Page 11

He gets a thick textbook from his desk, brings it to me, and drops it onto the table. I look down and see it’s titled The Art of Journalism before he snarks, “Read this on your own. I expect a comprehensive paper summarizing your learnings in two weeks.”

Christ. There goes my evenings.

I’m already sick of the hot and cold games, and the power moves by Nigel. Jade trusts him blindly, but something seems off about him. He fits right in with everyone else here, I suppose. It must be the conditioning of New Ocean. Excessive fulfillment leads to hostility, and Nigel appears on the verge of attacking someone.

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond as he strides to his spot in the front. “Okay, then. First order of business. The hockey tournament in Alaska is in less than a month. Who wants to cover it?”

The whole table shoots up their hands. He scans the room as if considering every single person before his eyes land on me. “London, are you up for the task?”

My eyebrows shoot up as everyone turns to look at me again, the heat I can’t control rising to the surface of my skin. “You want me to write the story?”

He nods. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but…”

“Yes, but… what?” He tilts his head, mocking me.

I shift in my seat, crossing my legs. Is he messing with me?

A blonde girl with glasses sitting to the left of me speaks up. “That’s not fair, Nigel. She doesn’t even know what the hell she’s doing. You can’t give her Alaska.”

I will not let her tell me what I can do. This girl doesn’t even know me, no one here does.

He snaps his eyes to her, a drop of sweat clinging to his forehead. “I can do whatever I want, Elle. And the story you submitted last year was utter crap. So regardless, you’re not getting the assignment.”

“Give her a chance,” Jade speaks up. “We all have to start somewhere, and this is an exciting tournament.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m up for it, I promise.”

A smile forms on Nigel’s thin lips. “Good. Well, it’s settled then, but please, still submit your paper by the end of the week, and bring warm clothes, as it gets chilly in Alaska.” His eyes zip to Jade, and the smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You can come to shoot the photos, of course.”

Jade nods and I look over at her, and she gives me an encouraging smile while beaming at his compliment. She told me she’s one of the few photographers in this group, and I’m thrilled she’s coming.

“And I might tag along, too,” Nigel adds.

A knot fills my stomach. I don’t know Nigel’s intentions, but I’ll find out while we travel, I guess. It also hits me it’s the hockey tournament I’m covering, which means the twins will be there. And if they are as good as Jade says they are, I’ll bet they will be the primary focus for my story.

“Alright, onto new business,” Nigel says, drifting his attention to the calendar. We then spend the next hour planning, scheduling, and plotting for the first issue. The bell rings and I gather my book, hooking my backpack over my shoulder.

Nigel stands behind me just as I’m trying to leave. A bit too close.

“London, one moment, please. If you don’t mind.”

I flinch but put on a fake smile and sink back into my chair. He sits next to me and I face him, expecting to see his condescending smirk and him telling me how much of an honor it is to be the chosen one for Alaska.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Jade says, passing a look to Nigel, as if she knows exactly what he wants to talk to me about.

I shift my gaze to him, surprised to see the malice from earlier is gone. His mouth is tight, and for the first time, I notice circles under his eyes, like the past hour exhausted him.

I narrow my brows. “What is it?”

“I’ll get straight to the point.” He sighs. “I think you have a lot of potential, London. You seem smart, and this tournament will help build your portfolio for college. I don’t care why you are here, although I’m sure you have a reason, but I’m bored with the same old stories we write every year. Take this trip as an opportunity to learn about sports journalism, but also how to dig deeper.”

I press my lips together, taken aback by the surprise compliment and the simultaneous insult. “Thank you, Nigel. I really appreciate it. I’m up for it, I promise.”

To me, this seems beyond the hockey tournament, and it makes me wonder what he knows about me. But nothing was posted online about what happened—the police made sure of that when they filed the investigation to protect me. Despite my willingness, I was considered a vulnerable youth because of my age and his role as my teacher. Even so, there might have been something. All it would take is one post.

He raps his knuckles against the table and sighs. “I assume you know what I’m talking about?”