Two Months Later

Grey rings the handheld bell he uses to get our attention like we're kindergartners that need rounded up after recess. I've always hated it, how degrading it feels for him to have such control over us, over me. But like a Pavlovian response, all the members of the paper, including myself, drop their tasks as soon as they hear it and move to the center of the room to create a circle around Grey.

I settle in next to Cynthia, a fellow second year who joined the paper around the same time I did. I don't know much about her, except for her shared disdain for our editor. I cross my arms and shift my weight onto one foot in anticipation of what Grey could possibly have to share after our welcome back meeting yesterday.

I study him closely, watching him watching as the other staff gather around, also anticipating what's about to happen. Since I've known him, I've held the stance that Grey uses his position of power over about thirty fellow students as a way to compensate for the lack of control he has in his own life. Like the fact that his genes have left him standing only five foot two in a world where females claim to, but don't really, dig the whole short king thing. Or the fact that his personality could be mistaken for that of a wet paper towel. He's unable to hold a conversation about anything that doesn't circle back to his needs and demands within ten seconds. His only real draw, the only reason he could have possibly been elected to be editor, is the fact that when it comes to writing and editing, he knows his stuff. He has an unmatched ability to anyone I've met thus far at State, to string together statements that elicit more feelings and emotions than he holds in his entire body.

He clears his throat before he begins. "Because I know you all are as anxious as I am to release the first issue of the semester, I wanted to announce assignments as soon as possible. And so that Daniel will stop asking me." I look around the circle for an unfamiliar face that could possibly be paired with the name Daniel, but don't spot anyone. And we probably won't have anyone new until after the Involvement Fair on campus tomorrow afternoon. I glance at Cynthia next to me with eyebrows raised willing her to fill me in, but she only shrugs.

Gray however doesn't correct his mistake-probably because he can't be bothered to actually learn our names-and continues by listing off each section of our paper and the students assigned to reporting, writing, and editing of each section of our campus based newspaper. I wait to hear my name, bracing myself as he reads off segment after segment.

I tried as many ways as possible, reporting on and writing all the nothing pieces assigned to me over the summer as my way to show Gray that I was serious, that print journalism isn't something I use to network or fill my resume. Which is what he assumes of me and has told me since the first time he met me last year. Not that I was surprised though, it's what most people assume from me.

When I first decided to major in journalism everyone assumed I would specialize in broadcasting, that my end goal would be to have my face featured in every ad for a local or national news station. The assumption that I want nothing more than to have people eager to tune in to hear my voice at a specified time each day like clockwork and that I have no interest in real investigative type journalism. People always assume that I would rather have someone else do the heavy lifting of researching and fleshing out the ideas and words leaving me to just be the pretty mouth to relay them to the public.

And I don't correct them. I let them think what they want about me because I know what I want and I would rather show than tell. To produce the pieces of writing that when they read them they're left double checking the byline, unable to believe that I was capable of anything more than reading a teleprompter.

I'm pulled out of my trance when I finally hear Grey say my name, only he doesn't say anything after it. No assignment, no further information. The rest of the room has dispersed into their various teams, no doubt beginning to discuss and plan their ideas for the next issue so when I look for some assistance, no one will make eye contact with me.

"Alyssa!" Grey shouts again, this time giving me the eye contact I didn't particularly want from him. I move my body to him quickly, but timidly answer him, "Yes?"

"Walk with me," he demands and begins to move. He gets a few steps ahead of me before my body registers what my ears heard. I rush to catch up, and only answer when I fall into step beside him.

"Did you need help with something?" I ask. It's not the first question that popped into my head, but it seems like the safest option considering he's now led us out of the newsroom and to the stairwell of the building.

"Yes, but I also wanted to talk with you about something else." Grey pushes the door open leading us outside now. He doesn't hold the door open for me, the heavy metal threatening to smash me as I squeeze through it a second before it slams shut.

The strange interaction has me unable to concentrate on one thing for more than a second. My eyes watch Grey as my ears listen to the roar of whistles coming for the stadium only a few buildings away. My nose begins to work in overdrive, attempting to sniff out the fire that must be engulfing a building on campus. It's the only reason I can think of is that Grey is demanding that I follow him and help him with something. Each sense in my body takes in the different details to try and analyze and create meaning of this interaction.

