MISS CONGENIALITY x NEVER BEEN KISSED
When a journalism student's life changes in a matter of few hours after a frat party gone wrong, chaos ensue in the form of a job offer from her dream news agency, their condition that's got her doc martins run...
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I am hit with a blast of cool air the moment my feet bear weight on the marble floor beneath. The News 11 lobby looks nothing short of a luxury hotel, with tall antique vases adorned with orchards and tulips by the reception, chandeliers grander than ceiling fans throwing spotlight around, and designer heels clacking all the way to the elevators. A look at the grand scheme of events and I already feel like I don't belong here; my macys bought outfit sticking out like a bad mochi.
There aren't many signs around so I resort to taking assistance of the beaming lady behind the counter. "Could you direct me to Helena Banks' office? I'm Naomi Ty," I extend my hand, but she only looks at it warily before sloppily doing the honours. I don't miss the way she scans me from top to bottom, probably with half a mind to call security.
"I'll call and check for your appointment," she passes a hesitant smile, working the keys on the landline at snail speed, as if no more than a formality. "Some Naomi Ty is here to meet Ms. Banks. Does she have an appointment anytime today in her schedule or the charity program maybe?" The disinterest radiates off her twirling self, picking at a broken nail while the receiver rests between her head and her padded shoulder. "She does? Exclusively?" The surprise in her voice is audible to half the passers by, halting their routine for a moment's time to check on her. "Okay, I'll send her."
"So, can I go?" I lean on the marble top, regretting as soon as the cold surface makes me yelp in response. "Directions please?" I close my palms on my handbag before clumsy me can do any more damage than what's already been done.
"Eighth floor, second cabin," she's suddenly sweet as honey, going as far as offering me those tiny mineral water bottles stacked in abundance by the edge of the counter. I pass it up, but from the looks of it she does need one to drink up and one to wash. I've no idea what the receiver on the other side said to make her blonde hair slick in a ponytail, stick to her now sweaty forehead. It's like three degrees in here, if anything I'm craving my floral shawl unkempt in my closet.
"Focus, Naomi," I make my way to the elevator, almost tripping on my feet when getting out on the eighth floor. A few sniggers follow suit, probably stifled because of the fitted coats and choking ties on the spectators. There's cabins on both sides over here, but thankfully the second on the left has 'Helena Banks' instilled on the glass door, clear as the sun shining over the Lotte World tower. I wonder how it must be; walking everyday to this small enclosure with the knowledge in the back of her mind that she might just make history today. It's really not about the fame that comes with this profession for me, but the power to point the right from the wrong. I couldn't do much for my own family when it came to that, but I aspire to do it for someone else with a strong belief in the system. I don't think I'll be able to make headlines across the world, and that's okay as long as I make a difference even for a few lives out there. So here's to kicking asses and covering more than just frat parties.
My hands trembles even as I knock over the door, feeling my head going dizzy with every second of silence that passes in the carpeted corridor. "Come in." A heavy voice, commanding yet feminine, just as I imagined to be, calls out from behind the closed doors.
