Chapter Two
863 Words
Nadia pov
A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. It was the familiar penalty for crying myself to sleep. I lay on Petra's couch, staring up at a water stain on her ceiling. I gave myself exactly few seconds to feel sorry for myself.
I already knew what was waiting for me. I could feel the weight the internet puts on you when it decides you are interesting—the strange sense of being watched by a crowd without a face.
I reached for my phone on the coffee table and unlocked it. The bright screen made my headache spike.
The clip had two million views.
The number ticked up in real time. Overnight, a gossip blog had posted my full name, my i********: photo, and my university. The headline turned my life into a cautionary tale for cheap entertainment.
I got up and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, just to give my hands something to do. While the machine hissed, I kept scrolling. The comments were a mix of pity and harsh judgment. Total strangers were putting me into boxes I never agreed to be in.
Petra walked into the kitchen while I was standing at the counter, both hands wrapped around my mug. I was still reading.
"Put the phone down," she said. Her voice was gravelly and half-asleep. Her hair was a mess, and she pointed a finger at me from the hallway like she was identifying a suspect.
"I'm fine."
"You're reading the comments." She walked over and took the phone right out of my hand. "This is self-destructive, Nadia. We don't do this.” "This is self-harm, Nadia. We don't do this."
"I needed to know how bad it was."
"It's two million views bad. That's how bad it is. Now drink your coffee and get dressed because you have the internship in an hour." She set my phone on top of the refrigerator, just out of reach, and pulled out her own to start scrolling. Then she made a face that she thought I didn't see. "Okay. It's a little bad."
"I know it's bad, Petra."
"I have a folder full of proof," she said. "If you ever want to destroy them, I'm ready."
I almost laughed. That was Petra for you — she could make you almost laugh even when everything was falling apart. I'd never really appreciated that until now.
I got dressed from the bag Petra had packed the night before. Random clothes, my toothbrush, my press lanyard — she'd moved through the apartment like a hurricane while I sat on the counter and stared at nothing. I hadn't even watched her do it.
I pulled my hair up and told myself I was the kind of person who just goes to work.
I told myself that four more times on the bus.
The Thornvale Gazette had given me a desk in the corner of the features section, next to a dying plant and a filing cabinet that hadn't opened since 2019. Val Ochoa, my editor, was already at her desk when I arrived, reading something on her monitor with her reading glasses pushed to the top of her head. She was fifty-three years old and had covered three city hall scandals and one actual hurricane, and she had the specific stillness of someone who'd stopped being surprised by the world a long time ago.
She looked up when I sat down.
"You look terrible," she said.
"I'm fine."
"Sure." She turned back to her screen, then slid a piece of paper across the desk without looking at me. "Assignment."
I picked it up as I read it.
Thornvale Titans — Season Outlook Press Event. Halverson Arena at 2 PM.
The room did something like a spin as my head buzzed slightly.
"Val."
"Mm."
"You want me to cover a Titans press event."
"I want someone to cover it." She finally looked at me, an expression unreadable over the top of her glasses. "You're someone."
"My ex-boyfriend plays for the Titans."
"Your ex-boyfriend plays for the Cougars." She said"The Titans are the other team, the ones he allegedly betrayed. I read the blogs this morning, Calloway, I'm not an idiot."
I set the paper back down on her desk.
"This is punishment," I said.
"This is journalism." She took the paper back and held it out to me again. "A press event is a press event. You show up, you get quotes. The personal complications are yours to manage. Unless you can't."
The way she said it was not mean, just honest that it left me with no choice as I took the paper.
She nodded once and looked back at her computer screen.
******
Two days later, I tried to get out of the assignment.
I sat on Petra's couch and called the editor. My throat felt tight.
"Hi, Val," I said when she answered. "I cannot cover the Titans press day this morning. I am sick. I have a bad headache."
Val did not speak right away but I heard her typing.
"Take some aspirin, Nadia," Val said. "The assignment stands, see you there."
She hung up.
- Writer
