Maybe Happily Ever After✔️

60. Unequivocally

Friday, April 30th

4:38 pm

"Is this all really necessary?" I huffed in irritation.

Looking over my shoulder, I stared at Casey who sat cross-legged on the floor. Piles of art supplies and school supplies surrounded her.

"If we don't pack now, it's gonna be too crazy during finals."

She was right. Finals were on Monday and immediately after we were moving out and then we have to come back for graduation. There wasn't much time to pack.

"How many finals do you have again?" I scanned my online textbook and highlighted important quotes for my essay.

"I only have one in my Art Therapy class and another one in my Advanced illustration course. But it's just a piece that I have to hand in." I could hear the sound of her pens and pencil dropping into a bin.

"Gosh, I wish," I said trying to readjust my heavy twisted bun. "I've got 2 finals and they're all 3 hour long tests."

I rubbed at my throat. My voice had made little to no progress in the passing months. The doctor said that I most likely was going to ever go back to normal.

I flipped a page in my notebook and wrote down some points for the British Lit final I would have next Friday.

"Thankfully my tests are on the last days."

"I don't know how you and Ben do it."

"Neither do I. Where is Ben by the way?" I pulled up my email and checked my inbox.

"Library. He's practically living there for the rest of the week. I'm going to bring him dinner later, you wanna come?"

I clicked on an unfamiliar email that was sent to me this morning.

I read it quickly and my brows furrowed in confusion.

Words like congratulations and your article has been reviewed and we're excited to have you on our team confused me.

"I don't understand," I whispered underneath my breath.

"What?" Casey got up and moved to her bed.

"There's this email from....the New York Post saying that I've got a job as a Part-Time reporter."

"What?!" She moved across the room and peered over my shoulder at my computer. "That's so great. You never told me you applied as a reporter."

I chewed the edge of my lip. "That's the thing. I didn't."

"That's weird."

I turned my face to her and eyed her suspiciously. "Did you do this behind my back as a surprise?"

She held her hands up in innocence. "It wasn't me. I didn't even know you wanted to be a reporter."

"I don't," I mumbled. "I never even thought about--"

I tried to imagine myself as a reporter. I knew I was a good writer so that wasn't going to be an issue. But did I want to tell people's stories for a living?

"I didn't even send in a resume."

"Maybe they saw one of your school articles and thought you'd be a good fit." She guessed, walking back over to her bed.

"I guess," I said unconvinced.

It was possible but not likely. These positions were selective. You have to apply for them. The Post doesn't go out looking for reporters.