Photographs of Graves

I had forgotten about the internship. To be completely honest I assumed I wouldn't get it as soon as I stormed out of Graves' room like the insecure little bitch I had been: Not only had I proved that my immaturity could get in the way of my ability to communicate with a potential colleague, but I had also seriously put off one of their key players by storming out of his room seemingly on an impulse.

I didn't think I deserved it because I'd been an idiot. But here it was.

“Miss Arden Murphy:

I would like to congratulate you personally, for you have been chosen for one of the five internships at Morrow & Sons International Inquirer. You have been given the highest recommendation by our recruiter in the United States – “

I paused. Graves was the recruiter. He'd still recommended me. Despite my idiocy, he'd still recommended me.

“ – for your investigative talents, concise and interesting reports and, the most important quality of all, passion for writing and finding the truth of things. We would like you to join us – “

It went on and on. I picked up the key points quickly: I would be working at one of their locations in Europe, starting with an orientation in Amsterdam; I would be there during my semester of study abroad; I would be shadowing a decorated journalist for the first month and they would be my host for the entirety of my semester; if I did good work I might be asked to stay a second semester and have a job offer for when I got out of college; lastly, I had two weeks to reply with my response.

I stared at the letter, putting it on my desk next to my computer. I took another drink of my recently brewed coffee, even though it was almost eleven. I didn't think I'd be sleeping much tonight anyway.

“Oh, babe!” Zoe's voice reverberated in the bathroom. “Babe, babe, babe. I forgot to ask: When am I going to meet that cute kid from where you live? The bartender with the nice smile?”

“I dunno, Zoe,” I replied. The cute bartender was named Oliver, although I typically called him Ollie – mostly because he didn't like the name Ollie. He was sweet and, as I had discovered earlier, a pretty great kisser, but his brown eyes were currently being overshadowed by a pair of ice blue ones.

“Well get him up here, bitch!” Zoe came out of the bathroom in two towels, one around her head and one around her torso. She was shorter than me, just over five feet, but due to the towering personality you'd never guess it. She threw a third towel on my back.

“Whore,” I said, throwing the towel back at her face. She caught it.

“Slut.”

“Strumpet.”

“Too far, too far,” Zoe laughed. She disappeared behind me to get dressed. “So what's going on? You seem upset.”

“Nothing.”

“Spill.”

“I got the internship at Morrow & Sons for next semester,” I tried to say it offhandedly, but it still made all motion behind me stop.

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed.

“Well you have to take it. It's a once in a lifetime thing. She came over, now in an oversized hoodie and jogging shorts, and leaned against my shoulders. “Look Ari, you can't let some guy get in between you and your dreams, you got it?”

I nodded. I knew I was going to take the internship – there was no if, and, or but about it – but I was still dreading crossing paths with Theodore Graves. He'd no doubt be at my orientation in Amsterdam. Maybe he wouldn't care anymore. Maybe he'd be fine. Maybe he'd even have some cute girlfriend.

Maybe that might hurt more than him being angry.

“God, you're clueless,” Zoe's tone was affectionate and she hugged me around the neck. She blew air in my face, making me splutter.

“That was cute,” I scoffed, pushing her away.

“What can I say? I'm just naturally bangin'.” She raised her eyebrows provocatively. She had very nice eyebrows. It was a weird thing to say, but everyone who met her seemed to notice it.

Zoe pulled her personal stash of Oreos out of our mini-fridge and offered me some.

“I'm putting I Love You Beth Cooper on the TV, come watch it with me,” she ordered, voice distorted by cookie. I groaned.

“God, why?”

“It's therapeutic. Bitch, get over here.”

I groaned again. Needless to say it was a fantastic night.

~~

The next weekend Zoe and I drove up to Chicago and met up with Oliver. I'd been talking to him frequently but it took me a couple days to come around and tell him about the internship: He said I should go for it – just said I should write him so I didn't forget he existed. I laughed, though I still felt a little guilty. I never told him about Graves.

Zoe complained, albeit jovially, about how I was taking her away from a weekend of her prolific sex life. She called my attempts to hold some sort of long distance relationship “cute”: I technically was maintaining some sort of open relationship where both of us were allowed to see other people, but I didn't disclose that to Zoe. I hadn't had the balls to see a second guy, mostly because Oliver never told me that he was seeing another girl. Given he was a bartender and rather attractive I assumed he was, but I didn't say anything. So it goes.

Sometimes I wished I had Zoe's boobs. While we were waiting for Oliver at a little downtown eatery I glanced at my friend and was reminded why she got so many guys. Shoving my hands deep in my pockets and glancing at my reflection in the window – long braid, lightly made up eyes, casual clothes of browns and greens under a scandinavian inspired scarf from Kohls and a secondhand, heavily pocketed brown jacket with a fluffy lining, all topped with a woven wool beret – and I realized I kind of looked like a waif next to Zoe's smooth curves. Walking into a city brought out her New York side, and she came dressed in a fitted black jacket, matching scarf, hat, and gloves, skinny jeans, and lightly heeled, sleek black boots with large shiny buckles. The fitted jacket made the most of her figure and her blonde hair fell silkily over her back.

All in all, I really hoped Oliver was an ass person.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a jealous person: Typically I didn't really care about these kinds of things, and I really didn't get why I was so effected when the guy we were meeting I would be abandoning in a few months. I guess it had something to do with my current insecurities. Ah, hormones. Confusing little buggers.

Oliver arrived soon after, tall and lanky with a peacoat and red scarf over basic blue jeans and a pair of Nikes. His hair was short cropped, on the darker side of dirty blonde, and lightly gelled. Overall he reminded me of a puppy, which was added to by his cute smile and large brown eyes. We got a bite to eat before going to the Aquarium.

The January air was cold and whistled around our ears, threatening to blow us over as we made our way down the streets. I breathed smoke in front of me. My nose felt like a frozen icicle. As we walked, my heart became heavy as the falling snow: I was going to be leaving all this soon. I was scared.

We all shared a hotel room. We had two queens and a decent sized TV in a cheap room at Motel 6. The TV went unused: We spent the evening with a bottle of rum to mix with a two liter of Coke, a book of Would You Rather questions (courtesy of Zoe), and a box of Oreos. I was drunk within two hours. I didn't remember much after that except that I had a blast.

The next morning I woke up naked and curled up in one of the queen sized beds. A nicely muscled arm was wrapped around me and lightly gelled hair brushed my cheek. Against the wall was a small yellow post-it note that read simply, “You're welcome, Zoe :)”.

Shit.