News Flash (5 page)

The knock at the front door sent our dog, Barney, careening down the stairs, barking his high pitched yips. Before I even set foot on the first floor, the door opened, and Jake stuck his head through.

“Hey, doofus,” he said reaching down to stroke the dog's head. His eyes stayed on me, though, so I wasn't sure who he was talking to. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was calling me names since we still hadn't made up after our fight earlier.

“What do you want?” I asked, staying on the first step with a hand propped on my hip. We'd been in this same situation so many times I couldn't even begin to count.

Jake knelt down beside Barney as the dog flopped onto the ground. “Oh, come on, Al, I'm sorry okay?”

I poked the railing with my toe. I knew that I should let Jake off the hook. He'd even come over to apologize, but I was still angry. There was something about his attitude toward the special events planning class that irritated me. I didn't know if it was the fact that he was taking something so lame seriously or that he was only in the class for a girl. I'd watched Jake fawn all over plenty of other girls, but they had all been sweet. Mary Beth Johnson was not. To say the very least.

“Let's go outside,” I said, grabbing my coat as my older sister, Lauren walked by. She ignored us, but continued on into the living room. I knew she'd listen to every word we said.

Jake straightened and shrugged. He didn't say anything as he held the door open for me. He was a good half a foot taller than me, and that was one of the reasons he had begun playing basketball in the first place; to annoy me. It had just been a happy coincidence that he also happened to be really good at it.

The day had been warm for late March in northern Illinois, but as twilight set in the air was chilly. I pulled my jacket tight, and flipped my hood up. Jake leaned against the railing on the porch. He crossed his arms over his chest, and waited.

“Why is that class so important to you?” I blurted out the words before I could say anything else.

With a sigh Jake ran a hand the back of his neck. “Why does it bother you so much if I take it seriously?”

“Because it's a glorified prom planning committee. And the people in charge are exactly what we've spent four years trying not to be.” My voice rose an octave as I spoke, ending on a shrill note that I hated. I shoved my hands into my pockets, and looked out across the lawn toward the street.

“That's really small of you, Allison. What's going on with you lately? You haven't been the same since you started working at that news station.” Jake stopped, a look of surprise crossing his face. “Sorry.”

I felt tears prick the back of my eyes, and I swiped at them so Jake wouldn't see how much he had bothered me. “Yeah, well you haven't exactly been the same either since you lost at the semi-finals. I guess senior year is just changing us.”

The pleading look came in to Jake's eyes so I looked away again. “I just want my best friend back. I miss hanging out with you, Al.”

“I miss hanging out with you too, Jake.” My heart squeezed at the sadness in his voice. I couldn't imagine my life without him in it. Maybe I had been pushing him away a little bit so I wouldn't have to deal with the separation when we both left for college. I reached out to take his hand. He twined our hands together, and closed his eyes briefly. There was obviously a lot more than my bad attitude bothering him, and as his oldest friend I had a responsibility to ask him about it. But the words stuck in my mouth, so I just held his hand instead.

“Hey, sorry to get all maudlin on you there.” Jake forced a smile.

“Maudlin?” I laughed shakily.

The smile grew wider; showing off Jake's crooked front teeth and the little dimple that appeared on his right cheek. “I've been practicing my old fogey speak. Impressed?”

“Totally,” I said, relieved that we were back to lighter topics. “Look, I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

“Sure,” Jake said as he straightened up, and pulled the collar of his jacket closer around his neck.

“Would you cover for me tonight? I'm supposed to meet a coworker for coffee, but after yesterday I just don't think my mom's going to let me go.” I held my breath. The timing of my request seemed off, inappropriate even, but I didn't care. I wanted to go meet Rory.

A hard look slammed down over Jake's features, and he clenched his jaw. “I can't tonight. I'm going to the river court. Sorry.”

He turned to leave. I opened my mouth to speak, but my jaw felt like it had come unhinged so it just hung open as I stared at Jake's retreating form. What had happened to us? In the past he would have covered for me in a heartbeat, and maybe he would have teased me but he would have been happy for me that I was finding my way in the world.

