Ditching Greek | editing

37| Holden J. Shepard

Clyde arched a dark brow, watching me attentively as I sang the song with my crappy singing voice. Just by that single look he was giving me, I knew he was thinking of igniting the argument we were about to have, but there was a twist of an unreadable emotion swirling in his eyes, telling me he didn't want to argue either.

The song faded into another, a song I didn't know the words for, so I started to go through the other stations in searched of something I liked.

"Nabella..."

I knew this wasn't going to end well simply from his hostile tone and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles had turned white and his lips were pressed together till it formed a thin, fine line on his face.

"I already told you." I sat back in my seat, placing my hands on my lap. "Right now, I don't want to fight with you. Is that too much to ask for?"

He turned off the radio. "I just want to talk."

Yeah right. He never wants to just talk.

Seeing there was no way out of this, I agreed on just talking with him. "What do you want to talk about?"

"About your lack of seriousness and how you can be unprofessional at times," he said coldly. "When it comes to Erica, I understand why you don't like her. But that doesn't mean I like seeing it. She was here to help. You should've been able to push aside your difference and get some work done."

"I didn't choose to be a part of this world, Clyde. This world chose me." My voice wobbled and cracked. "And if I can't back out of this thing, then I should at least have a choice on who trains me and who I have to spend my time with."

"Is this what you do when you get forced to work with a partner you don't want to in class? You whine, don't you?" he scoffed. " Well, news flash. This world might've chosen you, but this world doesn't revolve around you. Why don't you grow up and just listen to someone who's clearly more knowledgeable than either of us?"

"Well there goes just talking," I grumbled under my breath. He was talking down to me. This wasn't a conversation of two equals. I wasn't a child.

The edge to his voice told me that this wasn't the end of the discussion. He'd only drag this on and on until we got back to the frat house. I would have to endure him blabbering for the entire day, maybe even into the night.

"Drop me off in Portland. I'm going to my internship early." It wasn't a request. I was demanding it. I needed to get out of this car as soon as possible and as far away from Clyde as I could.

He snapped a look at me, confused. "You don't start till seven and you don't have any clothes to change in to."

"I've a spare set of clothes"

I knew I had my internship after our training, but I had hoped we could've hung out for a bit before I left. Now with how Clyde was acting, I didn't want to deal with him.

"Drop me off. I want to get there early."

"Fine," he grunted, gripping the steering wheel harder. "I'll drive you there now."

...

We had both said we didn't want to fight anymore last night, and after that long, tense drive to the Portland Tribune tower, I knew that we were doing a crappy job at acting like a couple that didn't want to argue. He kept his eyes on the road the entire time, with a deep frown and a set jaw stuck on his face. I glanced only out the window with my arms crossed. I didn't bother with changing the radio at all. I abandoned it for the most part, ignoring it like how I ignored the awkward silence in the car.

"How are you getting back to the fraternity?" Clyde spoke the first words he'd said to me in the past twenty minutes. His eyes squinted over a space above my head--not looking at me directly.

He had come to a stop in front of the front entrance. I opened the passenger side door and started to exit out of the car. "Don't worry about how I'm getting back. If I need a ride, I'll ask Monica. I won't bother you. You can go off do whatever it is you do when not you're playing hockey or going to classes."

"You don't think I have tasks other than those two things?"

I suppressed a laugh. "I know you don't."

He huffed. "Oh, you think I should get an unpaid internship like you then?"

I held onto the door I had wide open, gaping at him because of the way he had said what he did. He made it seem like I was going to some dead end job, forced to flip patties and make French fries. I was going somewhere with the internship. It was opening doors for myself with this.

"I see what you're doing. And it's not gonna work." I shook my finger at him and slammed the door shut. Him insulting this unpaid internship wasn't going to get me to quit. I had enough self doubt already. I was the only intern they had who came from my college with a double major that included both Journalism and Psychology. Many people had told me to choose just one, but I went against their advice and told them I'd prove them wrong.

I threw my bag of clothes over my shoulder and walked into the building. I didn't stop to chitchat any more. I made a straight beeline for the restroom. After changing into a black pencil skirt and white blouse. I mentally kicked myself for not bringing any makeup or accessories for today. I should've known better.

Walking over to the mirror, I flattened a hand over the fabric and looked over my appearance in the reflection. Bringing out a brush, I combed through my hair and smiled brightly. I looked decent enough to go in. I still had about half an hour till they needed me in, so I strolled down to the break room they had and went over to the soda machine. Shaking out a few coins, I slipped them into the slot.

"Shit," I whispered to myself. I needed another quarter.

Someone cleared their throat from behind me. "I have an extra bit of change if you need some."

I spun around. My face nearly ran into a chest. I stepped back and got a glimpse of the face that matched the voice. He had a five o'clock shadow and a coffee cup firmly placed in his hand. I had seen him around a few times here and there, but I never found a reason to get to talk to him. I didn't know his position or job at the Portland Tribune. He was always swarmed with people flocking either side of him. I never spotted him alone...until me now.

He handed me the quarter he had and I added it into the slot machine. I bent down and got the soda can when it dropped down. I faced the man again.

"Thank you."

"No problem." He stretched out his hand. I shook it respectfully. Slowly, he started to move away from me, but then he stopped himself. "What's your name by the way? I don't think I've ever seen you here."

"I'm just an intern." I shrugged.

He beamed, mildly amused. "I asked for your name not what you do here."

"Oh, uh. I'm Nabella. Nebella Osmani. And you are?"

"Holden J. Shepard, the head editor."

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