After the initial sting of getting cropped out of my second front-page story wore off, Ryan was ready to help me with interviewing football players until we got some kind of lead we could use. I certainly wasn't expecting one of the guys to rat out another, but at the same time, I wanted to believe that most of them truly had no idea what happened to Courtney.

She didn't get sick out of nowhere. It wasn't just alcohol. Someone was trying to hurt her and get away with it, and what kind of reporter would I be if I just let it happen? Even Isabel, who was apparently much sneakier and conniving than I originally believed, was on my side in this one instance. With everything else, though, she was out to get me.

With Ryan humming a tune to himself that I didn't recognize, we knocked on the door of our first potential witness, a football player by the name of Deiondre Hill. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to ask him, but hopefully, he would do most of the talking anyway. I did, in fact, have a signed permission slip from Corey.

Deiondre opened up the door. He was built exactly like I thought he would be as a linebacker—tall, with strong legs and muscular arms—and he dressed the part too, with his Adidas sweats.

"You can't be serious right now. You're here after what you did to my boy Hansen?" he said.

He must not have seen the school paper website in the morning, then, but I took in a breath and reminded myself to remain professional, even if two could play at that game. "Hi Deiondre. Corey actually sent me because he thinks you may have seen or heard about something that happened during that party a few nights ago."

"I didn't see shit. What the hell are you implying?"

I help my hands up defensively. "I'm not implying anything. He just gave me a list of people that he knew were at the party. It says nothing about you, and we're not judging the list in any way. I just—here." I held out the signed note from Corey. It was ridiculous I even needed it in the first place. "It just says that Corey is working with me to figure out who's responsible for what happened to that sorority girl Courtney."

"I can read," he said.

Ryan held back a snicker beside me, even though he knew that I didn't mean anything by that explanation.

"Well, if you have any sort of information about what you saw or heard at all during the party, it would be helpful to us. I'm sure you know, but my name's Layla Gaudreau, and this is my colleague Ryan Hoffman, and we're with the Badger Herald. We're just trying to get to the bottom of what happened to Courtney Maddox on the night of the eighth," I said.

Deiondre hesitated for a moment. "Is this going to take long? I have practice in an hour."

I shook my head. "It'll take as long as you give us. We can get coffee if you'd like. My treat."

He nodded. Smart man. "Let's do that."

Ryan gave me a nod of approval. It certainly wasn't the first time I had to defuse a tiny situation to get someone to talk to me, and if my career panned out the way I wanted, it wouldn't be the last.

Even though someone had done something so terrible, I hoped many more people would be willing to help than harm.

***

"This has been a productive day," Ryan said as he opened up the door to the news room for me.

Deiondre didn't tell us anything about Courtney that we didn't already know, but he was able to confirm that Corey wasn't lying when he said that he didn't arrive until everything was starting to go downhill. Even though the list was all I had, it convinced me that it was at least a valid place to start.

I nodded. "It has, but you know you're allowed to say things, right? I know the only time that I choose to talk a lot is when it comes to reporting, but you can always ask whatever questions you want, too."

"Oh, you know what you're doing a lot more than I do. I mean, this is what you want to do with your life. I'm just here to get experience in photography. Anything helps to bolster a resume."

"You've been around here long enough to know more than that. I mean, how many stories have we worked on together?" I asked.

"Well, we both like doing sports, so that kind of forced us to work together a lot."

It certainly did, but I didn't mind. He was a much better partner than someone like Isabel, who had the lights on in her office with the door closed. She was always busy as our editor-in-chief and writing her gossip tabloid stories about Corey and me, but she was going to have to spare a moment to explain herself to me.

I knew better than to think we were allies on anything but the Courtney story, but how was I supposed to let her get away with spinning a story out of nothing when she knew the truth? It was not only unprofessional, but it was inconsiderate and rude to Courtney. We had bigger problems than a breakup at a football game and a pretend reunion that meant nothing to either one of us.

"You're looking at her door very intently," Ryan said from beside me. He set his backpack down at his usual seat. "What are you even going to say to her? She already knows that story about you and Corey maybe getting back together isn't true."

"I have to say something. If I want her job when she graduates in the spring, I can't let everyone here think I'm a pushover," I said.

He nodded. "I'm on your side obviously. But I also understand that your drama is some juicy clickbait."

"You did not read that story. Did you?"

"I'm sorry."

I let out a long sigh. "Ryan, every single time someone reads that story, it just encourages her to make up some more—" I lowered my voice— "bullshit about me."

"My one click isn't going to make a difference, Layla. How else was I going to find out that she cropped me out of the pictures?"

"This isn't about you."

"I was there. It's a little bit about me."

"I need a new photographer partner here," I mumbled to myself, but I also made sure it was loud enough for Ryan to hear. He knew I didn't really mean it anyway.

"If you're looking for a downgrade, sure."

I let a small smile show itself. "Yeah, unfortunately, it really would be. You know what you're doing."

"I try my best. You want me to talk to Isabel separately about what she's writing about you?" Ryan asked.

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. I can handle it."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "You just don't come across as super confrontational."

"I'm not, but she needs to know what I think about her using me like that."

I gave him a moment to respond, and when he just nodded to what I said, I excused myself and knocked on the door to Isabel's office. She invited me in, and I opened up the door and stood in the doorway with my arms crossed. Maybe it would help me come across as more confrontational, since I didn't even know where I wanted to begin.

"I assume you saw?" she said.

I nodded. "I sure did, and I don't even know how I can possibly explain to you how wrong that was."

I was a writer, for God's sake. How could I not find the words to describe what was going on in my mind after hours of thought?

Isabel didn't even acknowledge that. "How many times do I have to tell you that it's nothing personal? I'm just doing my job and giving the people stories that they actually want to read about. No offense to her, but no one is reading Elise's Christmas cookie recipes, even if she is pouring her heart and soul into those."

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's not okay to make up your own little reality series about us? It was embarrassing enough to live it all the first time, and now it's like that story follows me everywhere I go," I said.

"That's just the way it is, Layla. Life is nothing more than a story, and someone has to cash in on it. And until all of us can do that, I'm going to use whatever inspiration I have to keep this newspaper afloat."

Why did her unapologetic attitude not surprise me in the slightest? "You can't be serious right now. My life isn't your work of fiction to tell."

"Then you should probably stop giving me such good material to work with," she said.

"How is it my fault that my now-ex made a stupid decision a few days ago?"

She shook her head. "It's not, so why are you so concerned about me making you look bad?"

How was I supposed to answer that? Wasn't it obvious that plenty of people thought I was heartless because of it? How could it have been more clear that I didn't want such a stupid moment in the spotlight?

"Because that's not what we're supposed to do," I said. "We're supposed to tell people the truth."

"And did I not?"

I hesitated for a moment. It was true that Corey and I saw each other (which, in Isabel's words, was a reunion), but there wasn't anything else there. It was for something completely unrelated to what happened that past Saturday night at the football game.

"You know you're wrong for that story," I said. It was already out in the world, and all I could do was hope that she really did know it and that it would eventually make her feel bad.

She shrugged. "Tell that to the number of views on that story."

I shook my head. Maybe it was incredibly naive of me to think that there were more helpful people in the world than harmful.

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Hello! Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it.

So for today's question, in Layla's words, do you believe that there are more helpful people in the world or harmful?