“Victoria, he’s not. I swear. He’s not.” Liz dropped her head into her hands. She didn’t even want to consider that Victoria’s words were true. She wished she could just tell Victoria what was going on. It would be so nice to have it all out in the open.

“Well, you won’t tell me the whole situation! From an outsider’s perspective, this sounds like a bad idea. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over a kiss with Hayden if you can’t even tell your best friend who the other guy is. I bet he doesn’t want you near other guys either, right?” Victoria asked, rolling her eyes.

Liz froze. Her tears dammed up. “He doesn’t, but I don’t know any guy who does.”

“I’ve been with a guy who wanted to keep things on the down-low, and let me tell you, it didn’t end pretty. He was seeing someone else on the side, all the while telling me not to see anyone else. I thought it was kind of stupid, but went along with it for a little while, because I was kind of into him. Then I find him sleeping with someone else and he doesn’t understand why I would be against that,” Victoria said, shaking her head. “All I’m saying is that a guy who wants to keep secrets from other people…is going to be okay keeping secrets from you…”

Liz wished that she could tell Victoria the whole situation. She wanted to so badly. “It’s not like that…”

“Then tell me who he is,” Victoria said, standing with her hands on her hips. “If it’s not like that, then tell me who this guy is.”

“I can’t tell you, Victoria! If I could, I would have told you already!” Liz cried.

“Seriously, I don’t get it. Why is it such a big deal?” Victoria demanded. “Can you at least tell me that?”

“No! I can’t!” Liz yelled back, pushing her hands into her hair.

“Ridiculous. What kind of guy forces you to keep secrets from everyone?” Victoria asked, pacing.

“I can’t explain it. But I don’t want to keep secrets anymore. I want to be out in the open. I want whatever we have to be all the time.”

Victoria rolled her eyes again. “I hate to be pessimistic about this, Liz. I want you to be happy, but this sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

Liz sighed heavily. It did sound like a recipe for disaster. Before, when it had just been about the sex, none of this mattered. But now it did, and maybe all along he was using her and stringing her along and it had been okay, because she was doing the same thing. Now that wasn’t what she wanted anymore. She wanted a relationship with Brady, which had its own set of problems.

“I know,” Liz finally whispered, pressing her hand under her eyes to wipe away the last remaining tears. “I guess I’ll have to talk to him.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Victoria said, sitting back down finally. “I’m sorry I made things worse. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’re sure you can’t tell me. It might make me understand…”

“Vic,” Liz interrupted, “I can’t tell you.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug. “Talk to this guy and tell him what you told me. See what happens. But Liz…”

“Yeah?” Liz glanced up into Victoria’s face.

“You didn’t do anything wrong by kissing Hayden. Don’t let anyone else convince you otherwise, all right?”

Liz sighed and nodded. If she hadn’t done anything wrong, then why did she still feel so bad?


The next day, Liz trudged onto campus bright and early to get her grade from her journalism professor. She hadn’t slept much, because she had been waiting for Brady to call her. He knew when she was coming back, so he could have called last night, but he didn’t. She would have to wait for Brady, as difficult as that was.

She walked through the journalism building until she found Professor Mires’s office. The door was open and a student was already inside talking to her. Liz took a seat in a chair outside of the room and waited.

She hoped that she looked okay, because she hadn’t taken any time with her appearance. Yesterday’s makeup still covered her face, and she had thrown her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. She was run-down from not sleeping, and stressing her way through every imaginable scenario with Brady.

“Yes, thank you for stopping by,” Professor Mires said as the student who had been in her office exited. “Miss Dougherty, how are you?”

Liz stood and stifled a yawn. “Hello, Professor Mires.”

“You’re here for your grade, I presume?”

“I know you said in class that we could stop by on Monday and you should have our papers finalized.”

“In fact, I do. Come on in,” the professor said, gesturing for Liz to follow her.

Liz took the seat in front of the professor’s desk. Professor Mires wore her typical librarian glasses. Her brown hair was a curly mess, which explained why she always wore it in a bun. She had on a long blue skirt that dragged the floor, and a cream linen blouse. She took a seat in front of Liz and folded her hands in her lap.

“What are your plans for the next two years, Liz?” Professor Mires asked. “You are an upcoming junior, correct?”

“Yes, I am,” Liz said, straightening at the question. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking. I’m planning to finish my degree in journalism and work on the paper.”

“I understand that you’re a Morehead scholar and that your senior year, you must have an internship with a completed in-field research project. Had you thought about what you are going to do for this?” Professor Mires prodded.

“I had given some thought to working in-field at a Raleigh newspaper and commuting back and forth. I have a scholarship meeting with my advisor at the beginning of school to discuss possibilities,” Liz told her.

“Hmm,” she said, leaning forward and thumbing through a stack of papers on her desk. She extracted one from the pile and handed it across the table to Liz.

Liz took her paper eagerly. She flipped to the back page and saw the page filled top to bottom with red ink and a small A+ circled at the bottom. Liz inhaled sharply, unable to believe what she saw. She skimmed through the comments, which was one long glowing review of the article she had written.

“Thank you,” Liz muttered, glancing back up at her professor.

“I’m giving you an A in the class,” Professor Mires told her. “I know your performance was less than adequate at the beginning, but I’m a strong believer in improvement. And you went above and beyond. I challenged you, and you accepted the challenge with fervor. Each week you got better, but this”—she pointed at the paper—“this showed what you are really capable of. You’ve done a great job at changing your perspective, broadening your scope, and remaining objective. You should hold on to these skills. They’ll take you far.”

“Oh,” Liz said, “thank you.”

The one paper Brady had given her the idea for was the paper that her professor thought had changed her. She had worked hard all summer to achieve this A, really stretching her perspective and working toward what Professor Mires wanted from her. But she knew that Brady had helped with that. He had shown her politics from a different perspective entirely. She had been able to take what she had learned from him and layer it with what she already knew about the world, and that had helped her relate to her audience.

That man will be the death of me.

“Well, you convinced me to believe in your work with that last paper. It showed me that you can improve…and drastically in a short period of time. I’ve been looking for someone like that to help with my research. I’ve recently acquired a grant, and I’ll be doing research with several universities around the country and working directly with the Washington Post. Part of the funds will go toward putting together a colloquium regarding political journalism, and most of the North Carolina state papers as well as Wash Po, New York Times, and CNN have signed on to participate. I know that you are working on the university paper, and if you continue on the path with politics, then you will surely have your hands full, but I do hope you consider taking the time to work with me. I would be happy to sign off on your internship credit.”