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Chapter 63
“Same with you. I guess we have something in common,” Jamal says, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips as we walk. “Though I’m there for the art, not the words. I’m the photography and illustration lead. Liam begs me for visuals on every issue.”
I fold my hands behind my back, walking beside him. “So you’re the one who makes the newspaper not look… boring?”
He lets out a chuckle. “That’s the goal. Words need a little visual poetry to make people actually read them. It’s a public service, really.”
He leads me to Room 214, holding the door open. “After you, your highness.”
The room is exactly as I had imagined. The walls are plastered with past issues and layout mock–ups and the air smells of coffee and printer ink. Liam is at the whiteboard, and a small group is clustered around a table scattered with cameras and laptops.
Liam looks up, his eyes widening behind his glasses when he sees me, then narrowing slightly when he sees Jamal right behind me. “Aria. You found it. Sup jamal.”
“Ran into her wandering the halls like a lost puppy,” Jamal says, sliding into a seat and propping his feet up on an empty chair. “Figured I should return her to the litter.”
“I am not a puppy,” I mutter, taking a seat opposite him.
“Could have fooled me with the whole wide–eyed, stumbling thing you’ve got going on,” he teases
Liam clears his throat, reclaiming control of the room. “Alright, now that we’re all here. This is Aria Morales, I’m sure you all must have heard a word or two about her. She is our potential new feature writer. Aria, you already know Jamal. This is Zoe,” he points to a girl with a camera strapped around her neck, “Ben,” a lanky boy scowling at a sports stat sheet, “and Anya,” a quiet girl focused on a layout design on her tablet.
They all offer variations of hello, their curiosity about me barely concealed.
“So, Aria,” Liam begins, tapping his marker on the whiteboard. “Do you have any idea or experience of working on a newspaper?”
I take a deep breath as they all turned to me. “I was thinking we could do a series of profiles. Interview students from… prominent families, and middle class too” I say, carefully avoiding saying ‘like mine. “And contrast them with interviews of students who feel anonymous here. Talk about expectations, assumptions, the freedom or the prison of a reputation. What it’s like to be known, or not known, before you even walk into a room.”
The room is silent for a beat, processing.
“Damn,” Ben says, looking up from his stats sheet, looking impressed. “That’s actually deep.”
“It’s risky,” Zoe adds, but she’s nodding. “The lighting for the prominent kids will have to be really clean, classic. For the anonymous ones, maybe grittier, more candid.”
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“It would require a lot of trust from the interviewees,” Anya murmurs, her eyes on her tablet. “The layout would need to reflect that intimacy. Maybe a split–page design…”
Liam beamed. “It’s perfect. Ambitious, but perfect.” He turns to me. “Are you ready to take the lead on this? You’d be the lead writer and interviewer.”
“Yes,” I smile, without hesitation.
“Good. Your first interview,” Liam says, a glint in his eye, “should be with someone who understands the spotlight. To set the tone.” His gaze drifts meaningfully toward Jamal.
Jamal, who has been listening quietly, raises an eyebrow. “Oh, no. Don’t look at me. I’m a behind–the–scenes guy.”
“Exactly,” Liam counters. “But your name carries weight in the art world. You’ve won national awards. People know the name ‘Jamal Williams‘ in certain circles, but not many here know the guy behind it. You’re the perfect bridge between the two worlds Aria’s talking about.”
Jamal sighs dramatically, running a hand over his braids. “You’re exploiting my talent for your journalistic gain.”
“That’s my job,” Liam says smugly.
Jamal looks at me, his gray–honey eyes considering making butterflies dance in my tummy. “Alright. Fine. But I get approval over any photos you use. And the interview happens on my turf. My studio. Tomorrow after school.”
My heart gives a little jump. “Your studio?”
“He has a studio in the art wing,” Zoe explains, rolling her eyes. “He’s such a diva about it.”
“It’s called having standards, Zoe,” Jamal retorts, smiling. He winks at me. “So, reporter Morales. You in?”
The idea of seeing his private space, of peeling back the layers of this intriguing, confident boy, is irresistible. “I’m in.” I smiled.
The rest of the meeting is a whirlwind of ideas and assignments. I’m given a digital recorder and a list of potential questions to refine.
As the meeting wraps up, I’m gathering my things when Jamal slides into the seat next to me.
“So, for real,” he says, his voice dropping to a more intimate volume. “That was a seriously impressive idea. Not what I expected from a Morales.”
“What did you expect?” I ask, curious as I packed my new stutt
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Something shinier and less… substantial. A piece about the best charity galas of the season. Not a sociological deep dive into the caste system of Crestmont Academy.”
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I laugh. “Sorry to disappoint you then.”
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“You’re not disappointing anyone,” he says, his gaze intense. “It’s just a surprise” He stands up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Don’t forget. Tomorrow. Art wing. Don’t be late, or I will revoke your access to my legendary artistic presence.”
“I’ll be there,” I laugh.
*****
I walk out so lost in my thoughts about ledes and interview questions.
“So? How was the meeting of the nerds?”
I jump, my hand flying to my chest. “You scared me!” I gasp glaring at Nolan as he rested on a locker in the far corner. “And it was great. I’m leading a feature story.”
He pushes off the lockers, falling into step beside me as I head for the exit. “Yeah? On what?”
“The weight of a name, legacies… that kind of thing, you know.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Jumping right into the deep end. I like it.” He got quiet for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I saw you talking to Jamal Williams.”
Thanks for joining me and Avery on this journey
ANA
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
