44. tallulah
TALLULAH
CAPTIVE ON A PIRATE SHIP
“Tallulah?” Nick said. “I know you’re scared. You’re terrified. Anxious. But if you’re going to do this, you’ve got to do it here and now. There’s no other choice.”
The two of us were perched on one of the outdoor tables of the Olympic Village, our sneakers on the bench.
Now that the Olympics were around the corner, the courtyard was full of athletes in the summer heat, laughing and talking together, doing handstands and push-up contests, everyone out for lunch on such a beautiful day.
Winona included, sitting alone with her gyro from the food truck.
“Ugh.” I rested my cheek on Nick’s shoulder. “How do I stop being such a pussy?”
“Practice. Or, you could take my side, and know that Winona stole your paper and she doesn’t deserve an offer of friendship.”
“She didn’t steal my paper—”
“You don’t think any of those shitbirds stole your paper.”
“Because I know they didn’t.”
“You’re too nice,” he grumbled.
I glanced up at Nick, my boyfriend. He’d come out after another grueling practice with Tomasini in a pair of basketball shorts, a hoodie, a backwards baseball cap, tufts of his thick, dark hair poking out. His cut jaw and his delicious lips had my full attention.
He was so pretty, instantly improving my mood.
I touched his chin, bringing him down to me.
“You’re too cute,” I whispered, kissing him.
He smirked. “I know. I was waiting for you to realize it.”
My grin vanished when I spotted Winona cleaning up her wrappers from lunch. Yes, she’d been cold to me, and then ignored me after the scavenger hunt, but there’d been this better…something between us since I’d moved out.
I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.
She had stacks of Middle English literature on her desk, had a weekly online book club, and we were both majoring in journalism.
In theory, we could be very good friends.
And ever since I called the Marrs girls at the dress shop, I was dedicated to daily exercises to branch out my friend-making abilities.
To try and get better at being around people.
“Wish me luck,” I whispered.
“You don’t need it,” Nick chuckled. He looked to Winona and sighed. “One day, you’ll both be senile in a senior center, drunk on Nyquil bellinis, and she’ll confess to stealing your paper.”
I burst into laughter, only stopping when Nick slipped a paperback out of his hoodie pocket. It was his hiking thriller. My heart soared at the sight, at Nick getting comfortable to read. He brought that to wait for me while I talked to Winona and stopped by Andrew’s office? How cute was that?
Nick caught the look on my face. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m still on the same book—”
“You’re halfway there,” I said in awe.
“Oh. Yeah.” A flush crept up his neck. “I was going to tell you—it’s whatever. You’ve already finished like twenty books this week—”
“I’m so proud of you.”
His tanned face flamed with the blush. It was so adorable, I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in for a kiss on the cheek before hurrying off to talk to Winona. This was terrifying, but I had Nick in my corner, and he made me braver.
I stopped her at the trash can and awkwardly waved. “Winona?”
She winced when she saw me. “Um…hi.”
“I really like The Green Knight,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Um…okay?”
“I know you love classic poetry, and I just—I’m sorry I never gave our roommate situation a real chance. I’m a quiet person, and sometimes—”
Winona’s expression slackened. “I’m so sorry for being such a frigid bitch.”
“I—what?” I blinked. “I—I didn’t say that—”
“I was a frigid bitch,” she admitted, mournful. “I was so nervous about the internship—my mom knows Tomasini, they both run one of her charities together. I was so anxious to make him happy, and—the internship is fucking awful!”
“It stresses me out,” I agreed. “It is awful.”
“I—I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to tell you for weeks.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a feather, I was so surprised. We exchanged numbers and she told me that I’d love her online book club, an easy way for us to keep in contact. I peered around her, staring in bewilderment at Nick as he chuckled from the table, throwing me a thumbs-up sign.
“Did you ever find out who took your paper?” Winona asked.
“Um, no. I thought about questioning people. But that seemed unfair to put more stress on everybody.”
“You’re better than me. If I thought one of these bitches stole my paper, I would’ve lit everybody’s mattresses on fire and made them sleep in the woods.”
“Oh. Um…yeah, that’s not really my style.”
She gave me a wistful smile. “You’re too nice. We should have lunch before we turn in our profiles.”
I held mine up. “I’m turning mine in today. We can get lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course you’re turning it in early.” She chuckled, smiling. “You’re going to win. You know that, right?”
Actually, I did. It was weird to think those kinds of thoughts, a self-confidence I’d never felt in my work before, but the profile was the best thing I’d ever written. Nothing else compared, and the favoritism was so clear and directed at me. I couldn’t imagine not winning.
