News Flash (3 page)

Jake snorted. “That's your deal, Al, not mine.”

The bottom fell out of my stomach, kind of like when you reach the highest part of a roller coaster, and I thought I might be sick. “Are your parents home?” My voice got tinier as reality set in.

“What's up, Allison? You know they don't get home until after five.”

Taking a deep breath I said, “It's your grandpa. He's a hostage. At the bank.”

Silence filled the phone, then Jake snapped, “Andy, cut it out. What are you talking about, Allison?”

“There was a robbery at the bank, and then they took hostages, and oh Jake, I think it's bad.” My words hung in the air, and I didn't know what else to do or say.

“Al, I've got to go. I've got to….call my mom or something.” With that the line went dead. I stared at the phone in my hand, somehow willing him to call back and tell me that Rory had been misinformed. Hugging my arms around myself, I went back up to the newsroom to see if there was any new information.

When I stepped through the doors, I paused trying to comprehend the chaos that seemed to be ramping up. Esther was just on the other side of the glass paneled control room doors. Her normal calm demeanor had gone out the window, and at the moment she was flailing her arms wildly above her head as she yelled at some poor crew member. My guess was that she was upset about the interview Chicago Eight had gotten with the assistant manager. But really? What did any of this matter if Jake's grandpa was hurt? And why hadn't I remembered the fact that he worked there earlier? I was a lousy friend. There was no way I could make it up to Jake, especially if something did happen.

Chloe found me a second later. “They're calling in sharpshooters,” she said, her eyes big and round, and slipped her arm through mine.

My stomach churned worse. In every action/hostage movie I had ever seen they only called in sharpshooters when the situation deteriorated. What did that mean for Jake's grandpa? I shook my head to get a clear grip on things, but it didn't work. All it did was make me feel vaguely dizzy, which added to the nausea that waved over me.

The buzzing in my pocket made me jump. At the beginning of this whole mess the excitement had been so real, so tangible. Now it all just felt dangerous and out of control. Seeing that it was Jake calling me back, I extracted myself from Chloe.

“Jake?”

“He's okay, Al. He barricaded himself in his office. The guys—the robbers—whoever they are have shot at the door a few times, but they can't get in. He shoved his desk in the way. That sucker's big and oak or something.” Jake's voice shook as he tried to hide the fear that I knew he must be feeling. In all the time I'd known Jake—since they moved in next door when I was five—he'd always been brave. Always.

“I'm so glad, Jake. They called in sharpshooters.” I whispered the information because I didn't know if we were supposed to leak anything or not. It wasn't like I had been watching the coverage. I'd had other things on my mind. Then inspiration struck. “Jake? Do you—do you think your grandpa might talk to Bonnie on the air? He could, you know, reassure people.”

The words tumbled out before my brain had a chance to process them. Once they registered, I squeezed my eyes shut. There I went being an insensitive friend again. To my surprise, Jake said, “That'd be great. My parents have been fielding all sorts of phone calls. It's already wearing on them. I'll give you his cell number, and I'll let him know you'll be calling.”

After I found a pen and paper, I took down the number with an even shakier hand. “Thanks, Jake. You're really my best friend.”

Jake made a weird sound, and said, “Anything for you, Allie.”

I blinked in surprise at my childhood nickname, but before I could comment, Jake had hung up. Then came the waiting. After three minutes, I dialed the number he had given me.

“Allison Jones?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Norman?”

“I understand from my grandson that I'll be on the air with Bonnie Cooper.” For someone being held hostage, Mr. Norman sounded remarkably calm.

“I'll give you to our executive producer in one minute.” I walked into the control room, my ears buzzing from the enormity of what I was about to do. “Esther?”

Esther turned. “What do you want, Agnes? I'm a little busy here right now.”

I swallowed. “I have Archibald Norman, First National Bank's president on the phone. He's willing to talk on air with Bonnie. He's still inside.”

I was a celebrity during fourth hour journalism.

No one else in the class had an internship. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Emma Waters had one at the dippy local newspaper, but mine was by far the cooler of the two.

