Page 6 of All Too Well
One day I’ll learn. It’s not today, though.
He grins like he knew this was exactly what would happen. “All right, let’s hear it, Ainsley.”
“I’d like to do a story about Senator Erickson and the allegations of his family ties to the terror ring overseas.”
That was my second-choice story, and since he always shoots me down, my hope is that he’ll follow his usual process, and then I can write what I really want to write about, which is the tension around the newly proposed bill to add term limits to judges and all public officials.
It’s not getting a lot of attention, and if we could get it into the public eye, it could gain traction, which is exactly what the politicians do not want.
“No,” Mr. Krispen says immediately.
My plan is working.
“I see, and why not?”
He leans back. “Because we are a small-press paper that doesn’t have the resources to go overseas. When Carson Knight bought us out, we were lucky we didn’t get completely shutdown. Not to mention, you’ve been here six months, and that would be a major piece that would go to someone more senior than you. Instead, I’d like you to take the story about the new dating app.”
I would rather shove bamboo splints up my nails. “Mr. Krispen, while I think that story probably is just ... amazing, I was thinking a little something different this time. You know, freshen things up a bit.”
He nods slowly. “Like politics and senators who you want to make a connection to a terrorist ring?”
“I don’t want to make a connection that isn’t there,” I defend. “I just want to make sure he’s notalreadytied to it.”
Aiden, the golden journalist who has been here for two months longer than me, snorts. “I’d like to take a crack at it.”
I fight back the urge to poke him with a pencil. Not the pointy end, the eraser side, right in his ear.
My boss looks as though he’d like to poke me with his pencil—the pointy side, though. “No.”
I need to refocus him on the point that writing about shoes, dating apps, and hats is just not what we should be focusing on. It’s been months of the worst stories, and I need to break into the upper leagues. No more playing in the lowers—or minors? I can’t remember.
I clear my throat. “If Senator Erickson is out, what about a story regarding the bill that was proposed regarding term limits? That would require no budgetary constraints.”
Mr. Krispen leans back, steepling his hands in front of him. “That story could be good for our circulation. There are a lot of discussions going around since it was brought forth. A lot of the bigger publications are covering it.”
I fight back my excitement, not letting my emotions show. “I agree,” I say calmly. Inside, though, I’m doing a freaking jig.
Finally.
I’m going to get to write something other than gossip shit and dumb stories that no one gives a shit about. Last week I had to write about school lunches and whether they are really healthy.
Guess how many people that probably attracted?
One. And it was my dad.
He turns to Aiden. “You’ll take the story. I want the first draft on my desk by next Thursday.”
My jaw falls open. “But, Mr. Krispen, it was my idea.”
“Yes, and I’m giving it to the strongest writer on the team.”
The tightness in my chest is making it hard to breathe. “Sir, it was my pitch.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m aware of that, Ainsley. My job is to make sure the best stories are written by the most qualified reporters. You’ve never handled a story of that magnitude.”
Because he won’t let me.
Ugh. I could scream.
