophomore and general assignment reporter, stared at his article on the monitor, struggling to come up with the proper adverb. His phone buzzed.
“Hey Jer, can you look at this story for me? I’m struggling to come up with a hook.”
Jerry powered off his phone, shoved it in his pocket, and spun in his roller chair. Noah Chen, his bleached blond undercut styled into a towering quiff, sat at his desk behind a box of donuts. Powdered sugar clung to his lips and covered the shield of his blue Captain America T-shirt.
“Sure thing, Noah. What are you working on?” Jerry leaned back, lifted his feet, and propped them on the corner of Noah’s desk.
“Thanks.” The skinny freshman handed Jerry a sheet of paper and grabbed another donut. “I’m doing a story on the women’s lacrosse team.”
“You’re in luck. I covered boy’s lacrosse in high school.” Jerry scanned the article. “Yeah, this is a pretty dry read. You need to drop the reader into the action or set the stakes.” He lowered his voice, impersonating a radio announcer. “This Sunday, the Van Buren University Lady Statesmen lacrosse team faces a do-or-die confrontation when they battle their cross-state archrivals, the Grover Cl—”
“The two sports are entirely different,” Fallon Ahern interrupted, her Boston accent slicing through the room. The tah spahts ah uttely differan. The tiny junior’s eyes were almost obscured behind wire-rimmed glasses and dirty-blonde bangs. She wore an unbuttoned red-and-black checkered flannel shirt over a white tee and black jeans. There wasn’t a subject that Fallon didn’t have an opinion on, and she perpetually inserted herself into every possible conversation.
Fallon rose from her desk, snatching the paper from Jerry’s hand. “The first thing you need to know about the men’s game is the focus is on speed and power.” Powa. She made a swooping motion with an imaginary lacrosse stick. “But women’s is strategic.” With her index finger, she tapped the side of her head. “It’s all about finesse and control.”
“Interesting.” Noah scribbled a note.
“So it’s like sex?” Jerry snickered.
Fallon groaned. Noah rolled his eyes.
“Hey, you wanted a hook.” Jerry reached across Noah’s desk and stole a jelly donut from the box.
“On second thought, I should figure it out myself.” Noah grabbed the article from Fallon.
Jerry lifted his shoulders in indifference. “Suit yourself.”
“Whatever.” Fallon cocked her head, listening to a conversation between Laurie and Brandon about campus transportation, and headed toward them. “Actually, the reason the circulator bus is always late is because...”
“Uh, oh.” Noah’s eyes widened. “Vanessa’s heading this way, and she doesn’t look h—”
“Jerry, get your dirty high-top sneakers off that desk!” Vanessa Howley’s Texas accent boomed throughout the office like a small-town sheriff lecturing an out-of-state speeder. “This is my newsroom, not your living room.” Notch yur livin ruum.
Jerry swung his black Chuck Taylors to the floor. He adjusted his six-foot, two-inch frame in the too small chair, and his blue eyes met the gaze of the angry editor.
Unlike the rest of the staff of The Chronicle, Vanessa always dressed professionally: this morning a blue blazer over a white blouse paired with a tan skirt and sensible heels. A junior from the upper-class suburbs of Fort Worth, she was the first Black woman to lead the college paper in its one hundred-and-twenty-six-year history. Under her leadership, The Chronicle won a slew of honors, including an award for investigative reporting from the Upstate New York Press Association.
“Hey, Chief.” Jerry flashed his best attempt at a disarming smile. “Are you done editing my story on the fast-running parking meters?”
“No, I have to let the university’s lawyers look at it.”
“Lawyers? What for? It’s thoroughly researched. Did you talk to my source?”
Vanessa nodded. “I did. I’m not entirely convinced by her story. Plus, she isn’t willing to go on the record.”
“Of course she isn’t. Her job is at risk.”
Vanessa sighed. “We’re talking parking meters, not Watergate.”
Jerry set down his donut, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved his notes. “I’ve got aggrieved students with tickets, and a bunch of ‘No comments’ from the Parking Administration.” He tapped his watch. “I timed some of the meters myself. They do run fast. This is an enormous scandal.”
