Page 44 of Love on the Byline

The place had seen better days. What had once surely beengleaming chrome accents were now worn or faded, and the wood paneling on the wallswas so outdated it was almost back in style. Still,everything was cleanand tidy.

They emerged into a space that had been stripped entirely ofits original identity. Gone was the wood and chrome, and in its place alinoleum floor, a set of folding chairs, and a stage that had been paintedpitch black. Heavy burgundy curtains hung on either side, framing the black,and an old upright piano sat on the floor beneath the lip. The woman sitting onthe piano bench was in her early thirties, with dark olive skin and chestnuthair. A dozen kids, ranging in age from around eight to somewhere around Micah’sage sat in a semicircle facing the piano.

“That’s her,” the girl whispered as she pointed. “They’refinishing up, so it won’t be long.”

“Projection and elocution,” Deanna said. She made eyecontact with each of the kids before turning back to the piano. “Let’s try thelast verse and chorus.”

The kids launched into a song that sounded vaguely familiar.“Is that from a movie?”

“Yeah, Encanto.”

“Oh, right.”

“I better go finish my homework before my class,” Micahsaid.

“What are you studying here?”

Her face lit up. “Scriptwriting.”

“From Mr. Benjamin?”

Her eyes shone with sudden enthusiasm. “It’s socool. I love storytelling. It’s like Ollie says, you can create your own worldwith your own rules.”

“That does sound like fun.”

Micah waved goodbye, and Blake found a chair near a table inthe back. She took out her notebook and a pen but found herself scanning thelarge space for a sign of Ollie. Stop it. She focused on her notes.

Miriam (not her real name) is a beautiful young lady,full of the kind of hope and optimism companies like Diamond Moon Enterprisesprey upon. What they offer these kids sounds like a dream because it is. But ina place where dreams rarely come true, every opportunity must seem like theonly opportunity.

“Are you Ms. Dillon?”

She looked up and found Deanna walking towards her. “Yeah,hi. And Blake is fine.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Blake. I’m Deanna.”

“Not a problem at all, Deanna.” She got to her feet andoffered her hand.

Deanna’s grip was firm, her smile inviting. She started toturn, gesturing for Blake to follow her. “To be honest, I was surprised when Igot your email. How did you hear about us?”

“There was an article on a Spanish-language site that cameacross my feed.”

Deanna stopped and looked at her, surprised. “You speak Spanish?”

“Not enough to hold a conversation beyond the weather,” sheadmitted. “But I caught the gist of it.”

“Enough to reach out,” Deanna confirmed. She showed Blakeinside a small office, the air inside slightly stale, and took a seat behind anold metal desk covered in stacks of paper, cups of pens, and highlighters. Anold flatscreen monitor perched in one corner, a few dead pixels scatteredacross the screen.

Blake took the chair opposite her. “How many kids, would yousay, have been targeted by Diamond Moon?”

“First, tell me why the Gazette is interested in thisstory.” Deanna leaned back and rested her ankle on her knee. She was dressed ina black tank top and black chinos, but wore a gorgeous, multicolored scarfaround her neck. Her jewelry was artsy but inexpensive.

Blake figured honesty was probably the best approach.“They’re not.”

Deanna’s eyes went wide, her brows disappearing under thefringe of her bangs. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Look,” Blake began as she leaned forward. “You know thereputation of the paper I work for. We’re not exactly renowned for hard-nosedjournalism. There’s a good chance my story will be buried in favor of thescandal of the week. But as my grandfather used to say, you can’t bury a blankpage.”

“I thought it was you can’t edit a blank page.”

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