Archives:
September 16-September 22, 2007

September 16, 2007

“I'm sorry,” Teri says, hanging up the phone. “It's been impossible to catch that lady on the phone.”

“Don't mention it,” I say, catching the plastic beach ball I've been tossing in the air to myself. I should have been doing some reading while I waited for Teri to get off the phone, but I've got this lazy Sunday afternoon feeling that's making it hard to focus on being productive.

“So where were you?”

“Yeah, so this card—it looked like she had painted it all by hand,” I say, going on trying to explain the card Cameron left on my desk yesterday. “It looked like it really must have taken some time for her to do it—and she must be really good with this art stuff.”

“Well that was nice of her to do that for you,” Teri says, while she's scribbling something on one sheet of paper, then looking for another one, “especially when she doesn't really know you.”

“That's what I thought. I mean, it was kind of weird.”

“What do you mean it was weird?”

I shift in the couch. “Just that it's an unusual thing for someone to do—”

“So someone goes out of there way to do something nice for you, and you call them weird?” The phone rings, and Teri picks it up, turning away. “SA Office, this is Teri.”

I've noticed over the last couple weeks that we'll be having conversations while Teri is working on something—specifically something for SA, and I'll get the impression she's only half listening to me. Then she'll get caught up on one thing I say that she disagrees with, and sort of blow it out of proportion.

I look at my watch, and find that I've only got about 10 minutes before I'm due at work at the Front Desk. With Teri still on the phone, I point to my watch, and make my way out.

September 17, 2007

I come into the room from class to find Cameron seated cross-legged on her bed, watching TV while she scoops Ramen noodles from a little Styrofoam cup with a pair of chopsticks.

“Hey there,” I say, glancing at the TV, to see if I can discern what's on. From the looks of it, it's some reality show.

“Hey Preston , what's up?”

“Not a whole lot.” I head to my desk, setting my bag down. “So hey, I haven't had the chance to say thank you for the birthday card,” I say, gesturing toward it kind of awkwardly.

“I wish you had told me it was your birthday. I wouldn't have known if your dad hadn't called the room phone. He said there was something wrong with your cell phone, by the way.”

I sort of roll my eyes. “My father doesn't really get what it means if a cell phone is turned off—kind of bolts to call any other number he can find.”

“Yeah, my folks are the same way. But anyway, for the record, your dad sounded a little surprised by my voice—he probably thinks I'm, like, a pre-pubescent boy.”

“You didn't fill him in?”

“I figure that's your job, if you want to tell him.”

“Fair enough.” I nod. “But anyway, like I was saying, the card was really nice. You make that all yourself?”

She shrugs. “It's one practical use for an art major.”

I smile, nodding again, as I start to transfer out the books I don't need for the rest of the day, making room for the rest.

“So hey, Preston , I know we didn't really get off on the right foot,” Cameron says, as she finishes chewing a wad of noodles, “but if it's cool by you, I really do think we can make this roommate thing work out. I mean, I don't see any reason why we can't be friends.”

I'm still not positive of where I stand on that one. I do have to admit that I feel better about it than I did before.

September 18, 2007

“ Preston , thanks for coming in,” Lizzie says, shaking my hand as I meet her in the president's office, within the SA office.

“No problem at all. Thanks for having me,” I say stepping in. Glancing behind me, I see the rest of the SA office, and the beach ball I was playing with Sunday afternoon vanish with the closing of the door. “So what did you want to talk about?”

“Please, have a seat,” Lizzie says, adjusting her glasses as she walks around to the far side of her huge oak desk.

I follow her, heading to one of the seats on the near side of the desk. I notice that they've already changed the gold nameplate there, to reflect the new president's name.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

I wave a hand. “I think I'm good. So what's up, Lizzie?”

She exhales, wheeling in right against the desk. “ Preston , I'm afraid I have some bad news for the paper.”

“And what would that bad news be?”

“There's a good chance that we are going to have to freeze The Window's budget.”

I swallow hard.

Lizzie slides a print out across the table to me. From just a glance, I can see it's an updated version of the same chart Tucker brought to Sam last year, a variation on the spreadsheet Teri kept for the paper. “As this shows, The Window did not meet its fundraising expectations for last year.”

