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ANDY

I’ M SURE YOU’RE all wondering why I called you in here for this special meeting, Bryce begins.

Not me. It’s typical of him to orchestrate events to emphasize that he’s in charge of the newspaper and we’re not. He’s setting the tone for my torturous last year. I’ll have to endure weekly editorial meetings here in our shabby office, but the rest of my duties can be done remotely.

I notice that although my ex hasn’t managed to acquire the new office chairs we desperately need, he has arranged for Bryce Myrtle to be added to the historic plaque of all the editors-in-chief of the Monarch Messenger .

Our breakup flipped my opinion of Bryce.

Traits I once found quirky are now irritating without the lubricant of good times to counter them.

His lecturing voice during arguments, the way he critiqued films while we watched them, even the tweedy jacket he’s wearing, which he thinks looks professorial.

However, it’s unseasonably warm today, so he just looks sweaty—and not in the good post-exercise way.

Ugh. I need to reel in these negative feelings if we’re going to work together all year.

After all, we did have some good times. I’ll try to focus on those when Bryce bothers me.

Like anyone, he’s complicated—intelligent and petty, erudite and snobby, funny and insecure.

We first became friends during late-night working sessions in this very office, then evolved into a couple.

At one point, I even imagined our future together.

Not a tuxedoed-Ken-to-my-white-gowned-Barbie wedding—but the two of us living an intellectual lifestyle in New York City.

Luckily, I never voiced that fantasy to him. I tune back in to Bryce’s droning.

I wanted to get all the editors together before our intro session. The Messenger has been a great source for student news, but I’m looking to make us more contemporary and compelling.

He projects a slide outlining the changes, which look like great ideas. Probably because I helped brainstorm most of those ideas last year, when we were complaining about the previous editor-in-chief. I speed-read to the last item on the list: staffing changes.

What staffing changes? I ask.

Patience, Andy. I’ll get there, he says in a patronizing tone usually reserved for nagging toddlers.

Focus on his good qualities , my angelic side urges me. Meanwhile, my devilish side is busy calculating the distance between the toe of my ballet flat and Bryce’s ass.

I retreat to my happy place, which is thinking about the bicoastal internships I’m going to apply for.

I long to live in a big city, like New York or Los Angeles.

Somewhere that’s diverse, exciting, and cosmopolitan.

Monarch may be a small college, but it has an excellent academic reputation, and the campus newspaper has a storied history.

One day I’d love to see my name on the list of graduates who have gone on to win writing prizes and awards.

As long as I maintain my grades and keep up my relevant newspaper experience, I have a good shot at an internship.

Finally, there will be a couple of changes to the editorial staff assignments. Bryce’s gaze lands on me, and there’s a disconcerting glint in his eyes that grabs my full attention.

We’re going to be flipping the responsibilities of two editors: Travis Hanson and Andy Robson.

What? Embarrassingly, my protest comes out as a screech.

Bryce’s smile takes phoniness to new heights. Congratulations on becoming our new sports editor, Andy. You’ve been a long-time proponent of subverting traditional gender roles in our industry. This is one huge step in that direction.

He takes advantage of my stunned silence to end the initial meeting and welcome in the new recruits, who have been waiting outside.

I slide into the seat next to Travis. Did you know about this?

He nods. I thought you guys had discussed it, ’cause Bryce said you were all good. At first, I was kinda nervous, because the only editorial I’ve ever written was that one about Title IX sports last year. But he says he’s going to help me with topics. And it’ll be better for my résumé, right?

Travis’s one editorial was briefly famous for the number of factual errors he included in it. And this is the guy Bryce wants to put in charge of the opinions desk? Then I get back to my main concern. What about the fact that I know nothing about sports?

Oh, c’mon, Andy. You’re from Minnesota, right?

You must know something about hockey. He lowers his voice.

I’ll let you in on a secret. The only sport anyone cares about is men’s hockey.

Cross country, women’s hockey, whatever, they submit their own summaries and we run those.

Nobody but those guys read that stuff anyway.

So, you use reporters for the games? I ask.

Well, most of the previous sports editors covered hockey personally. It’s kind of a perk to get to go to the games, he says. I frown as he continues. If you really don’t want to do it, your deputy editor can go. It’s Joey Vincent. I nod distractedly as Travis stands to leave.

Editors are usually seniors, and deputy editors are juniors who learn the ropes to take over the job the next year. That’s why switching an editor’s position in September is so unusual and, frankly, stupid—they need time to train for the position.

Once everyone has left, I confront Bryce. I lean over his desk and demand, Why would you make me the sports editor?

He leans back in his chair, crosses his unseasonably tweedy arms, and looks up at the ceiling. He pauses for so long that I begin to wonder if the latest Jonathan Franzen opus is printed up there.

Finally, Bryce sits forward and looks at me. I think it will be a good challenge for you. You’ve been doing editing and general reporting for so long, you could do the work in your sleep. This will give you a chance to push your boundaries.

His spiel sounds too rehearsed, like he’s setting a trap for me to step into. So, I take a moment to ensure I sound calm and reasonable, instead of like someone who’s ready to strangle him.

Thank you for your consideration. But if I wanted a change, I would have lobbied for it last year. Instead of going for the position I did want, you enormous jerk.

