Ruined

by Hanna, Rachel

  "Well, I am in Caldwell Hall. See that building over there?" she says pointing at the building to our left. "You are welcome over anytime your parents are driving you nuts. I'm in room forty eight," she says smiling.

  "Thanks," I say knowing that I will never just show up at her door. As with everything in my life, I've learned a lesson about showing up somewhere unexpectedly.

  "We're having a party Friday night down on the beach if you want to come. Big bon fire, beer, the whole thing," she says smiling. I nod my head and smile as she backs up the sidewalk, waves and then runs toward her dorm. Part of me wishes I was living in the dorms, if for no other reason than to feel like a normal college student. But, at least for now, I need to stay in a safe place. A stable place. A place where I don't have to pretend as much.

  I walk onto the beach and make my way toward our house. Something about the ocean washes away my troubles, if only for just a moment. Hearing the water come in and out gives me the smallest bit of peace. It's a reminder that life comes and goes just that quickly, something I learned at fifteen that I wish I hadn't.

  "Hey! Wait up!" I hear a voice behind me calling. This time it's not Emmy. It's a male voice, and my first thought is to run but it's far too hot outside and this blessed backpack is way too full. I stop and slowly turn around only to see cute guy running toward me.

  I stand there, and I must look like a complete moron. Trying to keep my mouth closed, I smile a bit instead. Why is he chasing me down?

  "You forgot these," he says as he hands me my keys. They must have fallen out of my bag at our desk. But, wait. He left before I did. How did that happen? "They fell into my backpack somehow," he says as if he is reading my mind. His good looks override my need for information.

  "Oh, thanks," I say softly which makes me seem shy. I hate seeming shy since I am definitely not a shy person at heart. I am secretive, but I don't want anyone to know that, of course.

  "I'm Reed Miller. And you are?" he says reaching out to shake my hand.

  "Willow Blake," I say as I slide my hand into his. His grip is firm, confident and a little sexy. How can a handshake be sexy?

  "Nice to meet you, Willow Blake," he says with a wry smile. He holds onto my hand for a moment before he lets go. "You're a Journalism major?"

  "How did you know that?" I ask, immediately suspicious.

  "Just a good guess," he says putting his hands in his pockets. "Dang, it's hot out here today."

  "A good guess?" I ask, wanting to know how he knew. I don't like people who know more about me than I know about them.

  "Okay, fine. I saw your name on my list."

  "You have a list of Journalism majors?" Hello, stalker?

  "I kind of have to. I run the news department at the college TV station, DCTV."

  It dawns on me that I put down the TV station as a place I'd like to intern this semester, and now I am standing face to face with the guy who will decide if I get one of the coveted small number of slots available.

  "Oh, I see. DCTV. Yes, I remember putting my name down..." I am stammering and stuttering like an idiot. Great job, Willow. You sound like a real professional reporter.

  "Listen, if you're still interested in interning, why don't we have coffee and discuss it?" he says. Wait, is he asking me on a date?

  "Coffee?" I say. Yes, Willow, coffee. What is wrong with me?

  "Do you like coffee?" he asks with a chuckle.

  "I love coffee. I'm sorry. You must think I sound like a complete idiot. You just startled me..."

  "I'm sorry. I can be a bit outgoing. Shy people don't get me," he says.

  "I'm not shy," I say back as if I am offended. I couldn't screw this up more if I tried.

  "You seem shy. And reporters can't be shy, Willow Blake."

  "I said I am not shy, Reed Miller." Now my true colors are starting to show.

  "Maybe I was wrong then. I see a little fiery side coming out. I like it..."

  "When would you like to have coffee?" I say trying to change the subject. The heat is getting to me, and it's not from the weather.

  "How about this afternoon? Say around three?"

  "Sounds good."

  "I'll meet you at The Coffee Mug," he says as he backs up with a smile. "See you at three, Willow Blake."

  As he runs back up the beach, I take a deep breath and try to get my heart to stop racing. Coffee with the ultra cute guy who has my internship in the palm of his hand. Hello, stress.

  Chapter 3

  I make my way back home, and my mother is in the living room doing one of her many workout DVDs. She has a better figure than I do, although Bruce has allowed her to have some "procedures" done to help that along. He doesn't seem to push her, but I think he enjoys having arm candy to wear to parties and such.

  "Hi, sweetie. How was your first day of college?" my Mom says from the living room as she squats and lunges making all manner of grunting noises.

  "It's school, Mom. How well could it go?" I mumble, hungry from my walk up the hot coastline. "Do we have anything to eat in this house?" I ask as Carmelita walks into the kitchen. A short, portly Guatemalan woman, Carmelita is probably my favorite person in this house because she's real.

  "Hola, Miss Blake," she says with her bright smile. The beach life has only made Carmelita darker, and her teeth look like pearls when she smiles. "You hungry?"