“The administration claims that there may be a bug affecting a few of the meters and they’re looking into it.”
“Which is noted in my story.” Jerry held up his notes and research.
“But you wrote it in such a manner as to suggest that they are lying.”
“Because they are lying, Vanessa. I don’t understand why you have to run this by anyone!”
Chatter and typing stopped. All eyes locked on the confrontation.
Vanessa gave Jerry a hard stare. “You don’t need to know because I’m the editor, and you’re the reporter.”
Jerry was wide-eyed and incredulous. “Do you know how much time I spent researching this? Pleading with my source in the Parking Department? You want the paper to win another award? This story is a lock.”
“This isn’t about awards; this is about responsible journalism.” Vanessa crossed her arms. “I won’t accuse the administration unless I have evidence to my satisfaction. If I want to land a job at the New York Times after I graduate, I can’t afford any scandals.”
“That’s what this is all about? Playing it safe instead of breaking stories? Is the Times even going to be in business by the time you graduate?”
Throughout the newsroom, reporters audibly gasped at the remark.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Jerry knew he had gone too far and softened his tone. “Sorry. So I’m clear, that was a comment on the Times’s business prospects, not your academic progress.”
“That’s it.” Vanessa drew a finger across her neck. “I’m killing your story.”
How could she do this to him? Unable to control his temper, Jerry blurted out, “I bet The Underground would run it.”
Vanessa laughed. “I thought you wanted to be a respected reporter. You want to work for that rag? Be my guest. It’s little better than a collegiate InfoWars.”
Jerry clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t want to work for them. I enjoy working here. I want to uncover lies, expose corruption, tell stories that matter.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I have a new assignment for you.” Vanessa held up the paper in her hand. “One of the cheerleaders injured herself at practice. Hit her head so hard she’s in the hospital.”
“Cheerleaders?” A pained look crossed Jerry’s face. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t think of anything that matters less.”
“They’re as much a part of the campus as you or me.” Vanessa sat on the corner of Jerry’s desk. “You’ve got talent, Jerry. But you’re undisciplined. You want to be the ace reporter, you want to tell stories that matter? Here’s your opportunity. Do a little digging. See if any other cheerleaders have been hurt. Check into the injury rate. I’ve heard it’s worse than any other program on campus. This could be huge.”
“Why don’t you give the story to Noah?” Jerry glanced behind him. “He covers sports.”
Noah dropped his donut and raised his hands in defense. “Hey, hey. Don’t get me involved.”
“Noah.” Vanessa glared at him. “Stay out of this.”
“But, I—”
“Out! I said.” Vanessa pointed an accusing finger.
The sports reporter slumped in his chair and stared at his computer screen.
Vanessa returned her gaze to Jerry. She held up three fingers and counted. “One: Noah’s going to be busy reporting on the groundbreaking for the new football stadium. Two: Cheerleading’s not a sport. No reason to send a sports reporter to cover it. Three: I’m the editor. I give out the assignments.”
“Four: This is lame. You kill a story I’ve spent weeks on and send me to cover Sis-Boom-Rah? C’mon, Vanessa.”
She let out a weary breath. “I’m serious Jerry. You take this assignment, or you’re done. I’m running a newspaper here, not herding armadillos.” Above his head, she dangled the assignment sheet like tempting a kitten with a strand of yarn.
Jerry wondered how things had spiraled out of control so quickly. Okay, he didn’t wonder. He shouldn’t have argued with Vanessa in front of the entire newsroom. He needed to back down. No way he could explain to his dad that he was fired from the school newspaper. And his parking meter story might still have a chance. Vanessa’s lawyers could give it their approval.
Vanessa won, and Jerry would suck it up. He lowered his chin to his chest and grabbed the sheet from her hand. “Fine, I’ll do it.”
Vanessa stood and looked around at the reporters staring at her and Jerry. “Get back to work. We have a newspaper to put out.” She walked back to her office and slammed the door.