Page 40 of Fight for Me
“Well, a job is a job, right? Plus, you don’t know my dad. I think my options are limited.” Lexie tried to keep her tone light, though the weight of her words pressed down on her chest like an anvil.
Julie took another sip of her drink, studying Lexie carefully over the brim of her cup before slowly setting it down on the desktop between them. She leaned forward, her forearms on the table, and gave Lexie a kind smile.
“I know how daunting it is to cross that graduation stage and suddenly feel like you’re floating in space without a tether. The problem, especially for talented students like you, is that there are almost too many options. And there arealwaysoptions, Lexie, even if other people try to make us feel like there aren’t. You’re the one who has to live your life; only you can decide which path you take,” Julie said, settling back in her chair as if she hadn’t just dropped a truth bomb the size of Texas right in Lexie’s lap.
“When you find your passion, it shows in your work. Take this, for example,” she added, shuffling through a stack of papers before pulling out a few pages that had been paper-clipped together. Lexie’s stomach flipped when she noticed her name on the top sheet.
Julie cleared her throat and began to read aloud.
“Though his work is often unseen and unpraised, Henry Wallace says he takes pride in each and every brick he lays. He has poured his blood, sweat and tears into hospitals, daycares, office buildings and museums, leaving his fingerprints across West Tennessee in a way most people can only imagine. Wallace and his team hide in plain sight, making our most familiar landmarks what they are today with very little acknowledgment or thanks—changing the landscape so many of us call home, one brick at a time.”
Lexie’s breath hitched as Julie laid the pages on her desk without a word, smoothing them out with her hands.
“Where did this come from?” Julie asked, and Lexie took a long breath. This wasn’t an article she’d been asked to write, and she wasn’t sure if her boss appreciated her intern going rogue.
“Well, I was working on the story you wanted about the new research center, and I ran into Mr. Wallace while he was mixing mortar. I asked what he was doing, and I found out he’s been involved in more than 150 building projects in this area. He’s a CVSU graduate, and since our magazine is about alumni, I thought it would be worth a shot to tell his story, too.”
“But the building’s architect is also an alum. Why not focus on him?” Julie asked, her piercing eyes locked on Lexie’s.
“Well, honestly, everyone knows his name,” Lexie said, “but nobody talks about the men who lay the bricks, and without the bricks, the building wouldn’t be finished. It wouldn’t be as strong or as beautiful. So, I thought it would be different to take a look at the ‘little people’—the ones who don’t get the same recognition as the guys on top.”
Lexie clamped her mouth shut, forcing herself to stop babbling. She wove her fingers together in her lap and waited. Interns wrote the filler material for the magazine but never the feature articles. It was a huge presumption to have submitted an article when she hadn’t been asked.
Julie regarded her in silence for a few moments longer, and Lexie started to squirm.
“Lexie, this isn’t work I would expect from an intern,” Julie said, and Lexie’s heart plummeted. The Henry Wallace piece was the best story she’d ever written. If that still wasn’t good enough, then...
“This is next-level writing.Thiskind of storytelling is your passion,” Julie continued, a proud smile stretching across her face. “You’ve taken someone we honestly would have overlooked and made him the star of the show. You made us connect with him on a fundamental level. If you keep up this kind of work, they’ll be giving you my job in May.”
Lexie felt tears of relief flood her eyes, and she took a shaky breath.
“You really think so?”
“About my job? They can try, but I’ll warn you, I’m not going anywhere without a fight,” Julie said, a twinkle in her eye. “But yes, I truly believe the human-interest side of reporting is a path you should consider long-term. There are plenty of places for a writer with your talent to land—places that will let you find the soul of your stories in a way medical research might not.”
Lexie felt something loosen in her chest, like maybe her future wasn’t as tied down as she’d always thought.
“Do you think you might use it?” she asked, realizing her biggest question had never been answered.
Julie’s eyes warmed as she responded. “Lexie, we’re not only going to use it, we’re going to put Henry Wallace on the cover.”
Lexie’s face split open in an uncontainable grin. Her name would appear on the cover of the university magazine! No other intern could say that. Not one.
“Congratulations, dear. I’m proud of you,” Julie said, pushing up to stand. Lexie hurried to her feet, still beaming, and shookher boss’s outstretched hand. “I’ll see you at the donor dinner tonight, yes? You and Jake will man the door,” Julie added.
The wild cartwheels Lexie was turning in her mind came to a screeching halt.
Jake.
She wanted to run and tell Jake. She wanted to throw herself at him and scream and feel his arms around her while he told her he’d expected nothing less. Something in her chest wobbled, and Lexie stifled the urge to rub her hand over her sternum.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, voicing the words without really hearing them.
She’d successfully avoided Jake in the three days since the bell tower. Or, maybe he’d successfully avoided her. But either way, that would end tonight.
Lexie made her way back to her desk and reached absentmindedly for her cell phone. A single text message from Colt lit up the screen, reminding her about helping his mother with a charity event she was planning for next month. Lexie’s finger hovered over the message, her big news begging to be shared, but after a moment, she slid her phone back into her pocket, the message unanswered. She wouldn’t tell Colt just yet. She would keep her victory safe for a while longer, tucked close to her heart where no one could sully it.
The spacious alumniballroom was dressed to impress, as were the guests within it. Precious stones glittered from delicate fingers, wrists and ears; cufflinks caught the light; and real glassware had been polished to perfection, waiting in precisely placed settings on every table. A string quartet played softly in a far alcove, and members of the catering staff—students desperate for overtime work—drifted through the crowd inpressed blacks and whites, balancing towering trays of hors d’oeuvres at carefully practiced angles.