With a wave Nick’s way, I walked into the Olympic Village. Everybody was so happy and excited for the games to begin. This was the kind of vibe I wish the internship would’ve had.
I rapped my knuckles on Andrew’s open door, glancing inside. There were boxes in his office, things half-packed already.
He glanced from his laptop, frazzled. “Good morning, Tallulah.”
“Good morning, I have my—”
“Did you get Tomasini’s email?”
Email or emails? I’d been receiving nonstop emails from his personal assistant to confirm luncheons and private meetings. I’d ignored all of them. “Um…I still have to figure out my schedule for the school year.”
He dug out a packet from the cabinet. “Tomasini’s expecting your call. He’s excited to work with you!”
That was a call that would never, ever happen. Fuck him, I didn’t have the professionalism to properly decline the offer. What Tomasini had been putting Nick through was unforgivable. I had no interest in taking up the writing opportunity, no matter how lucrative the pay was.
If I won the profile contest, I’d skip the interview. A final middle finger to the shittiest man in Canada.
“I’m here to drop off my profile,” I said.
“The basket’s in the copy room.”
“My last one disappeared. So…I’m here to give it to you personally.”
Something flashed across Andrew’s face. He seemed almost…uncomfortable. He fiddled with his pens in his cup before reluctantly taking my folder. “You know, Tallulah, even when you don’t win, this isn’t a reflection of your talent.”
“What?”
“You’ll still work with Tomasini—”
“You said when I don’t win,” I pointed out, puzzled.
“Did I…?” He cleared his throat. “You misheard me. If you don’t win—that’s what I said. Tomasini still wants to hire you as one of his writers—that’s real job security.”
Something was wrong… I couldn’t put my finger on it. I studied his desk, where he’d slid my profile, among the rest of his crap for packing. He didn’t even look at it. Which was very, very weird.
Why was Andrew so nervous?
Oh…fuck.
I whirled around on my sneakers, abandoning his office. The crowded lobby ceased to background noise as I ducked around Olympians sporting their countries’ flags around their necks. I broke outside to find Nick, relaxing on the table.
“Nick?” I called, my voice unsteady. “I—I need help!”
He shoved the paperback in his hoodie pocket. “What do you need?”
“I—I need backup for—I’m confronting someone.”
He frowned. “You want me to confront somebody?”
“No, I need to confront somebody.”
“You?”
“Y—yeah.” I swallowed, my tongue thick. “I need to do the confronting, I just need support. Because I—I know who took my paper.”
Nick fell into step beside me, opening the door. I couldn’t answer his questions. I was too focused on holding on to the adrenaline, refusing to back down, refusing to give into the anxiety that told me I needed to forget about this.
“Tallulah?” Nick urged. “Who did it?”
I burst into Andrew’s office again, closing the door behind Nick. “Why did you steal my paper?”
His office was deadly quiet. Andrew stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Tomasini accidentally said he read my paper on the Toronto library system—the one that was ‘stolen,’” I informed him, crossing my arms over my chest to hide how my hands were shaking.
“You just said I’m guaranteed not to win.
And why would anyone on this internship risk their spot to do something as dumb as stealing another student’s paper? ”
Andrew cleared his throat. “Tallulah…”
“The only one who could’ve gotten away with it is you,” I finished.
“You don’t realize how complicated this situation is,” he finally said.
“Holy shit, he did it,” Nick breathed out in shock.
“How is this complicated?” I whispered.
“It wasn’t my decision.” Andrew’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “It was Tomasini’s.”
“That fucking asshole,” Nick muttered.
“I pleaded with him to do this fairly—I did! But—but his board didn’t just look at your papers. Tomasini doesn’t think you’re the most…beneficial person to…to win.”
“Beneficial?” I echoed, ears ringing.
“Scott Gansworth, his father is Percival Gansworth, one of The Legacy Times cofounders. And Brandy Henry, you know her father is Hayden Henry, he’s a billionaire. Joanne Rowe’s mother is a best-selling author—Tallulah, there’s layers to this—”
“Scott wrote a one-page draft in comic sans,” I managed. “Brandy got a virus on her computer and we lost four computers. Joanne misspells Toronto.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? If this is a classism thing, my parents are in the rock-and-roll hall of fame.” I never flashed my parents’ achievements, yet the discrimination didn’t make any sense. “My mom is an established music producer—”
“They don’t donate to Tomasini!”
“Donate,” I repeated. “Donate?”