Everyone in town had heard about the stand-off/robbery/hostage situation, and Channel Fifteen news had really gotten a coup with the Archibald Norman interview. After Esther had picked herself up off the floor, she had practically hugged me. I bet she'd know my name from now on, and who knew what kind of responsibilities they would give me now?

Mr. Fisher, our journalism teacher, sat on his desk like he always did at the beginning of class. I knew he wanted to stay cool or whatever was in his head, but he was approaching forty, had a receding hairline, and wore suspenders and bowties. Not in an ironic fashion sort of way, either. The only thing missing from his ensemble was one of those fedora-like hats with a little piece of paper stuck in the brim.

“A little bird informed me that our very own Allison Jones might have had something to do with Channel Fifteen's amazing coverage of the hostage situation yesterday. Miss Jones, would you like to tell us about it?” He grinned at me, and I knew Marika had called him. That was one thing about my internship that I hated. The two of them talked on a weekly basis, and I was pretty sure Marika had the hots for him.

I flushed, the warm heat creeping around my ears, which were fully exposed by my ponytail. Ducking my head, I felt a rush of pleasure at the attention as everyone turned to look at me. Despite my inclination to blush every time anyone singled me out for praise, I really did love being in the limelight.

“It was nothing. Just a lucky break.” I shrugged, even though I fully took the praise.

“That may be, but a good source is a good source. And what do we know about a good source?”

“A good source makes a good story great,” we all chorused. Mr. Fisher had been drilling that little fact into our heads since the first day of the school year. Even when we were just working on stories for the school paper, he insisted that we get the best source possible. So, for example, if I was doing a story on why the cafeteria food stank, I had to ask not only the students and the cafeteria workers, but also try to get the opinion of the school district's nutritionist. Everything we did was fully fleshed out.

“What was it like?” A guy named Nicolai asked. “I mean, being part of the action?”

“I was hardly part of the action. The folks at the news station did all the work. I just stood by, really.” I laughed, but only partly because it really had been incredible. The only part that had dragged me down was Mom's fretting when I got home. “It was really wild, though. We could see all the helicopters and emergency vehicles. One guy I work with even swore he saw the sharpshooter who—“My voice faltered as I brought up the part of the story everyone had been avoiding. All anyone wanted to remember was that the hostages had all been rescued. No one liked mentioning that two of the suspects had been shot and killed after the stand-off had dragged on for eight hours.

Mr. Fisher looked at me with that gaze he had down pat. He always made you feel like he was a therapist or something, and he could see your pain or your secrets. At that moment I knew he could tell how uncomfortable the whole subject was because yet again I was reminded that real people had been on the other end of the story. While our side was full of adrenaline and excitement at having something truly major to report, the other side had experienced the full range that terror had to offer. Those were real people.

“Class, what Allison did yesterday is just one small part of what a news team does when a story breaks. The key is to be a team player. Now, how many of you are interested in that sort of career?” He glanced around as a few people besides me raised their hands. With a nod, he moved to the chalkboard, snapping his suspenders as he went. I was pretty sure it was a nervous tick that he had. Man, he would drive Marika nuts. “I know I've talked about this before but since so many of you are seniors, I want to go over this again. Especially since today is the first day of the new quarter, and you all know what that means.”

Groans resounded throughout the room. I reached into my backpack for the three inch binder that we were required to keep. Every single thing written on the board had to go into the notebook. A new quarter meant that we had to two days to pretty up the past quarter's notes, and turn them in.

The rest of class was spent writing down the exact same material that we had done in December. I knew Mr. Fisher liked to re-emphasize points to make them stick, but sometimes it just seemed like over kill. A lot of my other teachers handed out notes already typed up or even sent them as messages on our phones. Those were pretty great, but there was something to be said for the feeling of a pen on a sheet of paper. I kind of loved the way the ink glided. There was no better word for it. I uttered a rapturous sigh. Nicolai turned around in his seat and stared at me.