“What crawled up your butt and died?” I yelled after him.

He waved me off, and jogged up the walk to his own house. I let out an exasperated sigh, and slammed the front door on my way inside.

I lied.

I had to. There was no way Mom was letting me out the door after I'd been within a city block of a hostage situation where there were, gasp, guns. If I didn't meet Rory for coffee, I was sure that was it. He wouldn't have any interest in a high school kid still controlled by her parents.

So I told my parents I was meeting Chloe back at the station to log interviews. I figured it was only a veiled lie. In fact I was meeting someone from the station, in the near vicinity of work, and at some point I would ask Rory about doing interviews with people on the street.

No matter which way I spun the story, I still had a queasy feeling in my stomach as I left the house. Being honest was something that had been drilled into my sisters and me since we were old enough to speak. The bus stop was two blocks over, and despite my mom's frequent bouts of worry, she had insisted that we learn to navigate the public transportation system when we were in middle school. With four of us so close in age, she couldn't be chauffeuring us everywhere all the time. So even at night I was allowed to travel by bus.

I leaned against the window and watched my residential neighborhood slip by as we travelled toward downtown. Despite my major excitement about seeing Rory, the whole experience was colored with my deception and the persistent nagging of my confrontation with Jake. I started upright in my seat as we passed the river court. The lights blazed on the basketball players pounding the pavement in the chill of the March night. I couldn't see Jake, but I imagined him at a pick-up game with a bunch of guys who hung around by the court. Just beyond I could see the dark coursing waters of the river. A shiver raced down my back. Maybe it was the feeling that I shouldn't be doing what I was or maybe it was the knowledge that just around the corner—metaphorically—everything was about to change.

The melancholy passed quickly as the bus entered downtown. I got off outside the station, so that at least that part of my story was vaguely accurate. Even as I felt the unease roll over me again, I tried to shake it off, to tell myself that in the grand scheme of things this was a very small act of rebellion. Maybe I had seen one too many news stories about missing girls, though, because not telling my parents exactly where I was going to be seemed stupid.

I sighed, and headed down the block toward the coffee shop Rory had texted me about. Through the window I could see a quartet playing in the back corner. From the muffled noise coming from inside, I decided they must be playing jazz. A lot of young people milled about the various tables, sipping fancy looking coffee drinks. They all looked like whippersnappers to me. Thinking in old lady speak made me smirk, and that calmed me down.

“I can do this,” I whispered. “He's just a boy.”

The café was louder than I had expected. The sound of a bass mixing with a saxophone nearly swallowed me whole. I looked around for Rory, hoping he'd also be watching for me. A cursory sweep of the place, though, revealed no such thing. Maybe he was running late. I checked my phone for messages, but finding none I decided to order some tea and sit down.

The menu was miles long, and it took me forever to find what I was looking for. “Tea, please,” I shouted over the din.

“What kind?” The bored looking barista threw a glance over his shoulder at the menu.

I suppressed an eye roll. “Plain.”

“We don't carry that.” He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance. I wondered how many times a day he had to explain the choices.

“Can I just get a mug of hot water and a tea bag? I don't care what kind.” I didn't feel like drawing out this transaction. Rory would be here any minute. My stomach twisted and my heart sped up just at the thought of him.

The guy gave his short beard a tug, and turned away. Was that some sort of code that baristas used to signal that they understood your order? Confused, I stepped to the side to wait. This place was no main stream coffee joint, and the people who ran it clearly had their own way of doing things. While I waited I looked around for Rory again, and pulled out my phone. Nothing had changed on either front. I huffed out an irritated breath. Punctuality counted for a lot with me. My time was far too valuable for dillydallying around. Even for a cute guy.

“Here you go. Five-eighty.” The cup rocked in its saucer as the guy plunked it down on the counter beside me.

“For hot water and a tea bag?” My amazement showed in my tone.

The barista shrugged. “I had to heat it up. Check the menu.”

