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ANDY

Y OU WANTED TO see me? I slide into the seat across from Bryce at the big centre table in the Messenger office.

Bryce gives me a big fake smile. Andy. How are you?

I frown in return. Ugh, I can tell by your wheedling tone that you’re going to ask me for a favour. Should I even bother hearing what it is before I say no?

Over the past month, Bryce hasn’t spoken to me at any of the editorial meetings.

Granted, he’s had zero to complain about since Jacob, C.J.

, and Mehmet are all doing great work. Bryce also hasn’t bothered commenting on the three athlete profiles I’ve written so far—Ella Smith, Vik Zelenko, and a wrestler, Mike Micheals—so they must be good enough.

I used to love hanging out in the newsroom, but I prefer to work remotely now.

Between schoolwork, editing, RA duties, and my busy social life, I’m too busy for chitchat.

Bryce strains to keep smiling but my rudeness is trying his limited patience.

Fine. I know you like to get right to the point. Unfortunately, Travis has not been able to maintain the Messenger’ s standards when it comes to the editorials.

To be honest, I’ve barely read any of the editorials. At first, it was because I was so infuriated that the job got taken away from me. Later, his stereotypically dude-bro topics didn’t interest me. But I have heard rumours of problems.

Professor Pullman had a meeting with me last week. He’s concerned about slippage of our standard of quality, Bryce explains.

My bullshit detector is going off. Professor Pullman is the newspaper’s university advisor and he’s notoriously hands-off, so if there was a meeting it must be something big.

What specific op-ed piece set this off? I keep my voice non-judgemental so I’ll get the truth.

Bryce rubs his temples. It was an argument for getting rid of the orientation seminar on sexual consent.

I suck in a breath. There’s no universe in which I would have allowed that topic. And you let it be published?

He winces. I had the flu that week, so Jaz was in charge.

Besides, Travis was told to stop running male-centric subjects, and this one was written by a woman.

Her argument was that we’ve reached a level of awareness where it’s no longer necessary.

But there was zero backing data. Besides, there have been…

other problems. This piece was only the proverbial straw.

Bryce does look stressed. He has dark circles under his eyes, blemishes on his forehead, and his normally styled hair is dishevelled. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

What does all this have to do with me? I ask.

I’d like you to take over as opinions editor, he says.

I snort. Oh, you mean the job I originally wanted?

Yes. And I’m willing to admit I made a huge mistake in giving the job to Travis. I was being petty and resentful because you refused to get back together with me.

I blink and open my mouth, but no words come out. If Bryce confesses the truth like this, he must be really desperate.

Finally, I manage to reply. But I thought you wanted a groundbreaking female sports editor? Maybe I’m twisting the knife in, but who can blame me?

Come on, Andy. We both know where the real journalism takes place here, and it’s not covering mouth-breathers chasing a piece of rubber around the ice.

Actually, my boyfriend can do much more with his mouth than breathe.

Aloud, all I say is, What about the work I’ve done getting up to speed on sports?

I’m finally at a place where the job is manageable.

I have reporters in place for all the intercollegiate sports on campus, including the spring sports.

And I’ve even set up a portal for the intramural sports leagues to post their scores.

Fine. If you’ll switch back to opinions editor, I promise to nominate one of your articles for a Pinnacle Award.

Unsurprisingly, he knows my weaknesses. The Pinnacle Award is a national award for excellence in college journalism, and even being nominated is résumé-worthy. But I’m not so easily taken in.

How can you make a promise like that for an article I haven’t even written yet?

As Bryce leans in to answer, I lean back.

Andy. We both know you’re one of the best writers on the Messenger’ s staff. Honestly, I could even use that profile you did about the injured female hockey player, but I suspect you’d want something more meaningful as your submission.

Despite all the compliments he’s paying me, Bryce is still dismissive of the importance of sports, as I used to be.

He doesn’t understand how sports can bring people together—like Mehmet making friends in a new country, Emily’s hockey fandom, or Joy finding an accepting LGBTQ community in the women’s hockey team.

And it’s insulting that he doesn’t appreciate all my hard work.

That makes me angry enough to not want to bail him out here. I don’t reply at all.

Bryce yanks at the hank of hair that falls over his eyes. If he keeps doing that, he’ll get a bald spot.

