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Tessa

September 2019

“I have some bad news.” Jenny stood in the front of the conference room, a room filled with tables, paper, files, and most of our office supplies, a serious frown marred her features. We rarely used the room for anything other than days like today, when Jenny, our student newspaper adviser, had news that we all needed to hear at the same time. Usually news we didn’t want to hear, and I squirmed in my seat, uneasy.

I stared at her face, saw the worry lines at the corners of her gray eyes, mostly hidden behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and noted how flushed her face was. She’d either hit early menopause or she was worried. Her pencil-straight black hair, cut in a short bob just at her chin, gave her a severe look, but she wasn’t at all. Normally, she was quite playful, helpful, and kind. Today, however, she was worried, and it showed in everything she did, especially when she started to wring her hands together. 

I tapped my favorite pen, a bright orange, thick enamel pen my dad bought me a long time ago, against my notebook in a way that was probably annoying to everyone around me, but I couldn’t help the nervous habit. I waited for the hammer of doom to fall. I had no idea what today’s meeting was about, but I could guess. She only called the entire staff of the newspaper, from the writers, editors, photographers, website editors, and the marketing staff, into the conference room altogether for two reasons: there was a big story we needed to get on right away, or our budget was grim.

Student newspapers are generally funded, in part, by the university they are affiliated with, but also by advertisers, subscription costs, and donations from the public. Lately, the public stream of income, and subscribers, had started to dry up as people turned to their phones or laptops for the news. 

Jenny paused, her eyes on each of us in turn, as she tried to gather…courage? Maybe it was courage, I decided. Yep, it was bad news. 

“Our budget only allows us to print for another month if that long. We need a cash influx and quick.” 

“What? How did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Carter, one of the other student journalists on our team jumped to his feet to ask. 

His auburn hair was always in disarray and his pale skin had turned instantly red. Carter sometimes had a problem with anger, but I kind of felt the same way right now. Why hadn’t Jenny told us before? We all knew revenue was drying up, but we thought we’d get through to the end of the second semester, at least.

“I was expecting another grant to come in from the school, but they’ve diverted more funding to the school’s football team since they’re doing so well this year.” Jenny sighed as her shoulders slumped in defeat. “If they’d given us that grant, we’d have been set for the rest of the year, but, well, it’s out of my hands…,”

She held out her hands to emphasize how empty they were. She’d taken money out of her own pocket, we all had, to get through the rough times before, but I had no idea how we’d fix this problem now. 

“Can’t we get a few more advertisers?” I asked and felt my cheeks turn red as Carter’s had just a moment ago, when all of the other 37 heads in the room turned to me with sharp focus. “I mean, we have the space…,” 

My words trailed off as Carter glared at me. He was a senior at Chicago City University, I was a sophomore, and that was the only reason I could of think of as to why he disliked me. I’d never done anything to him, but from my first day at the paper he’d been a jerk. Not overtly, not cruel, just…snippy. 

I glared back at him and crossed my eyes. When I casually scratched at my forehead with my middle finger he looked away. Dick, I thought to myself. “Okay, a stupid idea when we’re already trying to lure in advertisers, but what else can we do?” 

I looked around at 8 blank faces with narrowed eyes, nobody had an idea of how to fix this? Not one? Not even me? I looked down at the orange pen that tapped against the neon green notebook I always had with me, one of a stack I’d brought with me when I came back to the university for the winter semester. Daddy, maybe? Would he help us?

“I don’t know. I want you all to take some time this evening and think about it. Come back to me with ideas tomorrow.” Jenny answered, her shoulders a little higher now. “I’ll make some phone calls this evening, see what I can rustle up on my own.” 

I could tell it was only a brave front she’d put on for our benefit and that didn’t give me much hope. I looked around at the faces in front of me. Jessy was an award-winning student newspaper adviser and many of her prior student journalists had gone on to great careers with huge papers around the world. How had it come to this; I could see the question written all over her face.

I picked up my notebook, grabbed the olive-green canvas backpack my dad gave me when I was 18 and on my way to a new future out in the big bad world. He’d known I’d need something deep, sturdy, and practical because he was one of the biggest names in international journalism. The drab, green bag had seen action in Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, and other places across the globe. Now, it was mine and it rarely left a 10-mile radius as I worked my way through my courses. 

