My Insignificant Other

01

hello, hello, hello! this is the first book i've ever written that i have spent FOREVER on! seriously, the amount of drafts i have is unbelievable. i have been working extremely hard in order to perfect every single thing in this book and i hope that you fall in love with the characters as much as i did. thank you so much for reading and enjoy xo

 The streets are filled with people, lights, and a magical amount of mustard yellow taxis. Today is the day my life would (optimistically thinking, of course) change forever. Out of thousands of entries, I was selected to intern for the Trout, one of the most popular newspaper companies in America. To start off, New York is a huge change for me since I am a small town girl from Pennsylvania. After begging my parents numerous times to allow me to apply for the internship, they finally caved in and agreed. My mother had only one rule: find your own place with your own money. That and "don't get lost", but I consider the second one merely as thoughtful advice. When I received my acceptance letter from the Trout (stamped and signed!), I was in complete shock. You know those movies where that one girl completely breaks down and cries like an idiot? Well, that was me. After my friends heard the news, they didn't really care. They know that journalism is one of my interests, but they don't understand what it means to me. I hate that so much. This added on to the list of reasons why I needed the internship: to find people who get my passion.

My heart begins to beat faster and faster as I reach a very tall glass building. Eyeing it up and down a couple of times, my nerves begin to bundle on top of each other. This is it, I think to myself. On the doors, Trout Offices is spelled out in golden letters and beneath it are two golden door handles. It all appears so luxurious and too good to be true. How could people pass by this building every day and not stop to admire it? My fingers slide over the door handles and I give them a tug, opening the door to opportunity. The main lobby is enormous and filled with workers filing up and down the elevators, walking, and chatting amongst themselves. I bite down on my lip and head over to the large golden elevators. Floor five...floor five, I keep thinking to myself trying to reminisce what they had told me in the letter. One of the elevator doors zip open and I carefully huddle inside, trying to take up as less space as possible so that the other workers are able to squeeze in. Second floor, ding! Third floor, ding! Fourth floor, ding! The next ding has me in knots. I stumble out of the elevator as it opens, revealing the contents of the fifth floor.

The fifth floor is made up of glass walls and dark marble floors. The next instructions were to go to Mrs. Penn's office, but the offices all appear the same. No name plates, no doors, just squads of people chatting to one another in glass rooms. I decide to let my instincts guide me. After analyzing the entire floor, I spot the person I've been searching for: big hair and blue-eyed Mrs. Penn. She is sitting at one of the oddest desks I have ever seen in my life. It rounded around her office space and you could've been able to place at least seven chairs at the desk, but there are only two. Soon enough, she notices me standing in the hall looking like a lost puppy and greets me into her office.

"My dear, you must be Georgia Webb!" She puts out her hand and I shake it with confidence.

"Hello, Mrs. Penn. I just want to thank you for letting me do this. It's such an honor," I blurt out shortly after taking a seat in one of the leather armchairs. She lets out a genuine laugh and fixes her attention on the papers in her hands.

"Well, I should be thanking you! Your writing skills are extremely impressive and hopefully you will get the chance to write for us one day. But before that," she continues, "We must get you settled into this floor. Your office space will be down the hall and I will hand you some paperwork that you are required to fill out. It should be completed by tomorrow."

I grab the paperwork out of her hands and thank her once again before heading off to my office. My office. I repeat those two words over and over in my head to make me feel mature and sophisticated. I have my own office! I wonder what the kids back home would think of me now. At the end of the hall, I spot a vacant dark ivory desk standing in an office with another desk. You've got to be kidding. There's another intern? I think to myself. Another intern meant that my chances of being chosen to work at the Trout were split in two. This was an absolute joke. I disappointingly take a seat at the desk on the right side of the office and spread the papers out amongst the desk space.

In just under half an hour, my paperwork is filled out completely and the other intern still hadn't made it into the office. Being late was one of the worst things you could be when on an internship. Whoever it is – they are swimming in rough waters. I clasp my hands together and turn to face the glass window that overlooks the city of New York.

"Such a stunning sight, is it not?" A voice calls from behind me.

There's the tardy. I grit my teeth and prepare for the worst. "Yeah," I reply, turning my head to evaluate the enemy. "It really is. You can see a lot of interesting things from here."

A male. He's dressed in a fancy suit and has his dark hair gelled to one side, but some of his curls are beginning to unstick. He has a smug look plastered on his face. "So, I guess we're partners in crime." He sticks out his hand.

"Georgia," I say as I shake his hand.

"Jackson Harris." His grip was tightening sharply on my hand and it felt as if he were demeaning me. I want to pull away with asperity but if he was going to act friendly, then so was I.

After the agonizing handshake, we sit down at our desks and I staple the completed papers together as he scrambles on finishing his off. What I need to do next is to find out how Jackson wrote his articles. How magnificent is his work, that he got accepted in the program alongside me? I was the only person in my school to receive straight ninety-nine percent averages in Journalism class for four consecutive years. Okay, I will admit that my school was made up of one hundred students and most of them were not so bright. But, I knew that there always was some kind of spark in my articles that led people on to read more.

"So, how long have you been writing for?" I ask him, studying the bridges of my nails.

He looks up at me and fixes his collar mindfully. "I took an interest in fourth grade and then went to journalism camp every summer after that." Jackson goes back to filling out the paperwork. "And you?"

"I don't remember. Maybe third grade, fourth..." I mutter. "So, journalism camp, huh? Why didn't you go again this summer?" The reason was probably that he got bored of it. Boys are so predictable.

"My dad actually told me that he was moving back to New York City before the summer began and asked me to come along. I did a little bit of research and found out that there was an internship here so I decided to go instead of driving all the way back to Virginia for camp." He ruffles the papers together and staples them. "Plus, journalism is kind of my life so why not get some experience?"

Okay, maybe they aren't that predictable. He seems like a good kid, but nonetheless, I didn't want his writing to be better than mine. Jackson speaks with a sense of assurance and he has potential. Maybe that was what was scaring me. Knowing that he may just have enough potential to kick me out of the running and throw me back into being an editor for my town's local newspaper. I suddenly shudder at the thought of that. "Yeah, you're right. How's your writing?" I shoot the question immediately.

"It's actually pretty good to say the least." His tone changes to a more serious one. "I was just finishing up an article and the editing is going well. How is yours, Miss Webb?" He catches me off guard. Goosebumps appear on my arms but I shake them off and play it cool. "Mine as well. How do you know my last name?" I ask him. He chuckles and cracks his knuckles as he leans back on the leather armchair.

"My father was the one who gave you this internship."