cards for those dogs from overseas. And the missing gnome has his own website.”
“
What?
”
He pushed a piece of paper at me. “As they say, check it out.”
“I don’t believe this,” I muttered. Had I fallen down a rabbit hole when I wasn’t watching?
“You’d better. I want another story ASAP. And the way this is looking, I’ll probably want another one after that.”
I hung my head and opened the door to leave.
“Oh, and Fletcher?”
“Yeah?” I didn’t look back.
“Does your mom like men in aftershave?”
I closed the door and scurried back to my desk before he thought of anything more stomach-churning to ask. Sofia was there waiting for me.
“Hey, Tobi, I just got a call from our contact.”
I dropped into my chair. “Mata Hari from the senator’s office?”
“Yep.” She twirled my white-out pen along her fingers like a baton.
“Finally, some good news.” This was what I needed—to focus on proper journalism.
Sofia stopped twirling and winced. “It’s not exactly good news.”
Of course, why had I expected it to be good news? It wasn’t as if I was a luck magnet at the moment. I sighed with the weight of it all. “What did she say?”
“She said she’s really worried. They’re hassling all the staff about the confidentiality agreements they signed and she says she can’t keep going with us.”
“But, dammit, this is more important!”
Sofia shrugged. “Maybe not to her.”
“This can’t be happening. The biggest story of my career and she drops out.” I closed my eyes and began rubbing small circles on my temples.
“I don’t think she trusts us.”
I opened one eye. “Did she say something?”
“No, it was more the way she was talking.”
I opened the other eye and my fingers froze in place. “Do you think she’ll take the story to someone else?”
“That’s anyone’s guess.” Sofia threw my white-out pen back on my desk and walked toward her cubicle.
“Damn, damn, crap.”
I was going to need aspirin. Lots of aspirin.
*
I waded through the rest of the evening in a haze. I said goodbye to Sofia, picked up my bag and left. I’d known her at university, so it had been nice to meet up with her again at this paper, but we weren’t the sort of friends who sat down and talked about our woes together. Actually, I didn’t have any friends like that. Group whine-fests weren’t my scene. And I especially wouldn’t tell Sofia about my mother’s latest drama. She’d probably think it was cool and I should milk it for all it was worth. That’s what she’d said when Grandpa Jack had bought the paper.
But it wasn’t that simple. I didn’t want a position that someone had used money or influence to get me—that road led to a little destination called Unpredictability. If I didn’t get something for myself, then it was more volatile—out of my hands. Grace would say it was about my control issues again and she may have been right. But so was I.
I briefly toyed with the idea of a bath to relax, but decided on a hot shower instead. Baths always seemed so pointless—you get in, get wet, and then what? I’d tried taking a book, but I was always so worried about getting the pages wet that I put it down. At least showers had a point to them—you get wet, wash yourself, then get out. Much more sensible.
After my shower, I put on sweats and sat down at my laptop to brainstorm ideas for future gnome articles. How many angles could there be? I typed and deleted for half an hour before giving up. Then I remembered the website Kevin had given me. I opened a browser window and found the site. An existing gnome site, apparently one of many, had made a special page for the plight of our gnome: a picture of a gnome that matched the description with lots of soppy messages around it.
Other gnomes were quoted as praying for the missing gnome, and they’d even dubbed him AG, “Absent Gnome” . Apparently AG had quite a following—people from all over the
“
What?
”
He pushed a piece of paper at me. “As they say, check it out.”
“I don’t believe this,” I muttered. Had I fallen down a rabbit hole when I wasn’t watching?
“You’d better. I want another story ASAP. And the way this is looking, I’ll probably want another one after that.”
I hung my head and opened the door to leave.
“Oh, and Fletcher?”
“Yeah?” I didn’t look back.
“Does your mom like men in aftershave?”
I closed the door and scurried back to my desk before he thought of anything more stomach-churning to ask. Sofia was there waiting for me.
“Hey, Tobi, I just got a call from our contact.”
I dropped into my chair. “Mata Hari from the senator’s office?”
“Yep.” She twirled my white-out pen along her fingers like a baton.
“Finally, some good news.” This was what I needed—to focus on proper journalism.
Sofia stopped twirling and winced. “It’s not exactly good news.”
Of course, why had I expected it to be good news? It wasn’t as if I was a luck magnet at the moment. I sighed with the weight of it all. “What did she say?”
“She said she’s really worried. They’re hassling all the staff about the confidentiality agreements they signed and she says she can’t keep going with us.”
“But, dammit, this is more important!”
Sofia shrugged. “Maybe not to her.”
“This can’t be happening. The biggest story of my career and she drops out.” I closed my eyes and began rubbing small circles on my temples.
“I don’t think she trusts us.”
I opened one eye. “Did she say something?”
“No, it was more the way she was talking.”
I opened the other eye and my fingers froze in place. “Do you think she’ll take the story to someone else?”
“That’s anyone’s guess.” Sofia threw my white-out pen back on my desk and walked toward her cubicle.
“Damn, damn, crap.”
I was going to need aspirin. Lots of aspirin.
*
I waded through the rest of the evening in a haze. I said goodbye to Sofia, picked up my bag and left. I’d known her at university, so it had been nice to meet up with her again at this paper, but we weren’t the sort of friends who sat down and talked about our woes together. Actually, I didn’t have any friends like that. Group whine-fests weren’t my scene. And I especially wouldn’t tell Sofia about my mother’s latest drama. She’d probably think it was cool and I should milk it for all it was worth. That’s what she’d said when Grandpa Jack had bought the paper.
But it wasn’t that simple. I didn’t want a position that someone had used money or influence to get me—that road led to a little destination called Unpredictability. If I didn’t get something for myself, then it was more volatile—out of my hands. Grace would say it was about my control issues again and she may have been right. But so was I.
I briefly toyed with the idea of a bath to relax, but decided on a hot shower instead. Baths always seemed so pointless—you get in, get wet, and then what? I’d tried taking a book, but I was always so worried about getting the pages wet that I put it down. At least showers had a point to them—you get wet, wash yourself, then get out. Much more sensible.
After my shower, I put on sweats and sat down at my laptop to brainstorm ideas for future gnome articles. How many angles could there be? I typed and deleted for half an hour before giving up. Then I remembered the website Kevin had given me. I opened a browser window and found the site. An existing gnome site, apparently one of many, had made a special page for the plight of our gnome: a picture of a gnome that matched the description with lots of soppy messages around it.
Other gnomes were quoted as praying for the missing gnome, and they’d even dubbed him AG, “Absent Gnome” . Apparently AG had quite a following—people from all over the
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