I looked away from his slightly leering gaze, and wondered if he was actually checking me out or if his face was just like that. Boredom reared its head as Mr. Fisher launched into the joys of copyediting. Even though he only lectured one day a week, I felt like he recycled two-thirds of his information from one semester to the next. People around me seemed just as bored. Some shuffled papers, while others just stared at the ceiling. Two girls had snuck out their phones, keeping them hidden just below the desk. My eyes started to droop, and my head bobbed as the fatigue that always accompanies the post-adrenaline high caught up to me. The next thing that Mr. Fisher said, however, jerked me completely awake.

“And on Friday, instead of our usual movie day, the internship coordinator from Channel Fifteen, Marika Wieczorek, will be here to talk to you all about some exciting behind the scenes careers in the television news field.”

I squirmed at the thought of Marika being here in my class. Sure, John was the reason I had applied for the internship in the first place—he was a local celebrity, after all-- but I hadn't known him then. Marika was my boss. I liked my worlds kept safely in their own little compartments. Besides I had a bad feeling that she and Mr. Fisher would spend the majority of the time flirting, and that was just not something I wanted to see. I'd much rather watch
Never Been Kissed
for the fifth time. That one seemed to be Mr. Fisher's favorite Friday Film.

“What if we don't want to go into journalism?”

There was a gasp from someone at the front of the room, and the entire room turned toward the voice. A girl I didn't know beyond this class had asked the question. She had her head propped up on her hand, and her whole demeanor said she was beyond bored. I knew why whoever it was had gasped; that question was as close to sacrilegious as it got in that class.

Mr. Fisher chuckled. “Amy, no one is forcing you to follow this path, but it's my job to inform you about career paths in this field as that is the focus of this class.”

There wasn't much time before the bell so he couldn't go on with a more in depth analysis of why Amy had chosen to take the class if she didn't like journalism enough to consider making it her life. I'd heard the lecture before, and while I did have a passion for the news, I didn't begrudge others the option of merely treating it as a hobby or less.

When the bell finally did ring, signaling the end of class, I shoved all my stuff back in my bag, and hurried from the room. Once in the fray of the hallway teeming with adolescence, I headed toward my locker. I made it no more than four feet when someone slung an arm over my shoulder, making me stagger as I was thrown off balance.

“So, first day of our new class.” Jake spoke louder than normal so I could hear him over the din. I shuddered.

“Don't remind me.” I yelled a little louder than necessary, and Jake gave me an odd look. Remembering what his grandfather had been through yesterday, I just shook my head by way of apology. My problems really were so insignificant, and yet…I really did not want to go to Mr. Carson's Special Events Planning Class.

Jake patted my shoulder, his mouth curving up in a careless grin. “Come on, we're doing this together. Besides, you never know, it could turn out to be fun.”

It was definitely not fun. Halfway through the first class I could say that without impunity. Special Events Planning should have carried a warning label. This class was not for the faint of heart or the logical of head. I was pretty sure intellect wasn't a prized value in there either.

“We've done all the fundraising,” Mary Beth Johnson said. She folded her arms, and stared at the rest of us. “We have a venue. Now we need to get down to brass tacks. The first order of business is picking the prom theme. Think hard, people. This has to be totally unique. I don't want a theme that has ever been used before, and I mean ever.”

I nearly burst out laughing, but I managed to cover up with a gross sounding, gagging cough. Jake shot me a warning glance, and I felt an odd amount of chastisement. I knew he liked the girl, but there was something in his expression that told me he was taking this class seriously. We'd have to have a chat about that later.

Settling back in my desk, I took the opportunity to study this girl that Jake had been going on about for the last few weeks. Mary Beth had transferred to our school at the beginning of the year, and I hadn't gone out of my way to get to know her. She had an uber cheerful, preppy look that I found sickeningly cliché. Still, I could tell why Jake liked her. She was gorgeous in a polished, cheerleader way with big blue doe eyes, and sun-bleached blond hair that curled perfectly down her back. Even her clothes looked like she laid them out the night before—they were just so put together.