Page 58 of The Way We Collide

“It’s still a great name for TV.” Continuing down the hall, we pass an open area with desks arranged in a circle holding large-screen computers, sports memorabilia, mugs, and a baseball-player bobble head. “The sports crew works here, and the meteorology desk is right this way.”

She leads me to a dimly lit room where four huge computer screens are arranged on a large, metal table with keyboards and cheap office chairs around it. Two screens display satellite images of LA and the entire country. The third is traffic reports, and the fourth has lines of code I recognize as weather data from when I was at the station in Louisiana.

A smaller screen off to the side has a calendar with colored blocks arranged throughout the weeks. It looks like a schedule.

“I guess you can tell we’re pretty low-budget.” For the first time since she greeted me at the front door, her confidence wavers. “So when Hendrix mentioned free help, I jumped on it, and who knows what might happen in December?”

“It’ll look great on my résumé, that’s for sure.” I try to be encouraging.

“We’re small, but we want to be a fresh, independent voice.” We walk to another glassed-in office containing another older man. “Wilt McCloud is our chief meteorologist.”

She seems less enthused about this guy, and I hold off on commenting about his name. “Okay?”

“Ward was thrilled when he managed to talk him out of retirement. Wilt’s been covering atmospheric events in LA for decades.” Her lips press into a thin line. “He’s got quite the reputation around town.”

“Good morning, Star.” The door opens, and a polished male voice greets us. “What are you doing hanging around my door?”

“Hello, Wilt.” Her shoulders stiffen, and she seems to brace herself. “This is Raven Gale, our new intern. She’s an aspiring meteorologist, so she’ll be working with you for a few months if that’s okay.”

“Nice to meet you, Raven.” His voice is loud and laced with approval. “I’d love to have you. We need more full-figured gals reporting the news.”

My brows rise, but Star speaks before I can. “That is completely inappropriate. Raven is an intern, but I expect her to be treated like a colleague.”

“How was that inappropriate?” He places a hand on his chest as if he’s wounded. “Aren’t we concerned with representation now? After all, this is a newsroom.”

I give him a tight smile. “Is my appearance news?”

“We’ll find out.”

“Her appearance is not a topic for discussion.” Star’s tone is firm.

He holds up both hands like she pulled a gun. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Gale. I intended it as a compliment. You’re like those girls on that reality show, which is very popular from what I understand. I hope you’ll be great for ratings.”

I don’t bother to point out the bodies on most reality shows are notoriously manufactured. The sooner we move away from the topic, the better.

“Apology accepted.” At least all the years living under my mother’s criticism gave me some backbone. “I’m more interested in your meteorological knowledge than marketing.”

“All of which I’m glad to share.” He lifts his chin, giving me a smile that makes my upper lip curl.

Star takes my arm, pulling me away. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing.”

“I look forward to having you on my team, Miss Gale.”

“Call me Raven.” The Miss vs. Mrs issue only adds to my discomfort, and I follow Star down the narrow hall in the direction we came.

As soon as we round the corner, she abruptly pulls me to a stop. “I amsosorry, Raven. I am horrified. I am livid. I want to strangle him.” She exhales, and her shoulders drop. “I understand if you’re ready to leave this place and never look back.”

I won’t lie, the prospect of working with someone like Wilt McCloud is less than appealing, but Star’s clear disappointment makes me hesitate. She seems like a potential friend.

“He’s not the first inappropriate male I’ve encountered in this field, and I’m sure he won’t be the last.” I exhale my annoyance. “It wasn’t even the worst I’ve heard. In my first job, one of the female anchors suggested I join a gym, since the camera adds fifteen pounds.”

As if my mom hadn’t told me that one—and my dad thought it was a good idea to remind me.

Star exhales a high-pitched growl. “Can we normalize not commenting on people’s bodies? I’m totally talking to Ward about this. If you say thanks but no thanks, I’m telling him why.”

Her display of protectiveness actually bolsters the decision I’ve already made. It’s good to know she has my back, and I’m not afraid of some old dick.

I give her a friendly smile. “What makes you like working here?”

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