Bryce continues as if I haven’t even spoken. Besides, this is an innovation. Did you know you’ll be the first female sports editor in the history of the Messenger ?

What an honour. I can’t contain my sarcasm. Seriously, Bryce. You know I don’t know anything about sports. What about the quality of the stories?

I seem to remember you disparaging that entire branch of reporting.

Didn’t you once say, ‘Sports journalism is an oxymoron?’ A quality editor like you will be able to rectify that.

He smiles like he’s saved the best news for last. Sports pieces are the most popular articles on our site.

You’ll be getting in front of a whole new audience.

Then, he goes in for the kill. All you have to do is line up reporters to write the stories. We have a crop of new reporters who would love to get the experience. Then, you polish them with your magic touch.

My magic touch used to be a strategically inserted finger while going down on him, but that’s not what he means. But how can I edit topics I know nothing about?

When our eyes meet, I realize that Bryce is aware of all this. He’s very smart, and more vengeful than I expected. He’s set me up to fail at something I’m completely unqualified for.

I send up one last rescue flare. Are you sure this is what you want for your year as EIC? What if you get complaints about the sports reporting?

Well, if you can’t do the job, we’ll have to get someone who can. He can’t stop himself from smiling broadly at that notion.

I return his smirk. Fine. Get ready for some excellence in sportsball reporting.

You do know that ‘sportsball’ isn’t actually a term, right?

Puck off, Bryce. Which is doubly good, since he hates puns.

I make my way down the hall in a bit of a daze, so it takes me a moment to realize that someone is calling my name.

Yes? I turn around to see Joey Vincent, my new deputy editor. I’ve barely spoken to him, but he’s large and hairy, and I suspect he’s a bro.

Oh, Joey. Perfect. You’re just the person I wanted to see.

He scowls down at me. Yeah, ditto. So, word is that you know fuck-all about sports.

Um, yes. But my writing and editing skills are very strong. A thousand-fold stronger than Travis’s , I think bitterly, but I’m not going to start out bragging.

So, how are you going to teach me anything about being a sports editor? he asks dismissively.

I give up trying to be positive and scowl back at him. It’s not like I asked for this job. I can help you become a better editor, period. If you would prefer to work with Travis, why don’t you talk to Bryce? I’d be happy to switch back.

Travis won’t though, I already talked to him. Look, Andy, nothing personal, but I’m not really interested in working under a woman. Especially when I’m more qualified to do her job than she is.

Good thing you’re not a woman in the workplace then, because we’ve suffered through this exact treatment for years. Also, whenever someone says nothing personal, it’s almost always followed by a personal insult. I relax my clenched jaw, which is starting to ache.

Aloud, all I say is, That’s unfortunate.

No shit. Anyway, I’m out. Maybe I’ll apply for the editor position once you flame out.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, I tell Joey’s departing back.

My bravado lasts only until I’m outside the building. The size of this challenge appears unsurmountable. At minimum, I’m going to have to learn a massive amount of information about hockey, then attend games and write plausibly about them. And now there’s nobody at the Messenger to help me.

But if I quit, I won’t have any current writing and editing samples to submit with my internship applications.

Panic rises in me, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I collapse onto a bench and rest my head between my knees.

Slow your breathing, Andy. Things will be okay. You’re calm. Your centre is still and solid. Breathe in fully and exhale fully, completely emptying your lungs.

I breathe deeply, in and out, until my panic eases.

When I can sit up, I allow myself a couple of minutes to regain my composure.

As I’m staring blankly ahead, I hear a familiar dry chuckle.

Bryce emerges from the building and he’s not alone.

Heidi Carter, a sophomore reporter at the Messenger , is beaming adoringly up at him.

My anxiety morphs into anger. Having found someone new to listen to his polished anecdotes and curated opinions, Bryce is trying to get rid of me.

He wants me to flail and quit, so he doesn’t have to see me anymore.

Constructive dismissal is how I would phrase it for my human resources complaint; that is, if a college newspaper even had an HR department, which of course we don’t.

The unfairness of the situation really hits me in this moment.

Bryce was the one who broke up with me! Then, when he discovered that the grass wasn’t actually greener in the dating pasture, he begged me to get back together.

I sanely refused, of course. And now that he’s found someone new, he wants to shove me out of a position I earned.

It’s not like I’m haunting him, like a heartbroken ghost, or flaunting my new boyfriends— what new boyfriends?

Well, screw him. I’m not backing down. I need the newspaper experience, so I’m going to become a great sports editor. Okay—at least an adequate one. I mean, if Travis Hanson can do the job, how hard can it be? I pull out my notebook and start writing.

Get a book on the basics of hockey.

Canvass my friends to see who knows hockey.

Meet up with Travis to find out more about the sports editor’s responsibilities.

Meet with Monarch’s athletic director to find out what sports we have here.

Read last year’s Messenger sports coverage.

I pull up the men’s hockey team schedule and realize that they have an exhibition game this Saturday.

Which makes sense, since hockey players are total exhibitionists.

Hmm—do I have to cover a game if it’s not a real game?

I message the question to Travis. He answers immediately: They’re all real games, Andy.

Fine. I finish up my list.

Cover the hockey game this Saturday.

Succeed and show Bryce that his stupid plan has completely failed.