Page 13 of Rules of Engagement

The truth stares back. “No, I won’t. I'll be humiliated all over again.” I hang my head and indulge in a moment of pure self-pity.

The door opens, and Fran and Lilah come in. I shake my pity party off, square my shoulders, and walk toward them with my head held high. Totally faking the way I feel inside.

“Good morning.” I tell them as we pass.

“Congratulations.” They say at the same time.

I nod. “Thanks.”

“You're going to kill it!”

I nod again and put a smile on my face. “I hope so.”

When I sit back down at my desk, a group email has arrived.

Subject: Congratulations goes out to Jorja Jones.

Sidney Malone <[emailprotected]> 8:45 AM (5 minutes ago)

To: Jorja <[emailprotected]>, Desiree

Good morning, staff. Please stop by Jorja’s desk and offer your congratulations and best wishes. Jorja will be writing our entry into the First Annual Thorton Publishing House Contest.

I have chosen Everyday Heroes as our theme, and our very own Jocko Malone will be featured. Jocko has recently returned from serving in the Navy as a SEAL.

Everyday Heroes will also be our theme for the summer months. Please submit your everyday hero for consideration.

Sidney

As one by one, the staff stops by my desk to congratulate and encourage me, I realize this is bigger than myself. This is about my work family and doing them proud. If I have to overcome my personal issues with Jocko to write a winning article, so be it. If I end up prostrating myself, it will be to get the story. I'll do whatever it takes to win. And when it’s written, I’ll walk away with my head held high. He won’t bully me ever again.

I open my laptop and spend the rest of the day with my head down, sorting through photos, placing some nice ones strategically throughout the layout page, putting the finishing touches on the last feature article for this month’s Spring Edition.

I've taken what was a simple story on Daisy’s Flowers, the flower stand that takes up the whole corner of town, shared its origin as a lemonade stand a couple of decades ago, highlighted a few of the personal stories from the generations of owners, and transformed a humdrum topic into an article worthy of running as this edition’s feature story.

I sit back and critique my work one last time before sending it to Sidney for final approval and publication. “I like it.” I tell myself and cross my arms. “It’s good.”

I hit send and “swoosh” it’s off to Sidney for review.

Leaning back in my chair, stretching my arms over my head, relaxing my shoulders and neck, I glance up at the clock on the wall. The red neon face reads 4:08—less than an hour to go. I stand to stretch my back, and Desiree’s head lifts to look over her laptop. She jumps to her feet, and as she rounds her desk. Britney sees her on the move and leaps to her feet too. The look on their faces as they descend on me says I’m about to be grilled.

I sit back down, cross my arms, and prepare myself.

When they arrive, Britney hikes her hip and sits down on the edge of my desk. Desiree plants both palms in the center and leans over it to stare into my eyes.

“So?” Desiree asks.

“So … what?” I ask, not sure if the grilling is about how I landed the contest assignment or Jocko’s return, since we all went to school together, and they witnessed ‘the goodbye kiss’ firsthand.

Desiree cuts her eyes at Britney then looks back down at me. “So …Jocko’sback in town.”

I nod. “I heard.”

They exchange a look, then she narrows her eyes and asks, “What do you mean,you heard? You haven’t seen him yet?”

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t.”

They exchange another quick look, then they race to the window.

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