  "Starving," I say with my head firmly planted in the refrigerator. I'm mainly sticking it in there to cool off, but Carmelita is having none of it as she swats my rear end to move me out of the way.

  "I make you a sandwich?" she says with a question mark at the end of her sentence.

  "Please," I say, still uncomfortable with having someone wait on me in my own house. But, when in Rome...

  It's around one thirty in the afternoon, and I can almost hear the clock ticking the countdown to my coffee date with Reed Miller. I guess I shouldn't call it a date since I am looking to get an internship from him. He would be my superior, and that conjures up some images in my mind that shouldn't be there. Handcuffs and tie straps pop into my head, reminding me that I might have been reading one too many erotic romance novels over the summer.

  "Here you go," Carmelita says, handing me a plate with a club sandwich and some chips. I shove a chip into my mouth, groan with pleasure and nod.

  "Thank you, Carmelita," I say through chews, which is terrible etiquette but I don't care. I slide into a chair at the breakfast bar, wolf down the sandwich and a Coke, and run upstairs to change for my coffee date with Reed. I like how that sounds. Coffee date with Reed. Yeah, I've got to get out more if one hunky guy makes me want to start writing his name all over my notebook.

  ***

  It's 3:10, and I'm sitting at The Coffee Mug looking around for Reed Miller. He's not here, and I feel like a fool. Maybe he was playing me just to see if I'd jump when he told me to. Maybe he was in a wreck and I should go save him and give him mouth to mouth... Boy, my mind sure can wander if left unattended.

  "Willow? So sorry I'm late," I hear him saying from behind me as his hand brushes across my shoulder and gives me chills. He sits down across from me and immediately waves the server over to the table like he owns the place. "Ricky, I think we're ready to order." Ricky, a young red haired server, comes running to our table and waits for our orders.

  "Um, I'll take a French Vanilla latte with whipped cream," I say, still unsettled by how he walked in with such authority.

  "Yuck," Reed says looking at me. "Black coffee. Thanks." Ricky smiles and nods before walking off. Flamboyantly gay from what I can see, I think Ricky and I will be friends before its over. I like people who live their lives as who they really are. Probably because I can't... or I don't.

  "Yuck?" I say, tilting my head to the side like a dog who heard a loud noise.

  "That's like drinking syrup," he says as he pulls out his iPad and turns it on.

  "Then don't drink it," I respond, all too aware that I am being a bit snippy to a man whose help I need.<
br />
  "Touché," he says with a wry smile. "So, Willow Blake, let's talk about DCTV. What can you bring to the table for my little station?"

  "Your station?" I say, again putting my foot directly into my mouth. "I thought the station belonged to the college, Mr. Miller."

  "And I run it right now. Therefore, it's my baby," he says as he leans forward on his elbows. "You are a spitfire."

  I lean forward to match his stance. "Why is it when a woman asserts herself, she's a spitfire or a bitch, but when a man does it then he's strong or authoritative?" He stares at me for a moment before sitting back and smiling.

  "We need you," he says.

  "Pardon?"

  "I was testing you, and you passed with flying colors. You can handle yourself, Miss Blake. That's for sure. And that's what we need. See, I took this fledgling little TV station over a year ago, and since then we've been working on covering hard hitting news. But I haven't yet found the right main news reporter. I've got a great sports guy, a girl from the meteorology department who does some weather here and there. But I need a main news reporter, and I think that might be you."

  "I guess I don't understand how you could know that after only just meeting me? I mean, you don't even know my background or whether or not I have any skills as a reporter." I fully understand that I'm saying something completely stupid, but I really want to know why he would think I'm the right person for the internship.

  "Well, for one thing you didn't leave when I was a little bit late. That shows me that you're a hard worker and willing to stay late if you need to. Secondly, you didn't let me get by with insulting your drink or calling you a spitfire. When I need a good reporter, I'm looking for someone who's ready to ask the tough questions and get an answer without losing their backbone. I think that you fit the bill nicely when it comes to that," he says with a smile.

  "Thank you. I would love the opportunity to have an internship at the station if you think that I'd be a good fit."

  "Don't think it's just as easy as that because it's not only up to me. I have to run everything by my staff advisors, so you have to have a meeting with them as well. They will want to know more about your background, of course." Inside, my stomach suddenly knots up and I feel like I might vomit. Apparently, my face is green or something because Reed starts to look concerned. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm not feeling so well. Excuse me," I say as I run towards the women's restroom. I see Reed stand, but I don't know if he follows me. I shut the door behind me and lock it, leaning against it and taking several deep breaths before heading to the sink to splash some cold water on my face. This is it. This is the time that they finally figure out who I am and what I did. My entire life is always going to revolve around one moment in time that I can never take back.

  A few minutes later, I have gathered myself enough to return to the table. Reed is sitting there looking at me as a walk across the room. What in the world am I going to say to explain what just happened?