Rummaging in my purse, I slapped a ten down and waited for my change. By the time the guy meandered back from the cash register I could already see the water had cooled. Nothing like tepid tea to make an evening really great. I sighed, scooped up the saucer, and went to find a seat. Finally I found a tiny cushioned chair with armrests forlornly cast into a corner. There was no table to rest my drink on so I balanced it on my knees. Still no word from Rory. I was beginning to think I had been stood up.

The jazz quartet launched into a slow number, and despite my jitters I relaxed enough to enjoy the vibe of the café, rude baristas aside. I kept my phone in one hand while I dunked the tea bag in the water. As it steeped I fiddled with the screen, scrolling back and forth between apps. I had no desire to update my status or check what my friends were doing. I toyed with the idea of texting Rory, but decided that seemed a little pushy and desperate. And I couldn't call Jake because I was pretty sure we were mad at each other.

I let my thoughts drift to Jake playing down at the river court. Man, I loved hanging out down there, especially on summer nights when we didn't have to be home until eleven. Idly I wondered if that was why he'd come by earlier, to invite me to go with him. That would have been a nice evening, better than being stood up by a guy I barely knew.

Another glance at my phone showed me that I had been here for twenty minutes. What was the point of staying any longer, listening to whiny jazz, and drinking lukewarm orange tea? I was just about to stand up when my phone buzzed. I scrolled to my texts. There was a message from Rory saying he'd been stuck at the office. How ironic. A moment later another message flashed at me asking if I wanted to meet him at his apartment instead so he could change and grab a quick bite to eat. The cursor flashed waiting for me to type a reply. The word sure was out before I could take a breath. He gave me quick directions, and I stood, somewhat numbly, ditched my cup on the counter, and headed back out into the night.

I briefly considered texting Jake where I was going but changed my mind. No need to spoil my evening with the snide, judgmental remarks I knew would be waiting for me.

Two blocks later, I came to the address Rory had given me. Pretty swanky for a guy so low on the news station totem pole. I figured he must have roommates. Strangely the idea made me feel better. I rang up, and a moment later the door clicked open.

I took the elevator to the sixth floor. The hallway was short, with only two doors on either side. Plush carpet spread from wall to wall, and the ornamentation on the walls was all gilded and gold. It evoked a Fifth Avenue apartment from the movies. Feeling distinctly out of place, I made my way to Rory's door, and knocked.

He answered right away, looking relaxed in jeans and a vintage rock t-shirt. His feet were bare, and he grinned at me as he stood aside for me to enter.

“I'm really glad you decided to come over.” Rory took my coat, hung it in the front closet, and headed toward the open kitchen. “Esther pretty much has decided to overhaul the whole show now that Bonnie and John have turned traitor. I mean, I get it, the ten o'clock spot is prize, but way to show some loyalty, you know?”

I pulled off my shoes, and stacked them neatly by the door. Padding across the thick carpet in my socks, I took a quick peak around. The whole place was styled like a magazine. There was no way this belonged to a single guy in his early twenties. My nerves came back full force, and I chewed my lower lip as I tried to think of something to say that wouldn't make me sound young, naïve, or stupid.

“This is a really nice place.”

“Hmmm? Oh, thanks. It's actually my grandma's apartment. She travels, like, eleven months out of the year so she lets me stay here rent free just for house sitting. Well, that and taking care of her cat.” Rory went over to the stove and stirred something in a pot. His explanation made me relieved, but I couldn't exactly explain why.

“That's nice of you. For taking care of her cat, I mean.” I sat down on a bar stool by the center island in the kitchen.

Rory chuckled, and I realized that he was completely comfortable with this situation, while I was trembling like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I had to stop acting like such a child. Drawing a steadying breath, I said, “So what were you doing for Esther tonight?”

“Going through Bonnie and John's personnel files, which I'm pretty sure violates all kinds of human resources codes and just plain ethics, but whatever. Esther wanted every single complaint against them. Did you know there have been hundreds just this year alone? Hundreds! Those two are ridiculous.” Rory rolled his eyes, and tasted whatever was in the pot.