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person who seems to pay attention, you take incredibly thorough notes and review them, as well.”
    I shrugged.
    “It’s why I’m your favorite.” I gave him a cheeky smile. Like I said, I saw this guy as a grandfather figure, and I gave him the same teasing I would give my grandfather. I was always trying to tell my parents that I knew I was their favorite. He would get no different treatment.
    I suddenly remembered there was something he was going to tell me about after class and sat up a little straighter in anticipation.
    “Soooo, what is it you wanted to meet with me about?”
    He smirked at me and turned to return down to his desk at the front of the room. He searched through his ancient briefcase before walking back to me with a rolled up bunch of papers.
    I waited.
    He took his damned time unrolling the paperwork before placing it on the desk in front of me face down.
    I tried my best not to act too interested, but I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and flipped the paperwork over.
    Holy shitballs. My eyes were skimming over the paperwork as quickly as I could possibly absorb it, bouncing between the desk and looking at Statlin incredulously.
    No way this was happening.
    No freaking way.
    I sat down.
    The Boston Beacon was looking for interns.
    My dream newspaper was looking for interns, and behind my back, he had applied for me and I was in.
    “You start in January, with the beginning of the semester. It’s a six month program, and you could end up with a job straight out of college, if you play your cards right.
    I just gave him a huge bear hug and burst into tears.

chapter five.
     
     
    T here was no way I was going to be able to do this.
    Nope.
    No way at all.
    I looked up again for the tenth time at the iconic brick building that had covered the most important news stories for over two centuries.
    I looked down at the dip in the granite step, worn down from the newsmen and newswomen, copy editors, designers, and press operators who crossed the threshold of this building for over a century. The history in this one step was overwhelming me.
    I couldn’t do this.
    I wasn’t worthy of this opportunity. I had thought I was ready, but I was so not ready.
    I smoothed out my pencil skirt, wondering if I was underdressed. I wore flats not knowing if there would be a lot of walking. As I took in the size of the building, I realized that I had absolutely made the right choice in footwear.
    Ugh.
    I started to turn to walk away, still fighting the internal battle that was raging as to whether or not I was ready.
    “You coming in or are you going to stand outside all day like a decoration? If you’re going to pick staying outside, we could probably use you to park cars.”
    Huh?
    My head whipped around to see someone poking their head out of the large glass doors at the front of the building.
    An older man stood there, smiling at me kindly. I normally didn’t love being the butt of a joke within seconds of meeting someone, but there was something about this guy that relaxed me. Kind of like my reaction to Statlin.
    “Guess I have to come in now, the opportunity to go unnoticed has apparently passed,” I grinned at him and ducked under his arm into the lobby of the historic building.
    I stood there for a moment, breathing in the air that circulated. I imagined that it was the same air that centuries of journalists had breathed, even though I knew that it had been filtered, probably gone through some high grade HEPA air purifier and shot outside so many times that it was new.
    I turned to the kind man standing next to me and pulled myself up to my full five foot four height. I looked him in the eye and held out my hand.
    “Hi, I’m Karyn Jensen. I’m here for my internship. Professor Statlin sent me.”
    His smile only grew at this information.
    “How’s that old coot doing? I have to call him, maybe go out for a couple drinks and chew over old times.”
    He held his hand out to me.
    “Marv Jenkins.