“And a lot of that was based on a change in how we were allowed to sell ad space—”

“We were prepared to forgive that deficit,” Lizzie goes on, “but the staff then proceeded to exceed its operating budget by producing, in essence, an extra issue of the paper, in printing ‘The Shade.'”

I scratch at my chin, recalling our satirical sub-issue from the end of last year. “So if I'm understanding you right, the paper took a couple shots at SA in the press—so SA is going to retaliate by shutting the paper down.”

“ Preston , The Window didn't meet fundraising expectations, and it overspent its budget. Each of those factors, independently, is grounds for freezing the budget. Add in the fact that that excess money spent went towards slandering SA—you weren't doing yourself any favors.”

“You make it sound like the current staff made these calls.”

“And I know that it was the previous year's staff that was at fault,” Lizzie says. “But that's the nature of a student organization. We can't penalize independent students, especially alumni. All we can do is penalize the organization. And I invited you in here today to give you fair warning. The SA board will discuss this with our constituents at our general body meeting in two weeks, and the board will vote on the organization's status following that discussion.”

I grip the arms of my chair. “And do we get to explain our side of things?”

“You and any other members of The Window are welcome at the meeting,” Lizzie says, “and I encourage you to come.”

September 19, 2007

I've been trying to decide who I can talk to about what Lizzie told me—about what might happen to the paper in two week's time. The staff deserves to know that the organization is in jeopardy, of course. At the same time, I'm not sure how I can break that news. I've mused about writing an article about it in the paper, but that seems like a shady way of breaking the news to the people who would really care.

Rich and Carl sit at their respective computers, typing away. We're ahead of schedule this afternoon, and at the risk of jinxing it, I can't help thinking that we're headed for an early night, as people really begin to figure out their jobs, what they need to do, and when to help us stay on top of things.

It's a shame that these last few weeks of development might be for nothing.

I wonder if Teri knew what was going on.

She had to, I figure. If the board's going to vote on this, she must have had some concept that it was coming.

I think of Sam, and try to figure out what he would do. I think I should give him a call and find out. I know he wouldn't take this lying down—that he would have some sort of plan to counter SA, and to vie for the paper's survival.

But then, Sam is gone. Leading this group is my responsibility now.

Gabby slams a fist against her desk. “This page is so annoying,” she says, running her fingers through her stringy hair. “I wish Teri was here to remind me how to make this look right.”

“Well, Teri's not here,” I say, not even looking at her. “She's not a part of the staff anymore, and you're the managing editor. It's about time you start acting like it.”

The office is quiet for a second. I look straight down, analyzing, memorizing every line in my hands. Before long, the clicking and clattering of keyboards is back in the room, as everyone gets back to work.

September 20, 2007

I feel a punch at my arm, and lean away from it, in surprise. I turn and see Teri standing over me, from where I sit at my computer in the office. “Hey there, stranger,” she says, a grin on her face.

Behind Teri, the office is starting to fill for the staff meeting. This is the first time she's been around at the start of a meeting this year, as she's usually tying up loose ends with SA stuff around now.

I haven't seen Teri since I talked to Lizzie. A part of it's just that we've each been busy.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Teri shrugs. “Haven't seen you in a couple days, and I knew I could find you here now.”

“Could have found me here last night too,” I say, turning away for a second as I click to save my file.

“Yeah, I suppose that's right,” Teri says, moving some hair behind her hair. “Look, are you—are you mad at me or something?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You've just been a little distant.”

I swallow, looking past Teri again. “I talked to Lizzie the other day.”

“Ah,” Teri nods slowly, “I told her that we should have that conversation as a group of three. I'm sorry, was she really cold about it?”

“She wasn't especially cold about it. It's just—how long have you known about this?”

“Only about a week. And we were trying to decide—”

“You've known for a week, and you didn't say a thing?”

Teri just kind of looks at me for a second. “ Preston , that's a business thing. I couldn't—”

“You couldn't tell your boyfriend that his organization—” I trail off, looking around me again, noticing that more than a few eyes are turning our way. “Look, why don't you get out of here? We'll talk about this more some other time.”

