Page 12 of Small Sacrifices

But Mr. Wright just swipes the question away with a large hand. "Whatever you need to. The important thing is to get butts in seats. The governor will do the convincing. He's good at that."

Oh no. That's really not good, isn't it? If he does this and the endeavor doesn't succeed, that could all fall back on him. And then bye-bye dream job. "Who will I be working with?" He tries to ask the question in a way that seems less critical than it is. And it seems to work. Because Mr. Wright still scoffs at the idea, but at least it sounds condescending instead of annoyed.

"Oh, I trust you to work alone. If you need help, you can ask the Latin lady who sits at the desk next to you. You're friendly with her, yes? And if something is really urgent, my door is always open. But I don't expect you'll encounter too much trouble. You're a competent young man. Very… diligent. This is your chance to prove yourself. You have until Friday. Deadline is at midnight, like before."

That… Reid is pretty sure that isn't how things are supposed to work. Yes, he's an intern in public relations, and technically, this might fall under his job description. But A) he's only been here two weeks, and B) his work so far has involved low-stakes social media tasks, nothing like this.

None of it makes any sense. This is such a critical assignment. Getting this right is vital. Why is it up to him, alone, to ensureit all goes smoothly? The other tasks assigned to his colleagues are important for the publicity effort, sure. But if Reid can't get the parents on board—or worse, alienates them—that'll throw a wrench into the entire operation.

So to ask him to do this, with so little information and in such a short period of time… It's Tuesday, almost noon. If he only stays for his regular working hours, that means he only has three and a half days left. How is that even supposed to work?

Mr. Wright has started to scribble notes onto the printouts on his desk, which Reid takes as a dismissal. When he takes his leave, the man doesn't even react.

His ears are still ringing when he leaves Mr. Wright's office. Everything feels a bit smudged. Damn it, he shouldn't have agreed to that so readily. He should have asked more questions, should have gotten a clear outline of what's expected of him. If he goes back now, that won't look good.

Even a deep breath doesn't stop Reid's heart from trying to beat out of his chest. And he can't get his eyes to focus on anything, which is a bit of an issue since he can't keep standing in Mr. Wright's doorway. He swallows and wiggles his shoulders to get his shirt to unstick from his armpits. His eyes skip over Marisol, where she's sitting at her desk, looking over at him with wide eyes. Marisol, right. Marisol will help him—even if it's just to put things into perspective. There's a chance that this won't be nearly as hard as he's imagining right now.

He forces his feet to move at an appropriate pace. Not a great idea, considering he gets the corner of a desk rammed into his thigh for his efforts. It hurts like hell, but he keeps moving until he can sit down in his own chair. Only then does he curl around his leg on a whispered curse. The desks really are standing way too close for him to navigate this space comfortably.

Next to him, he hears the hiss of Marisol drawing in a breath through her teeth. "You good?"

He isn't, but not in the way that she means. And usually, that's a rhetorical question, anyway. Reid nods. "Yes, just give me a minute."

For some reason, she doesn't take that as permission to get back to work. As he carefully runs his fingers over the spot he just so elegantly indented, he doesn't hear her clicking her mouse or tapping away on her keyboard. Office sounds are all around them, but the only thing Marisol seems to do is wiggle in her chair. It squeaks. Normally, he doesn't like the sound. But hearing it now makes a warm feeling nestle into the pit of his stomach. She genuinely wants to make sure he's okay.

And sure enough, when he finally raises his head, she's already looking at him.

"You good?" she repeats.

Reid can't contain a self-deprecating huff. "Yes. This happens a lot. I'm not very good at not walking into things."

Marisol clicks her tongue. "Maybe, but there's something else going on. You looked out of it as soon as you stepped out of that door. What did Mr. Wright want?"

Right. "I'm not sure. But I have an actual task now, so there's that."

"Oh, that's so cool!" Marisol claps her hands together, which is enough to draw the attention of their colleagues. Reid folds into himself further, but Marisol doesn't seem to mind. Her dark eyes are sparkling with excitement. "What is it?"

"The parents. He wants me to contact all of them and convince them for some kind of public meeting. Or a photo op or something like that.The biggest thing I can get them to agree to,Mr. Wright said."

He watches as her expression shifts. There's a slight shake of her head, her lips purse, and she squints at him. It's not a good reaction, but Reid can't quite place what she's thinking. Is it sympathy? Disgust? Something else? He's not sure.

"That sucks," is the first thing she says. It doesn't help him interpret her reaction, but at least she doesn't seem to be mad athim.That's a good thing.

"I hate those kinds of phone calls." Marisol shakes herself. Her chair squeaks plaintively. "Any time you have to tell yourself you'recircumventing the truthinstead oflying,it ends up being a complete nightmare."

"What?" Whatever he expected her to say, this definitely wasn't it. Marisol is good with people. He's seen the way she gets colleagues to leave her alone without being mad at her, or to help her without feeling put upon. She knows how to tell people exactly what she needs to in order to get them to do what she wants them to, and it doesn't even look manipulative. Mostly just impressive. At least to Reid.

Marisol frowns. "Well, I mean… This whole thing is a nightmare from start to finish. The parents are up in arms, and they're right to be. So you'll need to be very careful what you say if you want to get them to doanything.But if they get the feeling that you lied to them…"

Oh. Well, that's a problem he hasn't considered before. And it's worse. It makes the stakes so much higher. He tries to calm himself by smoothing his hands over his thighs. But that just emphasizes how much they're shaking now. Rubbing harder doesn't help either. All it does is send a twinge of pain up his body when he swipes his hand over the place where he just had an encounter with that desk.

Now, it just seems negligent that Mr. Wright gave him this task. Sure, Reid asked for it—or something like it, at least. But isn't it part of Mr. Wright's job to say no to bad ideas? If Reid says the wrong thing, or maybe even the right thing in the wrong tone, he could make things worse. If he makes these calls, he's making them as a representative of the governor of California. Just an intern, maybe, but still employed by him.

Reid isn't made for talking. He's made for writing. It was bad enough that he had to call people to do that poll. But at least those people didn't come into their calls angry and desperate because their child was sick. Most of them were cordial, if annoyed. Only one of them screamed at him, and even then, it was about the liberal agenda and something something drag queens at schools? He has a feeling that he's about to be on the receiving end of a whole lot more screaming.

Going by the expression on Marisol's face, she's realizing that he's just now understood this. Andthat,that pinched impression, that's definitely pity.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she says. "You're good with words. You just need to write them down beforehand. Like for a presentation, you know?"

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