Grey turns right and begins to walk to the side of the building where a golf cart is parked. He steps inside and takes a seat on the passenger side before signaling for me to get behind the wheel. I hesitate, but when he waves his hand a second time impatiently I obliged.

"Does this belong to you? Like is this how you get to school?" I ask. I could see him being a lonely raging alcoholic with one too many DUIs to still have a license. Which could also be why he's asking me to drive. Either that or he wants to further humiliate me by making me his chauffeur.

"What? No? It belongs to the Newspaper!" Grey shouts, his tone mocking me as if I'm an idiot for somehow not knowing that this exists or for not acting like it's normal. Grey begins to direct me, telling me to drive towards the sound I heard earlier, the football team practicing in the stadium, preparing for the season opener only two weeks away.

I do as I'm told, only stopping once to let a group of students cross in front of us, which Grey quickly tuts at, as if they deserved to be run over for walking in his path. The second time I stop is in front of the media entrance to the stadium. It's here that Grey ushers me from the cart and into the open gate. He stops to flash his credentials at a man guarding the entrance.

I watch as the stadium opens up all around me. The large space would usually threaten to swallow anyone who entered, filled to the brim with fans causing any new person who enters to just become another face in the crowd. But the bleacher style seating is empty. The only sign of life being breathed into the otherwise barren land are the slew of players and coaches on the field currently running through plays.

"Uh... are we supposed to be here? This looks like a closed practice?" I question Grey, who only continues to move deeper into the stands. He moves to the silver railing outlining the section we're in, his eyes focused on the field.

I move next to him, resting my hands on the railing in front of me, letting the metal hot from the sun burn my skin lightly. I can see the first string offense set into position on the field. My eyes flicker to him as he looks to the left and to the right, his eyes scanning to read the make believe defense that will be opposite him in fourteen short days. I watch as he calls the hike, his right leg slowly raising before he plants it back into the ground just as A.J. Adams, the center passes him the ball. Cal falls back a few steps, his feet skillfully shuffling around until he spots his intended target. Only then does he allow him to drop his shoulder, bringing his arm back with it, before launching the ball into the air and down the field. It glides perfectly into the hands of a receiver I don't recognize who runs it a few feet before he's shoved by another teammate playing the defender for the drill.

I watch as Cal runs to the teammate who caught the pass and initiates some sort of handshake before running over to the coaches, to his dad, to get feedback.

"I bet you're wondering why I brought you here," Grey states.

"Uh-kinda?" I hesitate, still unsure of where we go from here.

Grey doesn't turn to look at me as he talks, instead his eyes stay fixed on the field where Cal resets the team for the next play. He doesn't strike me as the football type, but even the most unsuspecting people are a little football obsessed in this town and on this campus.

"You covered a lot on the team last year because you were dating one of the players, correct?" he asks. Insinuation burns in his words, that the only reason I covered the sports column last year was because of Jake and not because that's all he would assign me.

"Yes, but you know... I was hoping to branch out this year. To try my hand at something," I begin but he holds up a hand in my direction, forcing me to bite my tongue and only listen.

"You were also the only one on staff to have more than one story over the same topic quoted or featured by another larger source," He says, not as a compliment but as a fact. I thank him anyway before he continues. "Pieces that I edited..." he pauses, only now does he turn to look at me. "I want you to make that happen again."

I pull my eyes from the field and look at him, and the way sweat has begun to drip down his brow. I should tell him to shove it, to go and write his own pieces if he wants to be noticed by a city wide news source, but I don't. Only when I'm sure he's finished do I speak,"So what, you want a preseason piece on how the program is the first to be working towards a three year championship run? Or renovations made to the stadium in preparation for the season?" Because those are the only two stories that I can think of that would be worth writing at this point in the season.

"I actually have a different idea...something that no other newspaper in the city will have," he pauses. I can't tell if this is a situation where he wants me to guess what he's thinking, so I choose the safe choice and stay quiet. This earns me a sideways glare from Grey, but I shrug it off and motion for him to continue. "A player profile piece!" he announces.

I tell him to continue again, knowing there is more, bracing myself to answer the question I know is coming. He's going to ask if I'm still dating Jake Anderson and if I can use my pull with him to get an inside story about him. The same way he urged me to do so on a few of my stories last season.

