#1: Never fall in love.
That last rule was the most important because I knew what love could do to people; love, or falling out of love, destroyed families. And you can’t fall out of love if you never fall into it, so it was crucial that no one ever got too close. I wouldn’t relive my parents’ mistakes. I wouldn’t destroy another life the way my parents destroyed mine.
I’d followed the rules for four years since leaving California, and I hadn’t been hurt once. Bailey could say what she wanted to say, but it didn’t seem so stupid to me.
Sure. In a world where I actually needed socialization and human contact for survival, Georgia would’ve been the kind of friend I would’ve clung to. She was kind, direct, and always focused, and she never stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. She would’ve made for a great, best friend.
“I did, yeah. I got your message Saturday night,” I said, sitting straighter. “I just… I hadn’t gotten around to responding. I’ve been distracted,” I admitted, hating that I couldn’t even muster a believable lie.
She flipped her ginger hair back over her shoulder as she settled in next to me. With her pen poised above her notepad, she was ready to take notes.
“I know it’s last-minute, but is there any chance you can get that interview?” she asked. “If we’re going to run this article, it has to be done next week. I’ll have to have it on my desk Friday morning to run in the Monday issue.”
“Yeah,” I said, scratching the side of my neck. “I think I can get it. I mentioned it to Raddick yesterday, and he seemed okay with giving us whatever we need. I’ll get the interview.”
“When?”
“Huh?”
“When are you doing the interview?” she asked, still ready to write down the details, but I didn’t really have anything more to give her.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “The details are still a little vague, but we’re going to set something up. Rumor has it that he’s a pretty busy guy.”
“Get a firm commitment from him by tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t leave me hanging on this, okay? This program is hot news at the school right now, and we need to get this article on the front page next week.”
“I’ll get the interview, and I’ll do the article,” I said, turning to her. Her face beamed a little brighter, and I could see that my promise to do it meant that she would have one less thing to worry about. “Can I just say something, though?” I asked, and she nodded as she set the pen and paper aside. “I know that you think this is an excellent piece for the paper, and I don’t doubt your judgment for a second. But I’m not sure it’s worthy of the front page. To be fair, I think you’re giving it more weight than it’s worth. The program, the Raddick Initiative… they mean a lot to the people involved, but it’s not really ‘hot news’ in Sugar Creek, and it’s most certainly not important to the vast majority of the students here at school. The junior and senior classes count for about… what? Four-hundred members of the student body?”
“No, 426,” she corrected me, and then with a nod, I sensed she wanted me to continue with my point.
“Okay, and of those 426 students, we only had a turn-out of eleven volunteers to compete for our school’s team. Gabe says that the competing schools are working with groups of fifty plus. I’d say that RI is hot news out in Desden or Oakland and even out there in West Bridge, but not in Sugar Creek. There’s just not a lot of interest here.”
“Okay,” she said, pulling her hand up to her chin. “Is the program still open for enrollment? Can more students join even though it’s already started?
“I don’t really know the rules on that, but I don’t see why not,” I said, but I prayed she wasn’t headed where I thought she was.
I didn’t want to find myself writing an article trying to talk-up the program to recruit more students. Both the junior and senior classes had already sat in on the information assembly last week. If they hadn’t committed themselves then, what were the chances they would commit themselves at all? An article like that had the potential to go completely ignored.
“Well, if there’s still room for more to join, then we have options here,” she said. “We can take the original angle and run a piece on the project, the first week’s goals and progress, and a little background information on the Raddick Initiative, or you can write a call to action piece and see if it helps drum up some extra volunteers for the program. It may not be hot news yet, but we could make it hot news. What do you think?”
As much as I hated the idea of taking the alternative route, the latter of her two options was the fairest for everyone—the school, the program, the community. Of course we needed as many volunteers as we could get, and the more we had, the more chance the school had of actually winning the competition. If even a few people read the article and signed up for the program, we’d have that much more manpower to help us bring it all together.
“I’ll write the call to action piece,” I said, feeling the opportunity to win the scholarship slip further and further away. More volunteers meant less of a chance at winning. Even with my idea for the killer, dance finale at the end of the program, I might’ve been screwed. Considering my short (and somewhat) regrettable history with Mr. Big Shot, and now the opportunity to invite more help into the group, I couldn’t see how I’d ever stand out amongst the crowd.
But what choice did I have? I had to do what was right for the collective whole. Isn’t that what Gabe, Lashell, and everyone at the Raddick Initiative would do?
I didn’t know. I just had to trust my gut, and that meant doing what was best for everyone, damning my own selfish wants and needs. It didn’t matter how much I wanted my chance, or how much I needed the money. If it meant doing the right thing, then there was really no question about it. I just knew I had to do it.
Breaking Rules Page 8