I slung the bag over my shoulder and left the offices of the Chicago City University without another word to the others on our staff. I was a sophomore, so I didn’t rank high but most of my stories had been met with praise. I’d produced nothing groundbreaking yet, but I knew something would come along. There’d be a story that would need to be written, a story that needed to be told to the masses, and I’d be there for it. 

When I finally sniffed it out.

I headed to The Old Barrel, a student bar not far from the newspaper office. My shoulder sagged under the weight of my bag, but also the weight of the dilemma I faced. I’d come to the university because of Jenny, because of how well-known the student paper was in the state, and to some extent, around the country. People knew that journalists from Chicago City University went on to have great careers, unless they crashed and burned as some journalists did and I had no intention of doing that. I needed to be a journalist and follow in my dad’s footsteps, that was my legacy. One that I wasn’t going to give up so easily, no I had the fight in me. Just like my dad and he wouldn’t give in if there was one little blip in his dream and I wouldn’t neither.

My second year was supposed to be even better than last year. I’d made my mark, got a position on the paper, and had worked my way up to catching Jenny’s notice. No, I hadn’t done anything spectacular yet, but the work I did caught her eye. She encouraged me to follow my instincts, though she never told us what to write or not to write. If you were a true journalist you trusted your gut and I’d learned to listen to what Jenny said, but also to what she didn’t say. Sometimes, that mattered more than what she did say. 

My feet slapped against the pavement on the sidewalk, my well-worn combat boots a comfortable, a second skin after three years of daily wear. I emulated my dad in many ways because he was my hero. He was who I wanted to be, who I wanted to be. He had integrity and told the story, whether people wanted to hear it or not. He was well paid too, and though that wasn’t his ultimate goal, it hadn’t hurt either. 

I wasn’t stupid, I knew the paper needed to modernize, that we needed to up our presence online in order to grow. I’d had plans for that. Jenny and I had been working with another girl on the staff, Mary, to build a website and we were adding things like each student-journalist’s T*****r and I*******m once we had the layout right. It hadn’t been our focus because we were a print paper.

Maybe it was time we focused more on the website. I sat down on a stone wall just high enough for me to sit on and stared out at the cars and people that walked by. I didn’t see them, though, my thoughts were all on the paper. What could really make this all better?

Guys walked by me, one of the triplets that was in one of my classes waved as he walked by, and I barely nodded, more a lift of my chin to say yeah, I see you, whatever, than anything. He was hot, but I wasn’t looking for a relationship, or even a hookup, much to my Grandma’s disapppointment. She would be turning in her grave, if she saw me doing the one thing that she told me not to do when I came to university, all work and no play. I was too busy trying to get through school and then on to a career. I had my sights on a paper in England and if the paper I was a part of went bust then there would be no career, not that I could see.

Ultimately, the paper closing wouldn’t have much of an impact on my degree in journalism, but it would have a huge impact on what I could show future employers. What would I say? Oh, here’s my blog? 

Blogs proliferated like cockroaches and gaining traction on any topic took money, time, and dedication, the three things I couldn’t invest right now. Not really. My parents paid for my education and gave me an allowance so I could focus on my studies, but it wasn’t a fortune. 

A pigeon swirled down a few feet from my feet and looked up at me expectantly. I laughed softly at the bird and shrugged my shoulders helplessly.

“Sorry, pigeon, I don’t have much for anybody today, it would seem.” The sound of my voice didn’t startle the bird, pigeons in the city were used to humans. It stared at me a moment longer, its head twisted left and right to examine me more closely. It hopped forward a few inches, then flew away. 

“Yeah, that’s about the gist of it. There’s fuck all I can do to help the paper and I don’t have anything to share with a hungry pigeon. What a fucking day.” 

I sighed deeply and looked down at my feet. The leather was worn, scuffed because I never polished the damn things like I should. They were mine though, like the paper. I had to find a way to save it. I just had to. 

I stood up, adjusted the bag, and started to walk again. I pushed the door of the bar open and walked in. I wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol yet, but the staff would serve me juice or anything else I wanted. I asked for a bottle of water at the bar and looked around. 