Fine, you drive a hard bargain. We’re having a visit from a representative from the Minneapolis Star Tribune in January, and you can be his personal tour guide while he’s here. I trust I don’t have to tell you what a great networking opportunity that would be.

I’m suspicious of this Trojan horse. Who was supposed to give him the tour?

Me, Bryce admits. This must be the nadir of his year: having to kiss my butt and give up all his perks.

I sputter, Oh, come on. You would never give up a chance to suck up to someone from the Star Trib . It’s been his dream to join their staff ever since his summer internship there.

Well, to be honest, I’m already in line for a position there after graduation.

Nothing is signed yet, but… He lets his voice trail off modestly, but his confident smirk is back.

I’m shocked that he hasn’t published this news in the Messenger , because he must be over the moon.

We have a special relationship with the Star Tribune because one of their editors is a Monarch alum.

Bryce already had an inside track on a job after graduation, but I’m still jealous. I skip the congratulations, though.

Okay, let me see if I have this straight. You want me to take over editorials, and my mandate will be to raise the standard of the opinion pieces, with a focus on sexual equality, fact-checking, and less controversy.

He nods eagerly.

And, in return, one of my articles will be submitted for a Pinnacle Award, and I’ll get to be the student contact for the Star Trib visit. I let a dramatic beat go by. Can I get a company car and an expense account too?

Ha ha. I’ve missed your sense of humour. So, you’ll do it? Bryce is so desperate that I could probably ask for much more. But aside from handing over his job opportunity, he has nothing I want.

No. I’m not making a decision on the spot. You of all people should know how hard I’ve worked to get the sports section on track. And I’m enjoying the position now, I say.

He scoffs. Andy, please. We both know your talents are wasted on childish games. Clearly, Bryce has no knowledge of who I’m dating these days or he’d lay off disparaging athletes.

I need time. I realize it’s hard for you to understand, but now I like being the sports editor, and I’m doing a good job. I’m not being stubborn; I genuinely have mixed feelings about this.

Bryce lets out a long-suffering groan—as if the suffering wasn’t all self-inflicted. Fine. But please get back to me as soon as humanly possible. You’re the very best person for this job, and the future of the Messenger is depending on you.

Bryce isn’t going to guilt me into fixing a problem that he caused. I gaze meaningfully at the plaque of the Messenger’ s editors-in-chief through the eras. Yeah, wouldn’t it be awful to be the editor-in-chief who ran the reputation of a 108-year-old newspaper into the ground?

Mic drop.

I HURRY TO the Student Union because that discussion took longer than expected, and now I’m late to meet Jack.

I spot him lounging on a bench in front of Dawn’s mural.

As usual, he’s not alone. This time, three women chat animatedly with him.

He’s smiling and nodding, but as soon as he spots me his smile widens and his eyes sparkle.

Does my face light up the same way? Because the sight of him lifts me up.

Excuse me, I’ve got to go, says my ever-polite boyfriend to his admirers. He lopes over.

Hey, beautiful.

He envelops me in his strong arms. I pull on his collar to bring his mouth down to mine. Instead of a quick, public smooch, he nips at my lower lip, then kisses me so firmly that the hot pressure of his mouth is the only thing I’m conscious of. When he stops, I blink dazedly.

Whoa. We’re in the middle of the Union, I protest, but keep my grip on his jacket.

He kisses the tip of my nose. I missed you.

I saw you last night. Heat flushes my cheeks as I remember flashes of our evening together.

Exactly. I’ve had to go nearly a whole day without you. He takes my hand and we walk towards the coffee shop. How did your newspaper meeting go?

It was surprising. The editor-in-chief—

Your ex-boyfriend, he specifies. Despite his flocks of admirers, Jack gets more jealous than I do.

We sit down at a table, and he pulls a water bottle from his backpack and takes a long swig. Can I get you a drink? he offers.

No, thanks. I’m already over-caffeinated. Anyway, Bryce wants me to switch back to being the opinions editor. There have been issues about the quality of recent editorials.

Oh. So, you wouldn’t be the sports editor anymore?

I assume I’m supposed to swap back with Travis Hansen. He was the original sports editor before Bryce, well, you know. Then I notice Jack’s frown. What’s wrong?

His forehead creases. I don’t know. Maybe we won’t see each other as much if you’re not covering sports.