For You

Stealthy Planning

Subtly, I coaxed as much information as I could about the writing program. At least, I hoped I was being subtle. Lexi hadn't questioned my motives much, but I caught the odd trailing of her voice, as if with increasing suspicions she was piecing together my plans.

      I found the program's website easily. It was a very competitive program, with top notch internships in creative writing and entertainment journalism. They took only few students every year, and I was going to make sure Lexi was one of them.

      I skimmed through previous years' winning publications. The pieces were amazing, each author's style uniquely flawless. Each and every one captivated my attention. But none had captivated me in the same way Lexi's had. I thought my favourite brunette had every right to be intimidated. But – and maybe I was a little bias—I thought Lexi was just as deserving. Lexi wrote what people needed to hear, not what they wanted to hear. She hadn't used as extravagant words, she hadn't included mind boggling analogies, but her words spoke to the voice deep inside me, the voice of a young boy full of insecurities and self-doubt. Lexi spoke the truth; a truth that was often difficult to admit. She was blatantly honest about the difficult journey that comes from learning to love yourself; to embrace yourself in both your flaws and your aptitudes.

      With a fair bit of scrolling and clicking, I found an email that could be contacted for help. But I didn't think that would be fast enough. It was likely that they received hundreds of emails every day. It could take weeks to get a response and I didn't know how much time I had. Plus, there was no guarantee my email would ever be read. I needed something more promising.

     I was doing it the old school way.

     Eventually I found a phone number. Having spent much of my night on the phone with Lexi, and the rest of it doing research, the sun was already beginning set. Orange light seeped through my drawn curtains. I really ought to have gotten a few hours of sleep. And despite the time difference, it was a ridiculously early time to make a phone call. But I was too excited to wait.

     I was sent straight to voicemail on the first ring. I didn't hesitate to call again. I called three more times before receiving an irritated, "Hello?"

     The woman was not pleased, and it only occurred to me then that adhering to their office rules would have been the best approach to convince them to grant me this favor.

      "Hello," I returned the greeting, with a lot more enthusiasm than she. "Is this West Bridge's main office?"

      "The office opens at nine," the woman recited. "Call again—"

      "Wait!" I called urgently. "Please. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, but while I have you here can I take a minute of your time?"

     "This can't wait?"

     "I'm kind of on a tight schedule," I admitted. And what a gloomy thought to have.

      "What could you possibly want with the office that is so urgent?"

      "My friend." I cringed at the unrepresentative word. "Missed the deadline for the journalism program."

     "Ah." The way she exhaled tiredly lead to the assumption that she had had to deal with many similar calls. "Unfortunately, the deadline is final. Tell your friend to try again next year."

      "But she won't have the confidence to try again," I complained. Lexi was already struggling to convince herself that the writing route was reliable. If she began the journey to what she believes was a more reliable career plan, I knew she wouldn't come back from it. Especially if I wasn't here to talk her out of it. "She needs this now."