The Avery Shaw Information Train was derailed by the annoying intern the second I slipped into the newsroom.
“Hi.” She was almost breathless when she stopped at my cubicle. The boxes we were expected to live in to do our work had tall walls on the reporter side and low ones on the editor and copy desk end. Fish once said it was an effort to derail chatty reporters because nobody would get any work done if left to their own devices. We were a gossipy bunch. For once, I wished the walls were even taller ... and somehow a deterrent to interns.
“Um ... hi.” I wasn’t chatty under normal circumstances — unless I found myself in a Star Wars or General Hospital chatroom surrounded by trolls — but I had a plan of attack I wanted to stick to today, and the intern was not part of it.
“You’re my hero,” she announced on a wispy breath.
I stood there for a beat, confused.
“That probably makes me sound like a dork,” she said, shaking her head. “Ugh. Why can’t I do things like a normal person? I’m such an idiot.” She slapped her hand to her forehead hard enough that the sound echoed throughout the department.
I risked a glance down the aisle and found Fish watching us from his desk. He seemed intrigued. He usually tried to keep the interns as far away from me as possible. That was by mutual agreement. This time, however, he seemed to be letting the intern fend for herself.
That was beyond interesting.
“The thing is, you really are my hero,” she continued, enthusiasm on full display. “I mean ... you’re absolutely amazing. I love you. I think you could be the smartest person in the world.”
Either she was blowing smoke up my behind or she actually was a fan. Either way, she was dangerous. Still, it didn’t hurt to listen to what she had to say. I mean, I was well aware she could be up to no good. If she wanted to gush all over me in the process of trying to manipulate me, who was I to stop her?
“I don’t know about the world,” I hedged.
“You’re definitely the smartest person in the building.”
“That’s not difficult.” I offered her a wan smile. “Sabrina, right?”
She looked awestruck. “I can’t believe you remembered my name!”
She was going to be trouble. There was no doubt about that. The accolades were awesome, but I needed to squash this fast. “I remember because I thought you kind of looked like Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I wouldn’t get too excited.”
“Oh, that’s even more awesome.” She shifted from one foot to the other, excited. “I love that show. She’s such a badass. It’s all dark and satanic and stuff. I mean ... that’s amazing.”
I had no idea what to say. “Um ... yeah. Who doesn’t find Satan stimulating? I don’t particularly remember that show being satanic, though.” Something occurred to me. “Oh, you’re talking about the Netflix show. I’m old school. I watched the ABC show with the fake cat.”
Sabrina’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean? What fake cat?”
She was too young to remember the original, which was a horrendous punch to the gut. I was old. How did that even happen? Things I remembered from my early childhood, like a terrible television show with bad special effects, were now dated. Not only were they dated, they’d been rebooted.
And it wasn’t just older things like Sabrina. It was newer shows like Charmed and Gossip Girl. I wasn’t even a kid when Gossip Girl started. I was an adult then. Sure, not by much, but that wasn’t the point.
Wait ... what were we talking about again?
“It doesn’t matter.” I recovered as quickly as possible. “It was a stupid conversation anyway.”
“Oh, no.” Sabrina shook her head, somber. “It was a great conversation. I’ll remember it forever.”
Okay, that was taking it way too far. “Listen ....”
“You’re my hero,” she repeated, cutting me off. “You’ve been my hero for as long as I can remember, since I was in high school even. That’s how long you’ve been my hero.”
I knit my eyebrows. “Aren’t you like twenty?”
She nodded. “I’ll be twenty-one in three months?” She was beginning to end her sentences with that annoying vocal inflection that turns sentences into questions by their end.
“And then comes the retirement home.”
“What?” She tilted her head, confusion causing the only lines on her face.
“Listen, Sabrina, it’s been nice chatting with you. I have a full slate today. I have to chase the Santas story, and before I can start chasing leads, I need to have a discussion with Fish.”
Rather than move out of my way, Sabrina remained rooted to her spot and grinned. “Awesome.”
Part of me wanted to shake her. “What’s awesome?”
“All of this. You.” She gestured to the newsroom around us. “This is just ... awesome.” She leaned forward and offered a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re awesome, too.”
It took everything I had not to snap at her. “I am awesome,” I agreed. “I’m ... the queen of awesome. I’m also on a timetable. I need to focus on my story.”
I expected her to head back to wherever they’d put her, but instead she rubbed her hands together and shifted her feet. “Great. Where do we start?”
That was my first hint that things might not be as I assumed. “Um ... we don’t start anywhere. You need to go and do ... whatever Fish has lined up for you. I need quiet to work on my story.”
Bewilderment washed over her features. “But ... Mr. Fish said I’m working with you.”
Mr. Fish? Ugh. She was a suck-up to boot. Then the rest of the statement sank in. “Did you say you’re supposed to be working with me?”
She nodded.
“And Fish told you that?” I was incredulous. Fish knew better than to pair the interns with me. I was notorious for terrorizing them, to the point Human Resources had to call me down regularly
