Ben
“Yeah, I’ll copy the flyer for you.” I shoot Liam, one of the junior photographers, a smile and accept the single, neon advertisement for his band’s underground show.
“Thanks, man.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Printer credits are a bitch.”
“Don’t I know it.” I smile one last time and twist away from him toward the copy room. I don’t know anything about printer credits. My school didn’t have them, and as an adult here, I don’t even have access to those credits. But Liam’s a nice guy. He doesn’t need to know that.
As I walk, I check my phone. Still nothing from Marcie. I doubt there’s anything wrong, but her suddenly calling me Theresa is unsettling. Hopefully, she’ll text soon. I duck into the copy room.
Just in time to see some ridiculously tall emo guy sliding in through the wi