  I sit down, but before I can speak he takes the reins. "Willow, don't feel bad. I've had that happen to me before. You probably just ate something that didn't agree with you." He winks at me and then continues chatting about the television station as if nothing ever happened. For now, I'm safe. But I know all too well that at any moment the Pandora's box that I'm trying desperately to keep closed is going to explode right in my face at the wrong time. Someone around me is going to get hurt as much as I do, so I try to keep everyone at arms length.

  "Yeah, I sort of wolfed down a club sandwich before I got here, so maybe it just upset my stomach. I'm really sorry about that." I say, looking down at my hands and trying not to make eye contact. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I certainly don't want him seeing through me. He seems to be a pretty astute guy, not to mention hot, so I don't want him to think of me as this green faced nauseated reporter wannabe.

  "Tell you what, why don't you fill out this paperwork and give it to me in class tomorrow? I'll run it by my advisors and see if they even need to have a meeting with you. I feel very comfortable with you, and I'd like to work together. Are you still interested?" He asks me. Of course I'm still interested, I think to myself, but I don't want to be too overeager.

  "Certainly. I want to learn as much as I can while I'm here at the college. Working at DCTV will give me the opportunity to hone my craft." Hone my my craft? Who even talks like that?

  He smiles, almost like he's reading my mind, and nods his head. Ricky brings our drinks, and he takes a quick sip of his coffee. "Great. I'm looking forward to getting your paperwork and hopefully getting started. We have some big story opportunities coming up soon, and I think you would be perfect for those."

  "I'm looking forward to that. My long-term goal is to be a reporter, so this is a great starting point. I was on the high school newspaper staff, so I do have a little bit of experience." I don't know why I tell him this as it only encourages him to ask more questions about my past. It's almost like I'm trying to impress him for some reason, but I think that has more to do with how hot he is than trying to showcase my superior intellect.

  "Oh yeah? Where did you go to high school anyway?"

  Uh oh. Here we go. At least I can be honest about part of this story. Instead of saying that I had to leave Seattle at the age of fifteen because of my sordid, tragic past and move to Charleston, I can simply say that I attended Seaside High School. Because I did. For a year anyway. Then my mother met Bruce at a cocktail party and got her claws firmly implanted into his heart. After that, I was able to go to Rivermoore Private Academy and hide from those terrible public school kids.

  "I went to Seaside. Go Bulldogs," I say laughing. I always thought it was crazy that the high school was sitting right by the ocean and was named Seaside yet the mascot was a bulldog. Not a pelican or a shark or a dolphin. A bulldog. Weird.

  "Ah, Seaside. I have some friends that went there. Don't you think a bulldog is a strange mascot for a beach school?" he asks as if reading my mind. Man, he's hot and smart... and maybe psychic.

  "I was just thinking that!" I say, sounding like some kind of airhead.

  "Great minds think alike," he says softly and almost intimately. Is he flirting with me?

  "I guess so," I say as I sip my coffee. It's important that I avoid flirting because I can't do anything about it. I'll be labeled as a tease and have to leave town or something.

  "So, would you like a tour of the TV station? I mean, it's not much but it's kind of cool if you've never been around that stuff before."

  "You mean right now?"

  "Sure. The station is pretty empty at this time of the day."

  I really am kind of excited to see the inner workings of DCTV, so I nod my head and we get up. As we walk outside, I head for the beach to walk the distance to the college.

  "Do you walk everywhere in this heat?" Reed asks me as he pulls my arm toward what I assume is his car. His touch isn't rough, but firm, and I find myself enjoying it quite a bit.

  "I don't have a car," I say. Yep, nineteen year old with no car and no license. I'm a winner.

  "I thought you were Bruce Avery's daughter? Real estate multi-millionaire?"

  "Are you a stalker?" I ask furrowing my eye brows at him.

  "Everyone knows Bruce Avery around here, Willow."

  "Well, he's my step father, and he isn't responsible for my personal finances. I just live there because my mother wants me to. When I get a job and earn the money for a car, I'll get one. But for now, I walk. It's good for my health," I say trying to make it sound normal that a nineteen year old doesn't have a car. It's not that I don't want one, but getting a license invites people at the DMV to look at my record, and I'm not sure I want that in such a small town environment.

  "Come on. No need to sweat to death," he says as he opens the passenger door for me and waves me in. I walk slowly and get in, all too aware that this guy holds the future of my internship in his hands.

  We take the short drive to the colleg
e and park at the Communications building. Reed's car is nice with all kinds of gadgets that I would never learn how to work. His sound system pipes Mumford & Sons throughout the car, and the air conditioning would give Eskimos the chills.

  "Here we are," he says putting the car in park. Before I can open my door, he's there opening it for me.

  "Thanks," I say softly as I step out and wait for him to lead me to the station. I'm still not too sure where I am on campus, but if I get to be a reporter I'll have to learn quickly.

  We walk into the belly of the old building and then up a flight of stairs. It's very industrial looking in the hallways with the pale yellow concrete walls and matching floor tiles that look like they've been there for thirty years or more.