Page 136 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

I see Becks roll her eyes dramatically.

“But how did this fucker even get it?” he asks.

“I accidentally left the film at the school newspaper office and he . . . made himself a copy. When I found out, he threatened to blackmail me with it if I ever told anyone he stole my work to get his internship position.”

Dave grunts. “Okay, now I’m definitely going to kill this fucker.”

“Dave,” James groans.

“No, no way, Walton. Are you telling me that if some asshole shared a picture of Becks like this to the public, you wouldn’t want to smash his face into the concrete?”

James sighs. “Yes, of course I would, but listen, there’s literally nothing we can do right now. We’re hundreds of miles away from home, we have a show tonight, and the article isalready out there. The best we can do right now is damage control.”

Damage control.

“He’s right,” I murmur. “It’s not like we can turn back time. I’ll just callEarwormand explain.”

“But I don’t get it,” Dave says. “What do you have to explain? None of that shit is true.”

I shake my head. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.” He grabs my hands and squeezes. “Please.”

Dave and James might never understand what this means, but I can at least try.

“That article suggests I’m not a real journalist,” I say slowly. “That I only got this position, this story about you, by sleeping with a band member.”

“But why does that matter?” Dave asks.

Shaking my head, I try to remain calm to explain. “They never took me seriously. Remember? The only reason my article about the band even took off was because I submitted it under a boy’s name. No one was going to believe me. I was the one who wrote the dating advice and makeup column and was expected to get all the guys their coffees.” My jaw clenches at the memory. “No one was going to believe I could write a hard-hitting article about metal music. Simon implied for weeks—to the entire newspaper staff—that I was only getting content for my articles because I was sleeping with you. Then what does he find?” I turn to the bed and grab the newspaper. “Exactly the evidence he needed to prove I’m what he said—just agroupie. That you guys only kept me around because I was a piece of ass. The moment he found this picture, all my credibility disappeared.”

Dave huffs. “But that’s not true.Earwormgave you the internship because you’re an amazing writer.”

My head tilts and I give him a sad smile. “But even that isn’tcompletely true. You made that happen. Everyone else . . . rejected me.”

“What?” Dave says, standing. “That’s impossible.”

I shrug. “Simon contacted each place I applied to and told them that some silly girl had stolen his work and thathiswas the original.”

He turns to James. “Is it legal to buy a gun in Montana?”

“Dave!” I chastise. “You got that internship for me. And it was made very clear to me thatEarwormonly accepts journalists with above average integrity. This?” I say, shaking the paper. “It’s ruined any chance of me being taken seriously. And not just byEarworm, but potentially any other publication too.”

He stands and rests his hands on my shoulders. “We don’t know that yet. For all we know,Earwormhasn’t and will never see that article.”

Ring ring.

As if on cue, my knees wobble beneath me and I know—I feel it in my soul—who’s on the other end of the line before I even pick up.

“H—Hello?”

“Miss Rodriguez, this is Eliza Watters fromEarworm Magazine. Secretary to Harold Lewis.”

I sink down onto the side of the bed, not brave enough to look at the others. “What can I do for you?”

She clicks her tongue. “It’s been brought to our attention that there has been some, how do I phrase this? Professional misconduct, on your end, Miss Rodriguez. A certain article in theEast Bay Chroniclerevealed some shocking things about how you conduct yourself and as you know,Earworm Magazineis a serious publication.”

“Yes. Yes, I know, but—”

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