Page 30 of Breaking News

Meghan pulled an insulated cup from the drink carrier, studying its label with a frown. “Is this supposed to be mine?”

“Yes?” Isaiah tugged at the hem of his shirt.

I pressed my lips together tight, trying not to smile. I already knew what the issue was. Meghan preferred iced coffee, especially when the weather was hot like this. I braced myself for the reprimand, but Meghan just forced a fake smile and said, “Thanks, kiddo, but can you make sure it’s iced tomorrow?”

“Shoot. I forgot,” Isaiah said, slapping himself on the forehead as Xander reached across the table for his drink.

“This better be right,” Xander warned, giving the kid a stern look as he took his first sip. We all held our breath as he swallowed, awaiting his reaction. After what seemed like an eternity, Xander smacked his lips and said, “Good news, Isaac. You get to live to see another day.”

Isaiah let out a sigh of relief.

I cleared my throat. “Isaiah,” I corrected. “His name is Isaiah.”

“It-it’s okay,” the kid said, turning to me with a shrug. “I told him he can call me Isaac if he wants. It’s better than the nicknames Meghan gives me.”

I scowled at Meghan before asking the kid, “What does she call you?”

“Uh. Lots of things,” he murmured. “But Temu Napoleon Dynamite seems to be the one sticking the most.”

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.I pushed my chair back and stood up, biting my cheeks as I took a step toward Isaiah. I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Word of advice? Don’t let these two assholes get to you. Xander just got dumped, and Meghan spends her free time blogging about ghosts.”

The corners of his mouth turned upward in a smile as I slapped him on the back. I didn’t have to look at the faces of the other two on my way out of the room to know they hated me for shattering the illusion that they were cool.

That was fun.

***

As an adjunct professor at WRC, I shared an office space with Marie Weston, another part time instructor who had some new baked treat to share with the rest of the faculty every week. That day, there was a brownie with my name on it—literally—waitingon my desk for me when I arrived. “Thank you, Marie,” I said out loud to nobody, removing the plastic wrap from the little paper plate.

There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Schwartz, the department chair, poked her head through the open door. “Mr. Harlowe, is this a good time?”

I spun my chair around with a mouth full of brownie. “Of corsh,” I said, holding my fingers to my lips so no crumbs would fall out.

Dr. Schwartz laughed, closing the door behind her before taking a seat in Marie’s chair. Interlocking her fingers on one knee, she glanced around at Marie’s expansive collection of paintings and photographs of otters. I didn’t really understand the obsession, but ever since I told her she could decorate my half of the office, too, I found myself staring at a photo of two otters holding hands every time I lost my train of thought while grading.

I didn’t completely hate it.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase,” Dr. Schwartz said. The sterling silver typewriters dangling from her earlobes swung back and forth almost as much as the ponytail high on her head. Her long, gray hair was usually worn down, but I suspected she wanted to make sure those earrings were noticed. “What are your plans for the fall?”

“Of democracy?” I joked.

She blinked with a reluctant smile. “That, too, but I’m inquiring about this August, specifically.”

I put my brownie down and rubbed my hands together. “Why, whatcha got for me?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew.

“How would you feel about expanding your course load? Enrollment is up, and we’re looking for someone to teach a couple of the two-hundred-level classes in the fall.”

“Ah,” I said, settling into the chair to get more comfortable. “I’m not sure I’d have the time to increase my workload right now.”

“I worried you might say that. This would move you up to full time. With benefits,” she said, dipping her chin and raising one eyebrow, like that detail might tempt me. “And your own office. No otters in sight.”

“That’s tempting, Dr. Schwartz, but this was only ever meant to be a part-time endeavor for me. I’m just here for the free brownies.”

She sighed in disappointment. “Do I need to pay one of your employees over there to write an exposé onyou?”

“Nothing to expose,” I said with a laugh. “I’m squeaky clean.”

Other than, you know, hitting on the sexy, blonde news anchor and using my position in power to secure my daughter the most sought-after intern slot.

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