“Yes, I thought you said it was okay for me to use that,” Liz said. Her heart was racing. Professor Mires had never pulled her aside to discuss her academic work like this…no one ever had. She usually received high marks across the board.
“It is. I don’t mind you using the articles for the assignment at all. I think real-life practicum in journalism is essential to improvement and potential job opportunities postgraduation. I am always pleased when my students go above and beyond the classroom,” she said with a calming tone.
Liz could feel a “but” coming on at the end of that statement. The professor seemed to have more to say.
“I do have some concerns about the quality of the work, though,” Professor Mires said, handing over Liz’s paper.
She took it in her hands and saw the red ink scrawled all over the first article she had written about Brady. It was the one that had met with such fanfare from the students on campus. They’d had to reprint because of it. She flipped it to the last page and saw a big C+ circled on the page. Her heart sank. She had never received a C in her entire life. Not once. She could count the number of B minuses on one hand. What the hell had happened?
If she didn’t improve this grade, she could lose her scholarship!
“A C plus?” Liz asked, her voice cracking.
“It’s not that the article is poorly written. It reads really well, and it’s polished.”
“Then what’s wrong?” she asked, skimming the comments on the front page.
“In journalism we strive for objectivity if at all possible. Had this article just been something you were writing for the student body and not for me, then it would have been sufficient, but you must think of your audience. How broad could it be? Who could be reading it? When I read the article, I heard your voice, which is very clear and solid, and then I heard your opinion on the Senator.”
Her opinion on the Senator. How ironic, considering they had been in a hotel room together only a week ago.
“I think you have room for growth and your grade reflects that. Strive for objectivity in your writing. I don’t want your opinions to bleed onto the page. You’re not writing an editorial. I wouldn’t have accepted editorials. Take a chance to look at the other side, do some more research, and then write an article that clearly states the facts,” Professor Mires instructed her. “I’m not saying lose your voice or drain the page of emotion. I’m saying find a happy medium between the two. I believe you can do it, and I’ll expect it to improve as we go forward if you hope to improve that grade.”
“Thank you,” Liz said, rolling the paper up in her hand for her to look over later. “I’ll do my best.”
“You always do, Liz,” she said with a smile.
Liz walked out of the classroom in a daze. She had thought that she had been objective and looked at both sides this whole time. Now her professor was telling her the opposite, and Liz wasn’t even sure where to begin. If she wanted that A, then she had her work cut out for her this summer.
Chapter 10
STAYING PROFESSIONAL
Liz sat with her friend Justin in the sound booth at the Great Hall auditorium, which the Maxwell campaign had been granted for their event. It was a large room built for five hundred, with a raised stage and podium. The Great Hall was a hot spot on campus, with a constant influx of student groups for theater productions, dance performances, a cappella shows, and the like.
Today it was covered in the red-white-and-blue signs the campaign had decorated it with, and each chair had a sign that had the Maxwell logo in the center—VOTE FOR MAXWELL in a circle with the words bolded. VOTE FOR was written like an American flag in red stars and stripes on the blue background, with MAXWELL in a stark, blocky white font. A globe focused on North America was at the center, reaffirming Liz’s belief that Brady wanted to take over. The logo was a power symbol, and now it would be all over campus.
Students and faculty alike were filing into the room, taking the signs from the seats and sitting down. It was the summer session, but after Liz’s articles and the work she had done building up to this, the room was pretty full. She wasn’t sure why she had put so much effort into it, but she wanted the event to be successful.
Part of her wanted to say that it was only for the paper and her career. If more people came to these events and showed an interest, then her column would improve and she might be able to hit the front cover more often. At least overshadow another drunken debauchery scene on Franklin Street for once.
But the rest of her knew it was because of Brady. He was clouding her judgment. That was bad journalism. She wasn’t supposed to get attached to the people she was writing about.
Objective. Neutral. Unbiased. Those were the words that came to mind when she thought of journalism. That was what her professor wanted her to strive for. Now all she was thinking in the midst of writing was Brady.
Brady. Brady. Brady.
He was about to get on that stage and talk about education policy, no doubt. This was the audience for that kind of discussion. If she were up there, that was what she would talk about. The very thought made her blood boil for so many reasons. She wasn’t sure which one was the primary reason now.
Was she infuriated because he was actually going to try to discuss education with a sea of students whom she had informed his policies were garbage? Or was she heated because it would be the first time she’d seen his handsome face since leaving his hotel room nearly two weeks ago?
“So, you want me to record the whole thing?” Justin asked, squaring away his camera focused on the podium.
“Yeah. That would be great. We don’t have the normal crew for the paper, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t have to deal with video as well,” she told him.
“No problem here. I’ll be running sound and this thing will be running itself, thanks to my new tripod,” he said, tapping his finger on the camera.
“Thanks, Justin,” Liz said with a big smile. “Really appreciate it.”
“Are you going to be in the booth?” Justin asked.
“Nah,” Liz said, shaking her head. “I’m going to try to get a closer look. I reserved a front-row seat, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit still.”
“First shindig all on your own, huh?” He fiddled with the sound equipment.
“Yeah. First campaign-related appearance on campus this season too,” she told him. She wiped her palms on her high-waisted black skirt. She had paired it with a tucked-in V-cut Carolina-blue blouse that was loose and flowy, with little gold buttons up the front. Her nude suede heels finished off the outfit. She had chosen it all carefully and felt a little silly. She normally dressed nicely to begin with, but this had something…everything to do with Brady.
“It’ll be fine. I’ve done shit like this before. Their crew tries to take over anyway. You probably won’t have to do much,” Justin told her.
“True.” She tried not to think about it all. She stood as her nerves took over. “Hey, will you be able to splice this for me later? I want to get some of it up on the website as soon as possible.”
“No way. Not tonight.”
“Oh come on, what are you doing?” she asked, leaning her hip into the counter.
Justin shrugged noncommittally. “Stuff.”
“Do you want me to pay you, is that it?” she grumbled. They had paper resources, but she wasn’t in control of much. Normally she would have to get expenses approved through Hayden, but since he wasn’t here…
“I might find some free time,” he admitted.
“Fine, whatever,” Liz said, turning to leave. “So difficult.”
“See ya around, Liz,” he said, chuckling.