The Fixer: New Wave Newsroom Read Online Free PDF Page B

the receiver in its cradle, she’d started drumming coral-tipped nails on the baby-blue plastic. “I know you think I have a phone in my room because I’m a rich, spoiled brat,” she said. “But really, I have a phone in my room because my father has problems, and I’m afraid he’ll kill himself if he can’t call me when he’s having a…spell.”
    Jesus. Her voice shook, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
    I had no idea what to say, so I just went with “Come finish your sandwich, Rainbow Brite.” When she didn’t move, I leaned forward, grabbed her hand, and tugged her back onto the bed with me. She came, and we sat side by side on her bed, our backs to the wall.
    She picked up the sandwich she’d abandoned early in the story about Royce. “Thanks for rescuing me tonight.”
    â€œI have no doubt you would have castrated that fucker yourself had I not stumbled on the scene.”
    â€œStill. It was nice to have an ally.”
    I chuckled, noticing that she hadn’t denied the castration part. She yawned. It was contagious, apparently, because I did too.

Chapter Three
    Matthew
    W hen I woke with a start , I initially had no idea where I was. My first clue was the Scott Baio poster on the far wall of a room that looked like a squadron of My Little Ponies had pooped sparkly girl accessories on every flat surface. My second clue was the throbbing pain and huge bruise on my right hand.
    My third clue was the fact that Rainbow Brite was going through my stuff, which, of course, jolted me fully awake. “What the hell?”
    She turned, and she didn’t even have the good grace to look guilty. “What part of ‘investigative reporter’ did you not understand?”
    I vaulted off the bed, where I had apparently conked out, but it was too late. My stencil and cans of paint were all over the floor. She had seen everything.
    â€œYou’re the anti-Reagan-graffiti person, aren’t you? Your stuff is all over town!”
    There was no point in denying it. I started repacking my bag and gathering my shit, trying not to panic, trying to think what I could say or do to convince her to keep this to herself.
    â€œI don’t know why it didn’t occur to me. Of course it’s you. Oh my God! I love your work.”
    That surprised me. But then, I had learned in the past few hours that Rainbow Brite, with her breaking and entering and her dickweed-prepster balls-kicking, had a bit of a dark side underneath all that sparkle. “Yeah, well, I’m poor. My family’s poor. I come from a poor town in a poor state. But that doesn’t make us stupid. And trickle-down economics is an insult to our intelligence.” I started putting the paint cans back into my backpack. “But so help me, Jenny, if you tell anyone about this, or…” Shit. She was the editor of the newspaper. I was fucked. What if she told on me? Would Curry drop me? Would the school call the cops?
    â€œYou just called me Jenny.”
    I hadn’t even noticed.
    â€œAnd don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
    â€œIt is?” I thought her whole thing was truth over all, investigative reporting, blah, blah. “Isn’t that, like, against the whole raison d’être of journalism?” Though I didn’t know why I was arguing. I could be in deep, deep shit if she told anyone.
    â€œWell, considering that not only did I tell you my humiliating Royce story last night, but you also found out my father is insane, what do you say we just call it even? Agree to keep each others’ secrets?”
    I remembered those tears. Her tone as she spoke to her father, as if he were the child and she the parent. Her hunched shoulders, carrying too much.
    As incredible as it seemed, I could trust her. So I stuck out my hand for her to shake.
    She smiled. A great big megawatt smile that lit up her whole face.
    Then she leaned in and