Page 88 of His Reckless Freshman

Yikes. Maybe I should just go.

Turning back toward the exit, I’m about to make my move when I hear Kieran’s voice behind me. “Jolie. You’re here.”

I spin back and pull my lips into a tight smile when I spot him staring at me. “I’m here.”

“Good. Come.” He flicks his hand and I try to catch Heather’s eye again, but she just curls her shoulders a little more, and I have to walk into Kieran’s office feeling completely alone.

I make sure to leave the door open as he ambles around to the other side of his desk like he wasn’t just having… whatever that was with Angelica. Plunking into his seat, he threads his fingers together and smiles at me. “I feel like it’s time we really start to shake things up around here. Not as many people are reading the Nolan U Star as they used to, and we need to write things that people actually want to read.”

“Okay.” I squirm in my shoes, having no idea where he’s going with this.

“I only get one year to be editor-in-chief, and I want to make an impact while I’m in this position, so we’re going to spice up this paper with some juicy news.” He grins. “I just heard that a certain coach is having secret hookups with a certain professor’s wife. I think it will really ignite interest and grow our readership, so I want someone to write an article exposing them.”

I blanch, hoping on all things holy that he’s not expecting me to do that.

“Angelica thinks it’s a bad idea.” He rolls his eyes. “She wants a paper filled with fluff pieces and feel-good shit that will make people happy all the time.”

He grits his teeth, shaking his head and looking darker than I’ve ever seen him before. I squirm some more, curling my toes and glancing over my shoulder at that gap in the door. How fast can I run through it?

“But we need articles that will get people reading!” He thumps the desk. “And I wouldn’t mind shining an honest spotlight on the damn coaches at this school. The athletics department needs to be brought down a peg. All we ever do is build them up, build them up, build them up. But isn’t it also our responsibility to show them for what they really are?”

I nearly ask, “And what’s that?” But I bite my lips together because I seriously don’t want to get sucked into this conversation. And I definitely don’t want to question why he published my article if he’s trying to bring the sports teams down a peg or two.

Seriously. What is his problem?

Looking up at me, he hits me with a laser glare that has me frozen on the spot. Reaching for one of the drawers in his desk, he softly says, “You agree with me, right, Jolie?”

My heart starts racing, my throat suddenly swelling to the point I can’t even talk.

“Uh-huh?” I word it like a question, because I really shouldn’t be saying anything, but I’m kind of just a little bit scared right now and⁠—

Please don’t ask me to write it. Please don’t ask me to write it!

His posture relaxes, a smile growing on his face as he bobs his head. “Good. I’m glad I have you on my side. I’m going to pitch it at the next team meeting, and Angelica will oppose, but if I can get a few of you to agree with me, then we can finally get a decent article out there to stir up some controversy and make this paper what it should be.”

Keeping my tight smile in place is an effort, but I force my lips to comply because I want to get out of here.

I feel bad for kind of siding with Kieran when I actually side with Angelica. I don’t want to be part of a school paper that’s constantly pissing people off. I don’t mind shining a light on a real problem, but as far as I’m aware, our athletics department does great things for our school, and I don’t want to pull anyone down. I especially don’t want to expose some coach. That kind of thing could tarnish an entire team, not to mention the heartbreak it will cause for the poor professor whose wife is cheating on him. If that’s even true.

Oh man, Kieran is so not the guy I thought he was.

I can’t believe I actually went on a date with him.

I still want to get more writing opportunities, but not articles like that. I want to write something uplifting, not explosive.

“I’d like you to start looking into it for me, so when I pitch the idea at the next meeting, I can have a little evidence to present, really help sell it, you know?”

I swallow. “I’m not sure I’m the right⁠—”

“What? You don’t think you can do it?” He reaches for his desk drawer again, and now my heart is in my throat, thudding loudly and making me dizzy. “Or are you telling me you don’t want to do it? Because you gave me the impression that this paper was really important to you.”

“It is.”

“You told me that being a journalist is a dream of yours.”

“It is.” My words are turning into soft squeaks.

“Good. So start looking into this for me, then.” He grabs a sticky note and starts scribbling down two names. “It’s Coach Stanzinksy—one of the track coaches—and apparently he’s fucking Mrs. Hopkins.”