TweetyGram

19 - #SummerRain

Being grateful was hard.

I'd spent the past few days trying to practice gratitude like Jake had taught me, but things in my life kept getting worse and worse. My head still hurt every now and then; the bruises on my face made me look ridiculous, which forced me to spend extra time in the morning applying makeup; and I still couldn't sleep well at night, which led me to check TweetyGram more often than usual.

The worst part was the news of my accident had spread like wildfire in the office, and now I was a laughingstock among my colleagues.

As I dumped two teaspoons of sugar into my cup of coffee, two women walked into the break room and immediately noticed me.

"Hey, is that the girl who got into that silly accident at Sweat Paradise?" the willowy brunette whispered to her friend.

"Uh-huh," the curvy blonde replied, casting a condescending glance my way. "I can't believe anyone's stupid enough to fall off a treadmill. What an amateur."

I'd like to see you dancing on a treadmill. I wanted to retort, but I kept my mouth shut and took my coffee with me back to my desk.

I flopped onto the chair behind my desk and glanced around me. While my fellow interns were busy with their own tasks, I'd finished fact-checking all the articles Mr. Grant had assigned me, which wasn't many to begin with.

Yawning, I picked up my phone and checked Louise's TweetyGram.

Jake had edited the best take I had of me dancing on the treadmill and posted it on Louise's TweetyGram. Thanks to the video, my alter ego had gone viral. Within only a few days, the video had been watched by over 100,000 people and Louise now had 69,869 followers.

Nevertheless, the wolf wasn't one of them.

Maybe I should just find another topic to write about—

"Mr. Summers," Mr. Grant said, approaching Wyatt's desk. "There's been a robbery at Donut Ninjas on Fifth Street. You're coming with me."

"Yes, sir," Wyatt answered, standing up.

I stretched my neck up and bit my lower lip, eagerly waiting for my name to be called. But Mr. Grant turned around and walked back toward his office.

As I slumped in my seat, the middle-aged man suddenly spun around to face me. "Miss Darling."

"Yes?" I sat up straight.

"Would you mind fact-checking the Beverly Hills Car Thief article? I need it done by the end of the day."

Although I managed to keep my composure, a wave of disappointment crashed over me. It baffled me why Mr. Grant would ask me to do Wyatt's job instead of taking me, who had finished all of the given assignments, with him to the crime scene. But I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised. Wyatt was an excellent reporter, and it was clear Mr. Grant favored him over me, especially after I'd failed to show up for the Jim Pansy interview.

"Sir," Wyatt interrupted, "I could stay and finish my—"

"It's fine. I'll do it," I said with a tight smile.

"Oh, okay." Guilt etched across Wyatt's face as he handed over the article to me along with all his notes. "I'm truly sorry about this."

"Don't worry about it," I reassured him. "My ankle still hurts anyway, so it's best for me to stay in the office."

"Thanks, Linds."

As Wyatt left the room with Mr. Grant, I heaved out a determined breath. Right now, Wyatt might be the favorite for the full-time staff writer position. But that didn't mean I was out of the race yet. If I did a good enough job, I might still have a chance to be hired along with him.