"I want you to think, Aly," he begins, using a nickname for me that he's either trying to make work or he truly is a pretentious asshole and doesn't remember my name.

"A football roster is big, a lot of players we could feature... But which one, if we got an exclusive interview, would have people who don't usually read our paper picking up a copy?" he asks.

"I can ask him, but he doesn't usually like to be featured in the media. But he might for me," I answer, knowing that Jake loves me, but not enough to want to have an entire story featured about him.

"You know Callan Quinn personally enough to ask him? Well done! See Aly, I knew you were the right one for this job!" Grey announces, clapping his hands together once in excitement.

"I uh- Callan Quinn? No, I mean...I was talking about my boyfriend Jake Anderson, plays tackle?"

"No one cares about a tackle! Everyone wants the inside story on the school's starting quarterback! And if you know him, well then you can get the most exclusive story!"

"I don't know him, know him. I know of him. I mean barely, like he wouldn't know me enough to want to talk to me," I lie. But I'm scrambling to find a way to change Grey's mind, to find a different angle.

Grey crosses one knee over the other, looking back to the field as he talks,

"Go through the other one you mentioned then, whatever you have to do Aly. But this is your story. This is the only assignment I have left. So you either take it or you take nothing at all. That would be unfortunate for you considering I remember seeing a work study credit form in my mailbox to sign for you."

I did submit a work study credit form. I didn't see any reason to not get academic credit for the newspaper when I spend so much time doing it, and for free at this point. But I assumed that I would finally get to be choosing my pieces and my perspective, no longer Grey's lackey being given the snuff pieces that he and no one else wants to write.

But it's not even that, I know of about three other staff members who would love this chance. The chance to sit down with Callan Quinn, to get to know him, to get to write about him. Although to admit that would also be to admit my history with Cal. And I can't do that, not when it would mean hurting other people in the process. And not to mention it would validate what everyone else already thinks of me, that I don't take this career seriously, that I want to skate by on the bare minimum effort while still making a name for myself.

"And if I decide to take it, to do the interview and write the feature, what's my angle? What perspective are you hoping to see, to draw the attention you want to the Scoop?" I ask, raising my hand to my browline, creating a visor from the sun that has now moved directly into my line of vision. I need to block it, to let myself see the field again, to see the players. I find Cal again, easily spotting his black quarterback practice jersey amongst the rest of the player's red. He's off to the sidelines now, the number nine on his back facing me. He has his hands on his hips, one knee cocked to the side as he watches, analyzes the defensive play that has begun to unfold.

"That's where you finally get the freedom you want. You pick the angle, take whatever perspective you'd like, but make me proud." Grey says before standing, motioning for me to follow him. He obviously only brought me here to pitch the idea, to make me watch Cal out there.

And I do, cursing myself when I realize I'm waiting for him to turn around and see me. But each glance at him only reminds me that he is so unaware of my presence. The same way he has been since that night in June, when it was my hips that his hands rested on just like they are on his now.

I let my eyes linger to the rest of the offensive line on the sidelines next to him, spotting Jake's large frame holding a green Gatorade water bottle in his hands. He too, is unaware of my presence, can't sense me so close to him even when I figured he would. But then again, this is the first time my eyes have tried to find him in the fifteen minutes I've been here. So maybe he has sensed me, seen me, maybe even waved to me. I wonder if he did, and if he saw me watching Cal the way I have claimed I haven't been when we've been out with our group of friends.

By the time I do turn to follow Grey he's nowhere in sight. When I exit the stands and then the stadium completely, I find that he and the golf cart are missing. It's as if he knew that I needed time to think, to maul over all the choices I don't really have.

I turn and begin walking up the hill that leads from the stadium back towards the main part of the campus. Each step brings a new thought, a new question about how I am going to handle this. I didn't agree to this assignment, never once did any form of the word yes come from my mouth. But Grey being who he is probably knows I will, that I don't really have a choice. I think about the fact that he had to have purposely waited, not tying my name to any other feature for this sole reason. That he wanted to prove to me once again that even though I am now a second year and hold experience, although my pieces were noticed outside the confines of this campus, that he still has the final say.

Well jokes on him, because I dealt with this my entire life. I've been surrounded by no shortage of people who don't take me seriously because of what I come from, and what I look like. If I learned anything from my best friend's situation last year, it's that there's nothing I love more than a chance to prove someone wrong.