“What? You're upset—I get that. Let's talk—”

“This isn't the time for it,” I cut her off. “I have a meeting to run.”

Teri opens her mouth like she's going to say something else, then turns and leaves the office.

September 21, 2007

I crumple a paper plate and plastic cup together, into a ball, and toss them over hand into a garbage can across the office. I'm gathering up garbage from a week of work at the office. It can be kind of gross what a mess a staff people can make over such a short period of time. In a sense, I sort of like cleaning it up. I kind of get the feeling like I'm a parent, cleaning up after the kids—doing it for their own good, even if they won't know or appreciate it.

I stop as Teri comes through the door. We haven't spoken since before the meeting yesterday.

“So can we talk now that you don't have a meeting to run?” she asks.

My eyes must drift past her to the hallway, because in a second she huffs, spins and slams the door shut.

“What's your problem?” I ask.

“What's my problem? I'm not the one who ran you out of my office yesterday when you dropped by to say hi. Of course, for me to do that, you'd have to visit my office to begin with.”

Teri sounds about as angry as I've ever heard her. My better judgment tells me to cool things off, open up a dialogue.

“Maybe I would visit more if you weren't busy planning how to shut down my newspaper,” I say, pushing my better judgment to the wayside.

“You think I wanted to shut down The Window? Do I have to remind you that I was part of this newspaper before you even came to Taylor ?”

“And then you abandoned it because Tucker told you could have a spot on SA.”

“I abandoned it?” Her eyes go wide. “I was under the impression that you could handle running this paper on your own. Though I'd say coming every week to show Gabby how to do her job shouldn't count as abandonment anyway.”

I snatch up a stray copy of last week's paper from the center table, crumpling it up. “How could you not tell me that they want to freeze our budget, Teri?”

“I told you it was business—”

“And I thought you said you loved me,” I cut her off. “If there was something this important to you, and it was going to destroyed, you can bet your ass I would have been the first person to tell you about it.”

“You think I wanted to keep this from you?” she asks. Her eyes are starting to look a little glassy. “I went over and over this in my mind, and I was arguing with Lizzie about it. But it's my job. Don't you get that? I mean, are you telling me that if there was another scandal in SA you wouldn't report on it to protect me?”

I shake my head. “I would tell you what I was doing.”

The office door rattles, then opens. Gabby comes in. “I'm sorry,” she says, looking between us. I can feel my pulse pounding beneath my skin. Teri runs a hand over her eyes.

“I can come back—”

“No, stay,” Teri says. “I've actually got to go.”

Before I can do anything to stop her—before I can decide if I would want to stop her—Teri's gone.

September 22, 2007

I shoot the little foam basketball from where I stand halfway across the room. The shot goes in, and I retrieve the ball.

“So you're mad at Teri because she didn't tell you the paper might be going under,” Cameron recaps, drawing a pencil sketch of a vase of flowers on her desk. “And she's mad at you because you implied she should put you ahead of her work, and laid a guilt trip on her.”

“That's about right,” I say, shooting the ball again.

“Well it sounds as though the two of you are halfway to resolving the problem.”

“How do you figure?”

Cameron shrugs, kneading her doughy eraser in her hands. “A lot of the times when couples fight it's because they can't understand each other, and each person just thinks the other one's being an ass. But in your case, it sounds like you can each at least see where the other person's coming from.”

I bank a shot in hard off the plastic backboard. “So we know where we're coming from. That doesn't change that we disagree about how we're handling it.”

“But now you can work on that. See, if you can't even understand each other, you can't resolve anything. The best you can really hope for is that neither of you are so passionate about the fight that you can't let it go after a few days. But when you understand each other, you can still let it fizzle, or you can take the more healthy route, and make a compromise.”

“You sure you're not a psychology major?”

Cameron smirks, rubbing the eraser against a spot in her sketchpad. “I have a lot of friends with relationship problems.”

“You ever have relationship problems?”

“Na, I usually cut it off before things get that serious.”