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applaud.
    “You’d think a TV station could get the mic to work,” Franklin comments.
    “Tell me what?” I turn to face the ponytailed sports reporter beside me. Maysie and I have been pals since we bonded years ago while divvying up the junk food left in the station’s cafeteria during a sudden blizzard. I’m like her older sister. I can read her better than anyone, except (maybe) her husband Matthew. I can tell she’s holding back.
    Kevin claps his hands again. Now there’s no way to ignore him. As he begins his introduction of Susannah, I give Maysie a wide-eyed entreaty. What? I silently mouth the word, trying to look as beseeching as possible.
    Maysie points me to Kevin and Susannah, then her watch. Later, she pantomimes.
    The only sound now is the jingle of Susannah’s multiple charm bracelets clanking against the mic stand as she confidently adjusts it higher, instantly proving she’s taller than Kevin. She gives him a seemingly apologetic shrug, which serves only to underscore her prominence, and claims center stage.
    “Hello, all,” she says. “Get out your calendars, folks.”
    Flipping open a logo-covered folder, she holds it up in front of her. I guess it’s a calendar, I can’t see details that far away. Every eye in the newsroom follows her, as she pivots, surveying us. She waits until we’re all silent. “July? Is the new November. The ratings holy grail. We’re gonna milk those demos till the other stations can’t see straight. You’re age twenty-five to fifty-four? A woman? We want you watching Channel 3. And we’ll do anything to get you here.”
    The murmuring buzz picks up again as a roomful of newsies begin individual calculations. How will that affect me? Am I in? Or out?
    “Dollarwise, Envirobeat. We’ve discussed your roles,” Susannah continues, pointing to the franchise reporters and producers of those segments. “Now. Charlie Investigates.” Susannah scans the room, apparently looking for me and Franklin.
    I give a tentative wave. “Up here,” I call out.
    Every face in the room turns up to look at me and Franklin. I can feel my face tighten as I stoically keep smiling, pretending I know what’s coming next. Susannah consults her folder again, then looks back up at us, too.
    “I’m simply thrilled to announce that Charlie and Frank have come up with another…” she pauses “…very important story. We’re keeping the details under wraps, because those investigative types are such secret squirrels! But we want you to know we’re going all out to promote their superdynamite July scoop. We’re counting on it for big, big numbers.” She taps her folder. “You’re the first to know. We’re branding it Charlie’s Crusade.”
    Susannah nods, self-satisfied, as if she’s just invented alliteration and now expects someone to applaud.
    I give Franklin a tiny kick in one ankle. “Nice one, Frank, ” I hiss. “We’re screwed. She doesn’t know about Dorie’s ‘drop dead’ decision, I imagine.”
    Franklin, frowning, opens his mouth to answer. I wave him off, as below us, Susannah continues to outline her grand scheme.
    “Now, one more agenda item before it’s time for the noon news,” she says. “With the Red Sox grabbing such a huge fan base this season, I’m happy to announce a decision made just last night. We’re starting a new weekend show. We’re branding it—Red Sox Nation. And it will feature our newest anchor, Maysie Green, the Sports Machine.”
    I turn to Maysie, shocked, my jaw slack. Franklin has lost it and is laughing uncontrollably. His reaction is all the more difficult because he’s trying, unsuccessfully, to hide it from the room below. “Ma-chine?” I hear him say.
    Susannah must be wrapping up the meeting, but I have no idea what she’s saying. Maysie’s good news trumps everything, even the impending doom of losing our story.
    “So you’ve got your own show,” I whisper, grinning. “Hot stuff. A little TV face time for the