40 | Georgia
“THEY’RE CANCELING THE Tribune?!”
Eleanor’s shriek echoes through Dr. Randie’s office, a look of horror distorting her features.
“I’m so sorry, girls,” Dr. Randie murmurs, her tone and expression sullen in a way that I’ve never seen before. “Coach Bryer contacted me on Saturday morning. He says the article about Mr. Anderson did little to increase their ticket or merchandise sales for the first playoff game, and that he would be speaking to my dean personally to ensure that the Tribune no longer receives funding.”
“How could he be so selfish?!” Eleanor exclaims, her cheeks reddened with fury. “What does the Tribune existing have to do with his stupid team?”
“We had a deal with Coach Bryer, Eleanor. We publish the article that brings in more students, more ticket sales, more support for the Titans… or his team absorbs our funding.”
“It can’t be that simple. There’s gotta be something we can do, Dr. Randie.”
“Unless one of you has $10,000 to hold us over until next year, when the university’s administration will review the school budget, there’s not much we can do. It’s out of our hands.”
Dr. Randie glances at me, a pained look on her slender face.
“Georgia… are you alright? You haven’t said a word.”
I clear my throat as a glimmer of determination settles across my features.
“How soon do we need the money?”
“There’s no way we can raise that kind of cash, Georgie. We might as well give up.”
Eleanor clutches her stack of textbooks as we make our way across the campus courtyard, the bronze statue of Ole Donny watching over us like some sort of deranged Civil War shrine.
“Eleanor, do you hear yourself? We’ve spent two years building this newspaper from the ground up. What about our dreams of being professional journalists? Are we just going to give up on those, too?”
“I hear you, G, but $10,000 is a lot of money. We don’t even have jobs.”
“We’ll figure something out. I know we will. We just have to put our heads together–”
“Good mornin’, pretty ladies.”
“Henry!” Eleanor’s face lights up as he approaches, her eyes glimmering behind her thick-rimmed glasses.
“Hey, El, how’ve you been?” He smiles at her, dimples and all, as he pulls me into a sweaty hug.
“Oh my god, you’re drenched!” I wince in feigned disgust, playfully fighting against his grasp.
“You know you love it.”
“Georgia,” Eleanor begins, sneaking quick side-eye glances in Henry’s direction. “Aren’t you going to tell him?”
“Tell me what?”
A flicker of concern flashes through Henry’s expression as he gazes down at us. He’s obviously just gotten out of practice, judging by his messied hair, flushed cheeks, and tight, muddy TU Titans shirt. Somehow, though, I notice he still smells like lavender and sage as the autumn wind blows between us.
“They’re defunding the Tribune.” My voice cracks slightly at the admission, as if saying the words out loud suddenly intensifies the reality.
All those years of work were for nothing. I will never have my literature column.
“They’re what?!”
I nod, my lips pursed tightly into a straight line.
“Dr. Randie just broke the news to us. Apparently Coach Bryer called her on Saturday morning and said my article didn’t generate enough ticket sales–”
“She says the only way we can save the paper is if we can miraculously come up with $10,000,” Eleanor interjects.
“$10,000? Holy shit.”
Henry rubs a hand, etched with prominent veins, through his stubble. His brow furrows in contemplation.
“What about a fundraiser?”
“A what?” Eleanor and I both say in unison, one eyebrow raised.
“A fundraiser – the sororities do it all the time. They set up their booths in the courtyard and raise money. We could do it, and I’ll get the team to help. They have to do what I say.”
He shoots us a self-satisfied smirk, which would normally insight rage within me if it were any other guy. But Henry’s so gorgeous, I can’t even be annoyed by it.
“Okay, captain,” I respond, my tone dripping in playful sarcasm, “What sort of booth do you have in mind that would raise 10 grand?”
“Ooh, football player wet t-shirt contest!” Eleanor exclaims, clapping cheerfully at her own idea.
“We’re trying to raise money, El, not get you off.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her arms in faux frustration.
“Fine,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Football player bikini car wash?”
“Wait, that’s it!” I squeal, grasping onto Eleanor’s biceps and jumping in excitement.
“It is?” Henry raises a skeptical eyebrow, “I mean, if that’s what you want–”
“No, silly,” I interrupt, “I just thought of the perfect idea.”
“More perfect than seeing Jonah McGee in a thong two-piece?”
“Bruh.” Henry winces at Eleanor in disgust.
“Way more perfect. El, do you remember two years ago, when I had to do that article for the Tribune over that huge local event… God, what was it called?”
“The Glow Gala?”
“Yes!”
The doubt in her expression gradually fades, giving way to a glimmer of hope that brightens into an infectious smile.
“Oh my god, G – you’re a genius!”
“The Glow… what?” Henry asks, perplexed.
I chuckle at him before repeating the name.
“The Glow Gala!”
“Ooh,” he replies, letting out a low whistle. “I still don’t understand what’s happening.”
“The Glow Gala,” Eleanor explains, “was this huge community event thrown by the local Parks Department. People purchased tickets for the opportunity to release these glowing – and biodegradable! – lanterns into the sky. It was so pretty, and Georgia got to cover the event for the front page of the Tribune.”
“Yeah, practically all of University Station was there,” I remark. “They must have raised thousands of dollars.”
“There’s no way they didn’t.”
Eleanor nods affirmatively and, together, we shift our attention towards Henry.
“What do you think?” I ask tentatively, suddenly doubting if it’s a good idea after all.
I mean, where would I get lanterns? Where would people park? How would we advertise it? There’s so many questions already and we haven’t even started!
“Well, there’s a lot of questions that would need answering,” Henry begins, practically reading my mind, “but you two are some of the most determined and hardworking people I’ve ever met. I mean, just look at everything you’ve done to keep the Tribune up and running for years, even if no one reads it–”
“Hey!” Eleanor scolds.
“Sorry, El. What I’m trying to say is that, if anyone can do it, it’s y’all. And I know for a fact my team and I will have your back every step of the way. Just say ‘jump’ and we’ll ask how high.”
Eleanor turns towards me, a smoldering look in her eyes and mischievous smirk across herlips.
“We’re gonna get the Tribune back.”