Laura
It was early Tuesday morning, and once again Becca had called an editorial meeting to discuss the fact that the paper only had two articles three days before print. She was not in the best of moods, and Laura’s pitch was not helping.
“Love the initiative, Rivers, but we’re a school newspaper, not The New York Times,” Becca said. She had uncharacteristically removed the half-turkey sandwich from her mouth before speaking. Laura took that to mean Becca meant business.
“I’m not saying it needs to be an investigation into what happened to Sarah Castro-Tanner,” Laura argued. “But I saw in the guidance hallway that September is National Suicide Prevention Month. I’m talking about an article that discusses suicide more generally—why it can happen, how it can be prevented, that kind of thing.”
Becca narrowed her already critical gaze. “Why this?” she asked.
“Because I think it’s important,” Laura said. “I think people our age really struggle with suicidal thoughts, and we should be part of preventing that.”
Becca’s face remained taut. “Forget it. We cannot touch that story. It happened. It’s over. No one wants to read anything else about it,” she said.
“But it’s still really affecting people. Charlie had just a few classes with Sarah and he still feels some level of guilt. Shouldn’t someone be helping people here through that?”
“Maybe, but it’s not going to be us.”
It was uncharacteristic for Becca to shut down a big idea. Just last week she’d personally pitched taking the entire school district to task on the fact that the non-discrimination policy did not include protection for transgender students, but now she was afraid of a story about a huge cause of teenage deaths in America? It wasn’t like Becca, and neither was the incredibly serious look on her face at that moment.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” Becca said, but her quick tone suggested otherwise. “Sarah went through enough. We’re not adding to that drama.”
“But—” Laura started.
“Seriously, Rivers. Drop it. Now.” Mad as Becca could be at all the Chronicle staffers, she’d never once used that tone. Something was seriously wrong.
“Okay,” Laura said. “Sorry.” But the truth was that she was more curious than remorseful.
“When do you think you’ll have that Charlie Sanders article in? I’d like to run it before the end of the season.”
“I probably need two or three more sessions with him until it’s done, and he’s been crazy busy,” Laura said.
“You need or you want?”
Her tone was angry, not playful, and Laura didn’t appreciate it.
“I can date Charlie Sanders if that’s what I want to do,” Laura said. “He is a great guy, and you’d know that if you gave him a chance. You should have heard how sweet he was being about Sarah.”
Laura didn’t know if she was defending the Charlie she was getting to know, or the fact that she liked him so much. Either way, Becca didn’t seem to care.
“You do what you want, Rivers, but trust me when I tell you that Charlie Sanders didn’t give a shit about Sarah Castro-Tanner.”
“And how would you know that?” Laura fired back.
“I just know,” Becca said.
“That’s a crappy answer.”
If Becca was frustrated before, then Laura’s comment sent her into a full-on fury.
“Well, you’re a crappy journalist for asking the question that prompted it. Know when to stop, Rivers, or you’ll never earn the trust of the people that you want to tell you the truth. Now could somebody else please pitch me something we can use?” Becca yelled to the group.
If Becca’s goal had been to discourage Laura from her story, she failed. Their interaction made her more curious than ever to know about how this school and town handled what happened to Sarah and why Becca was so upset about it, and she didn’t need a Chronicle assignment to find out.