Page 109 of Bad For A Weekend

“Take care, man.” His dismissive attitude grates on my nerves. I want to convince him of my worth, tell him I’ll do whatever it takes, and get back in his good graces. But it’s too late. He’s already written me off.

“Thanks. You too.”

As I walk out of the house, the reality of what I’m losing hits me in the chest. This is really it. I just got the green light from her dad, and I still couldn’t pull my shit together.

Baylor

Three years later...

“Hey, Baylor.” Sam, my editor, approaches the cubicle I’ve been hiding in.

“I’ll have it ready in an hour,” I say.

“I know you will.” She perches herself on the edge of the desk.

My eyes flicker to hers, but my mind is still on my article. “Did you need something else?”

“I had an idea for your next piece.”

Now she has my attention. “Oh, yeah?”

“Did you hear about that school shooting in Idaho?”

The second I heard the news, my mind went right to Owen. Had he heard? Was it triggering? This led me down a rabbit hole of wondering how he was and what he was doing. It doesn’t take much for me to think about the man I can’t seem to forget, but instead of conjuring up all our good times, I was on edge and wanted to reach out to check on him. But how weird would that be? He’s probably married with kids by now.

“Yeah. Three teachers and seven students injured. The shooter committed suicide when the cops entered the building. Really sad story.”

“Agreed. But it gave me an idea. Parents and teachers are demanding to know what the local schools are doing to keep the kids and staff safe. I thought you might want to do a write-up on it.”

“I like it.”

“Good. I set up an interview with the school resource officer for the Claremont Unified School District for tomorrow afternoon at four-thirty. He’ll meet you in the Claremont High main office.”

“Okay. I can make that work. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Sam pushes off the desk and walks away. My stress jumps from barely manageable to overloaded as I make a mental checklist of everything I need to get done today and tomorrow, adding preparations for the interview to the top.

This is my second year as a staff reporter for Pomona’s newspaper,The Student Life, and I’m hoping to make editor next year, so every article counts. Including the one I’m finishing right now on how students who live in the dorms handle the current heatwave without air conditioning.

The consensus is that they aren’t. They’re angry, and rightfully so. I’m sure the higher-ups will not be pleased with what I have to say. But that won’t stop me from printing it. It never does.

“Hey, Baylor.” Grayson, another reporter, approaches. Yet another interruption.

I blow out a breath of frustration. I’m clearly not going to get this done while on campus. There are too many distractions and too many people treating college like it’s social hour.

Closing my laptop, I stand and pull my backpack out from under the desk. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“I was thinking about grabbing lunch and wanted to see if you were hungry.” One side of his lips tips up in a grin. I have to hand it to him; he’s got charisma and is hot. He levels up his edgy style of flamboyantly printed shirts, painted nails, and holey jeans by bringing in classic staples like white Converse and a leather bomber jacket.

Our paths cross often since he’s friendly with Ziggy, and we seem to participate in the same extracurriculars. From what I’ve noticed, he’s not a fuck boy, and he’s respectful. There’s no reason I should say no.

Except that he’s not Owen. But it’s been three years of no contact. I can’t wait forever.

With that in mind, I say, “Sure. But I can’t today. I have a deadline and an interview to prepare for.”

His eyes gleam. “Okay. What day works?”

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