I saw Kim and Cheryl at a table in a corner by the windows, our normal seats, and waved. They finger-waved back, Kim’s stiletto talons decorated in neon green with lots of fake diamonds and gold gleamed at me in the afternoon sunlight. I still didn’t know how she managed to get anything done with those claws of hers, but she did. 

I’d asked her once what the whole thing with her nails was about, and she said the boys loved to feel the nails on their skin. Her chocolate brown hair, curled in loose waves down her back and artfully framed around her face, paired with her light blue eyes caught the eyes of most of the boys that came anywhere near her. I guess her highly decorated, deadly looking nails only added to her mystique. She was the flirtatious one out of us all and had no problem with the opposite sex.

I’d considered getting similar nails when there was talk of a string of assaults taking place on the campus. Then I thought about how much I typed every day and knew I couldn’t have nails like that. I looked down at the oval-shaped, unpolished nails that only grew out a few millimeters before I had to file them down again. I wasn’t vain, in any way. I was too focused on other things to consider my appearance as important. I didn’t dream of being on television, or film, after all, I dreamed about seeing my name in the byline of the world’s top papers. 

Cheryl, blond-haired, busty, with soft brown eyes, was quieter, but still more ‘experienced’ than I was. And by more experienced I meant that they’d both started to have sex long before I did. I think everyone had though, because I still hadn’t done the deed. I didn’t have time for boys, or girls, I had work to do. School and writing for the paper took all of my time. 

“Hey there, ladies. How are we today?” I let my bag drop to the floor with a thunk, uncaring that my laptop was in there. It was wrapped in a foam case and on top of the bag. It was safe. I slouched into the seat, wiped my damp palms on my dark jeans, and looked at the other two again.

They both looked ready for a night out, but there I was, in one of my dad’s old beige field jackets with a black t-shirt underneath. I sighed as both narrowed their eyes at my attire. I’d promised them I’d start dressing more like a woman, but it was impossible without adding to my wardrobe. The only dress I owned was the one I’d worn to my high school graduation, a white silk number that came down to my calves with gold buttons. They’d both cringed when I showed it to them.

“Seriously, Tessa, you have to get rid of that jacket, at least. Are you sure it isn’t infested with some kind of fleas your dad brought home from one of his assignments?” Kim sneered a little and then wiped the looked off her face. “I have to make time to take you shopping.” 

“If you want me to buy new clothes, you’ll have to pay for it too.” I shot back, but not snidely. “The paper’s budget has gone to shit again so any extra money I have will be going to that.” 

I opened my bottle of water and took a sip as she nodded. 

“Fine, I’ll call my dad, get him to send me some extra in my monthly allowance.” She nodded as she spoke. Her eyes became distant as she thought something out. “Yeah, I can do that, and in a few days, we can go to the mall. I’ll cancel a date I didn’t really want to go on anyway.” 

“If we have to.” I muttered ignoring the fact that she’d kind of insulted me while also offering to pay for a new wardrobe for me. Kim meant well, but sometimes, she could be thoughtless. If I wanted a new wardrobe, I could call my own dad and ask for money, but I hated to ask him for money. Kim’s dad was some kind of shipping mogul and had money coming out of his pores. I’d let her have her fun, but doubted I’d ever wear anything she bought for me. 

I appreciated her generosity, of course, but sometimes, it just rubbed me the wrong way. It was like she thought I was poor, and she was the benevolent goddess come to save us. The truth was, I’d rather she spent the money on the paper, but her dad wasn’t interested in things like that. Even if it would be good for his image. She’d tried that already, which is why I knew she wasn’t just on a power-trip, she truly was altruistic, most of the time.

“We do,” Cheryl chimed in, her eyes alight with delight. “You’ll be glad you did, in the long-run.” 

I doubted that, but they were my best friends and knew more about being attractive than I’d ever done. I had the clothes that Grandma bought for me, when I came to university locked up tightly in the same suitcase that I brought them in. That was a year ago. 

She did want me to have fun and I wished that she was here today. She knew how to make me feel good, maybe shopping would be  welcome distraction, one that I was craving right now. 

I felt as if my world was going to explode and as positive as I was trying to be about the paper, I had a creepy feeling that it was about to all come falling down.