Page 21 of Wild Card

I set my phone down, trying to brush off the feeling that always came when I started comparing my life to my stepsister. Juan’s words bounced in the back of my mind, even as I thought back to being in high school and how much prettier everyone said she was when they compared her to me. How much more socially accepted she was, how it was always her who had the dates while I was home working on my computer. How, even now at twenty-one years old, it was Taylor a devastatingly handsome man wanted instead of me.

You ruined everything.

I grabbed my clothes and headed for the shower, hoping I could wash away these feelings that always seemed to drown me.

* * *

My back achedfrom hovering over my laptop and notes. I had a kickass outline created and several color-coded sticky notes ready and set up in my study notebook…but each space that should have had bullet points or notes written in was empty. I had practically nothing to go on from my little jaunt to the Devils’ party, and to top it off, there was a tiny chance I was in a bit of legal trouble because of it. I was avoiding the baseball field and their local hangouts at all costs, which wasn’t great for my desperate need for a source and more information. I needed to interview someone, but every time I even considered getting up the nerve to saunter toward the locker room or practice field, I got physically ill.

Grabbing for my phone, I sorted through a few texts from Hillary and Juan.

Juan: Pizza 2night?

Hillary: Bring salad and I’m game

Juan: Mal?

Hillary: Malllllorrrrrryyyyyyyyyyy

Juan: She’s ignoring us

Hillary: I bet she’s at the library. She always has those headphones in…

Juan: And that horrible music blasting

Hillary: I actually dig some of those nature sounds…they mix violins and guitars in there too. Don’t shame her for loving some relaxing instrumental.

Juan: Mallory Shaw, answer us. I’ll bring a bag of lime-flavored hips

Juan: I mean chips. And my famous guac

I smiled down at my phone, seeing that it had been well over thirty minutes since their last text. Biting my nail, I knew I wouldn’t be able to really enjoy myself until I’d cleared my head.

Me: Sorry, I was in the library…I’ll be there in thirty

Gathering my things, I left the library and bypassed the parking lot. When I needed to get clarity around a story, I often needed perspective or just inspiration to dig deeper, try harder, and just…do better. I knew I was a decent writer, but every now and then Trevor would get inside my head and ruin any confidence I had regarding my story.

With this specific one, I was already grasping at straws, so I was needing inspiration more than ever.

I checked my phone for the community transportation schedule and grabbed a seat on the downtown commuter bus. I watched my reflection in the window as the dark city flew by, and the empty seats reminded me that most people were home with their loved ones. This was my last year of being free like this, not being pressed down by a job or a family…freedom to just hop on a random bus and head into the city with no one knowing or caring where I went.

The idea of it burned my chest. I knew my father still wanted me to get involved with his businesses—he’d even offered to purchase Kline Global so I’d get a paid position. The laughable offer had forced me to leave that specific dinner early. I hated when traces of my dad disappeared and the wealthy tycoon took its place. My dad before the billions would have told me to work for the internship, to earn it. Sometimes it felt like he’d died shortly after my mom did, as soon as he’d married Jackie.

Finally, the bus pulled into the snug space reserved for its massive size, and people shuffled off, heading in their own directions. I pulled my backpack on, gripping the black straps, and started downtown toward the one place I hoped to be the following year. Located only two blocks down and one street over was the news giant, Kline Global. Okay, it was a giant in the same way people viewed David who had killed Goliath. David was clearly the badass hero, mightier than the most feared warrior in the land…but dude was tiny. Kline Global sat snugly in the middle of an empire, only taking up space on one measly floor, but still…I stood on the sidewalk with my head tipped back, staring at the enormity of the gleaming glass windows that speared the sky.

I knew it was closed, the hour well after everyone had gone home, but there were still a few lights on inside, likely a few people cleaning. I walked closer to the front door and ran my finger along the engraving for the company whose internship I craved more than anything.

Sweeping my finger over the K always seemed to calm me down, the L was a woosh of air to my chest, the I, N, and E all small flutters in my stomach. I closed my eyes, imagining myself a year from now, walking out of these very doors, bursting into the bustling city…headed home to my own apartment that I didn’t have to share with anyone. A smile crested, and my chest felt light.

Kline Global only extended one internship spot a year to graduating students of RFU, and that internship often led to a paid staff writing position. Several of the staff on the school paper wanted the spot, and many only wanted it for its proximity to the famous glamour magazine that had blown up recently, but either way, KG was their foot in the door.

KG worked strictly to bring awareness to injustices happening around us. From local communities to third world countries, it reported on those stories, doing whatever it took to ensure they began trending and got people talking. They’d recently done a story on a young woman just two cities over who’d been raped, but the guilty party had nearly gotten away with it because he was a local football star. Their articles and stories were featured by major celebrities who dedicated their free time to helping in developing countries, sending foreign aid as well as standing up against social injustice in our own backyard.

It was the kind of journalism that made me want to be a writer, the kind where real change could be made. I wanted to do something with my writing, make a change, help someone find justice in something…report on what mattered. Sure, I loved the funny parts of social media like the next person, but there was something burning in me that just aligned with Kline Global and its vision.

I closed my eyes, tracing the lettering and taking a few deep breaths.

“You’ll get it, Mal. You’ll get it,” I whispered to myself then turned on my heel and headed back toward the bus station.

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