Page 17 of Power Play

After a beat of silence, she adds, “Well, it was a good idea. On to the next, I guess.”

On to the next.

The words ring hollow in my ears. Realistically, I know that missing out on an interview with Duke isn’t the end of the world. My brain knows this. I can’t say that my heart recognizes this truth, though.

A knock comes at the door and I lift my head from my desk. Josh,The Tribune’seditor-in-chief and CEO, is standing in the entryway, shifting his weight side to side on his feet. He’s an edgy sort of guy, and by edgy, I’m not talking about his personal style. He’s a constant bundle of untapped nerves in a short, squat body.

As for the personal style part, that’s pretty much nonexistent. Everyday is a cycle of cargo shorts, beaten up sneakers, and a different color polo T-shirt. Usually stained with whatever lunch he scarfs down that day—the polo, I mean.

“Need something, Boss Man?” I ask. Josh never shows up to our office unless something is on his mind. Sometimes, when we’re lucky, Casey and I go weeks without making any contact with him.

Now, to my misfortune, he steps past the threshold and pulls his Red Sox baseball hat farther down over his bald head. “Denton, what’s going on with that ‘special piece’ you were blabbing on about the other day?”

Ah, crap. He’s talking about the Duke exclusive. “Oh, you know”—I run my fingers through my hair and my nail catches on a curl—“it’s going. It’s goinggreat.”

The line of his mouth lifts with hope. “How great?”

I grapple for a believable lie because who am I to be such a hope-killer? “I’m almost done. Maybe just one or two more paragraphs left; some editing.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup!” My voice emerges on a high-pitched squeak. I sense the onslaught of Doom approaching quickly.

“I’d like to see what you’ve got so far. Maybe we can squeeze it into tonight’s edits, so it can go live tomorrow on the website.”

I’m nowhere near complete. Hastily, I scan the papers on my desk, praying that I’ve got something on hand that I can thrust forward as an almost completed project. The sheets fly out from under my palm, drifting down to the floor like my soul.

I’ve got nothing.

I am so screwed.

“You know,” I say, still fervently searching forsomethingthat can save my butt from getting the boot, “maybe it’ll be best if it’s a surprise.”

Josh’s brows furrow. “I don’t like surprises.”

Yes, I want to shout,we all know how the editor-in-chief hates surprises. Once, when I first was hired, I walked into Josh’s office to find him turning his socks inside out to, and I quote, “Keep Lady Luck with him during his annual dental exam.”

Give me a scientific study explaining how inside-out-socks statistically make a visit to the dentist suck less, and I’m right there with you. Until then, no.

I give one more pass over my unorganized mess and sigh. There’s no way I’m climbing myself out of this hole. This is it, I can feel it in my arthritic left shin. The moment I’m fired. “Josh?”

He pushes his Sox cap back on his head, all the better to stare me down. “Yes, Charlie?”

“I lied, just now.”

Casey gasps and then promptly rushes from the room.

Traitor.

Arms crossing over his square chest, Josh takes another step into our 1970s replica office. “I know, Charlie.”

I blink. “You do?”

“You’re a shit liar,” he informs me with a nod. He invites himself to Casey’s lumpy chair, acting a little surprised when he sits and the chair protests with an audiblecreeeeek. “You’ve always been a shit liar. Remember when I first hired you and you swore up and down that you’d personally interviewed Tom Brady?”

“Now, I didn’t saythatexactly.” My wince is the stuff of legends; it cannot be concealed. “I’d said that I had interviewed Tim Brady, former Boston University hockey player. Minor difference.”

My interview with Tim Brady had taken place at a college frat party with BU’s golden hockey boy head first over the toilet. As Tim had prayed to the porcelain gods after way too many rounds of Jagerbombs with his teammates, I had questioned him on his stick play, his love for the penalty box, and why in the hell he’d decided to screw the coach’s wife.

---