He motions his chin toward Amelia, and I quickly turn to look at her again.
She’s sitting back, with my article in her hands. She appears to be deep in thought about something. Whether it’s good or bad, I haven’t the faintest damn clue.
My heart pounds in my ears.Boom, boom, boom.It only gets louder and faster until I hear, “Emma.”
Amelia snaps me out of my momentary anxiety and wiggles her index finger, silently signaling me to come over to her desk. I glance at Ben, who gives me a nod and a confident smile.
“Straighten your shoulders, Emma, and breathe. You look worse than Oliver did last week.” He chuckles, and I smile a little. I can’t tell whether he’s flirting with me or just being friendly. Whatever he’s doing took my mind off my article for a second, and for that, I’m grateful. I take a deep breath as instructed and walk over to Amelia.
“Yeah, boss?”
She crosses her arms and looks up at me. At first, her expression is stern, and I think about how she said this was my only chance.
What if she hated the article, and I get kicked off the paper?
But then she smiles.
“Congratulations.” My body sags in relief as she continues. “Although there are grammar mistakes that need fixing, you managed to turn a simple interview into a short, in-depth profile of one of the most important professors on campus. I only wish he had given you more time for questions. This could have been a great feature story.”
I nod in agreement with her and manage to keep my composure by biting the inside of my cheek so hard that I almost draw blood. I can’t wait to tell Kamila and Luna about this later. Heck, I can’t wait to go outside and shriek with pure excitement.
“I shouldn’t have kept handing you small stories. You’re a strong writer, Haywood.”
Smiling, I say, “Thanks, boss. That means a lot.”
“And that’s why I’m letting you write a feature-length profile.”
“W-what?” I stammer. I really hope she means I’ll be doing it about someone else.
“There’s more here.”Oh boy.“The soup kitchen hasn’t opened yet, his parents’ story has been buried deep in old print newspapers, there are no pictures of him online, and he seems to love his students, but we haven’t seen him in action. And from what I’ve heard, he’s quite the looker.” I keep my mouth shut, and Amelia smirks knowingly at my quietness. “He might be a professor, but we’re journalists, and there’s a story here.”
My face must betray my nerves and confusion. Of course, there’s more, but is it appropriate to dig so deep into his personal life?
“We’re not printing this,” she tells me as if it’s no big deal.
Tears gather behind my eyes as I swallow hard and cough to hide the emotion on my face.
I’m not going to cry at work.
As I’m about to ask her why, she says, “You’re going to convince Professor Hayes to allow you to write an in-depth feature story about him, his professional life, and off-campus activities—such as the soup kitchen, get some professional pictures taken, and find out in detail what happened to his family.”
My stomach and heart sink.
Is she insane?She has to be—there’s no other explanation. I can’t force him to do this. An article like this could take me weeks or even months. Oh God, the university’s deans are going to be down the newspaper’s throat. And I need an angle, but what would that be?
“You’re probably wondering what your angle should be and whether the administration might have an issue with this, or something along those lines.”At least she’s perceptive.Amelia points at me. “What did his parents’ death have to do with moving to Europe? Why Europe? Did his personal tragedy lead him to choose to become a chef? And what personal reasons made him leave it? But let’s keep it tasteful and not crowd him. We’re a newspaper, not a gossip blog.” She shrugs. “Then there’s the divorce, of course. That could’ve been an unconventional way and the last straw to get him to move back to the States.” Amelia snaps her fingers. “That’s our angle!”
“The Unconventional Cook,” I whisper, and my editor’s eyebrows shoot up. “A Look at the Person Behind the Professorship.”
Amelia slams a hand down on her desk, making me flinch. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” She laughs and grabs her iPad as I stand there, stunned that I just gave her a title for an article I’m unsure I even want to write or know how to approach. “You have one week to persuade him to let you write the article, without revealing the title and only providing him with the general idea of the piece. It’s an in-depth profile about him, his life,andhis work. Clarify the on- and off-record rulesagain. You don’t need to explain your angle in detail, but the overall concept should be clear so he can’t sue the school or us. He needs to be comfortable with you visiting the soup kitchen and possibly sitting in on a couple of his classes. He’ll likely set a lot of boundaries at first, but you’re smart enough to negotiate.”
“What?”
“Don’t try to dig up any unnecessary dirt unless you really suspect there’s something there. If that’s the case, we’ll talk about it and decide next steps.”
“Boss—”
“After he says yes, you have two months to gather everything you need. We’ll have a scheduled biweekly meeting to see whether we’re making progress or need to step back. I’ll take care of the board. This is a student-run paper, and they can’t censor us?—”