Taking a deep breath, she jotted out a reply.

Hayden, The paper is great. Everyone misses having you around to keep us in line, but we’re making do without you. My summer has been generally boring besides the column, which Professor Mires said I could use for my class project. Sorry to hear your summer isn’t everything you wanted it to be. Do they have you doing anything besides acquiring coffee? I received this information from Ms. Ferrington just before your email. I’ve already agreed that we’d cover it. I’ll see what I can do about an interview. If he’s read my article, I doubt he’ll give me one, but I’ll do what I can.

Liz cringed at the obvious deception, but it wasn’t as if she could tell Hayden she had slept with Brady. She continued with her email.

A trip to D.C. sounds great. What about after the end of the term? I think I’m free late July, if that works for you. Love,

Liz paused. That was probably all wrong. She backspaced the valediction and tried again.

Best, Liz

She hit Send and waited for a reply. She had taken too much time writing it to begin with. She had no idea what the professor was lecturing on now. It had been rough trying to say everything she wanted to say without going overboard. She had decided in the end to keep it as short as possible.

Liz didn’t know how long it would be before she got a reply, but she couldn’t text him while she was in class. So she waited. When the email didn’t come, she finally gave up and paid more attention to Professor Mires’s lecture.

Right before class ended, the return email popped up.

Liz, Yes, I exaggerated. I am doing some research, but it’s mindless. Save me from myself. Late July it is. I asked off for the last weekend in July, so don’t change your mind. Go get back to work!

Hayden Lane Editor-in-Chief

Liz smiled brightly and even laughed at his last line. Hayden wanted her in D.C. and he had taken the weekend off. She had plans to be with him for the weekend. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as her remembered crush blossomed inside of her.

This was probably more realistic than Brady anyway.

Professor Mires completed her lesson and began packing up her bag. Liz and the rest of the students in the class followed suit. Liz shut her computer down and stuffed it back into her backpack. She had a lot of work to do before Brady came into town, and she knew she needed to get started tonight.

“Miss Dougherty, may I have a word with you?” Professor Mires asked as Liz walked past her.

“Of course,” Liz said. She hoped she didn’t get in trouble for being on her computer all class. She was normally more focused than she had been today, but with both Hayden and Brady swirling around in her thoughts, it was hard to concentrate on the lecture.

Liz stood off to the side while her classmates filed out of the lecture hall, leaving them all alone.

“I wanted to discuss the recent assignment that you turned in,” Professor Mires said, taking a seat on the wood stool in from of the podium. “Was this from your newspaper column?”

“Yes, I thought you said it was okay for me to use that,” Liz said. Her heart was racing. Professor Mires had never pulled her aside to discuss her academic work like this…no one ever had. She usually received high marks across the board.

“It is. I don’t mind you using the articles for the assignment at all. I think real-life practicum in journalism is essential to improvement and potential job opportunities postgraduation. I am always pleased when my students go above and beyond the classroom,” she said with a calming tone.

Liz could feel a “but” coming on at the end of that statement. The professor seemed to have more to say.

“I do have some concerns about the quality of the work, though,” Professor Mires said, handing over Liz’s paper.

She took it in her hands and saw the red ink scrawled all over the first article she had written about Brady. It was the one that had met with such fanfare from the students on campus. They’d had to reprint because of it. She flipped it to the last page and saw a big C+ circled on the page. Her heart sank. She had never received a C in her entire life. Not once. She could count the number of B minuses on one hand. What the hell had happened?

If she didn’t improve this grade, she could lose her scholarship!

“A C plus?” Liz asked, her voice cracking.

“It’s not that the article is poorly written. It reads really well, and it’s polished.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked, skimming the comments on the front page.

“In journalism we strive for objectivity if at all possible. Had this article just been something you were writing for the student body and not for me, then it would have been sufficient, but you must think of your audience. How broad could it be? Who could be reading it? When I read the article, I heard your voice, which is very clear and solid, and then I heard your opinion on the Senator.”

Her opinion on the Senator. How ironic, considering they had been in a hotel room together only a week ago.

“I think you have room for growth and your grade reflects that. Strive for objectivity in your writing. I don’t want your opinions to bleed onto the page. You’re not writing an editorial. I wouldn’t have accepted editorials. Take a chance to look at the other side, do some more research, and then write an article that clearly states the facts,” Professor Mires instructed her. “I’m not saying lose your voice or drain the page of emotion. I’m saying find a happy medium between the two. I believe you can do it, and I’ll expect it to improve as we go forward if you hope to improve that grade.”

“Thank you,” Liz said, rolling the paper up in her hand for her to look over later. “I’ll do my best.”

“You always do, Liz,” she said with a smile.

Liz walked out of the classroom in a daze. She had thought that she had been objective and looked at both sides this whole time. Now her professor was telling her the opposite, and Liz wasn’t even sure where to begin. If she wanted that A, then she had her work cut out for her this summer.

Liz sat with her friend Justin in the sound booth at the Great Hall auditorium, which the Maxwell campaign had been granted for their event. It was a large room built for five hundred, with a raised stage and podium. The Great Hall was a hot spot on campus, with a constant influx of student groups for theater productions, dance performances, a cappella shows, and the like.

Today it was covered in the red-white-and-blue signs the campaign had decorated it with, and each chair had a sign that had the Maxwell logo in the center—VOTE FOR MAXWELL in a circle with the words bolded. VOTE FOR was written like an American flag in red stars and stripes on the blue background, with MAXWELL in a stark, blocky white font. A globe focused on North America was at the center, reaffirming Liz’s belief that Brady wanted to take over. The logo was a power symbol, and now it would be all over campus.

Students and faculty alike were filing into the room, taking the signs from the seats and sitting down. It was the summer session, but after Liz’s articles and the work she had done building up to this, the room was pretty full. She wasn’t sure why she had put so much effort into it, but she wanted the event to be successful.

Part of her wanted to say that it was only for the paper and her career. If more people came to these events and showed an interest, then her column would improve and she might be able to hit the front cover more often. At least overshadow another drunken debauchery scene on Franklin Street for once.