37
The Bomb Drops
“And that’s why I’m requesting a promotion to full librarian,” I said, plowing to the end of my speech. I glanced up to meet Principal Zimmerman’s eyes and gulped. “I know the future of the budget is precarious, but I hope you’ll still consider this based on the strength of my record.”
Zimmerman sat on the other side of his massive desk, which he kept neat as a pin and in a very particular arrangement, a fact his assistant, Megan, liked to complain about. He was an older man, with wiry salt-and-pepper hair and a thick Sam Elliott–style mustache. The mustache twitched as he smiled. “I would say—”
A quick burst of knocking sounded before the door swung open, and Megan ducked her head in. “Alexis, I’m getting calls for you up front. Journalists.”
“Megan.” Principal Zimmerman’s voice was exasperated. “What did we agree about barging in?”
“I know, I know. Privacy is a virtue.” She started to close the door, then added, rapid-fire, “But I think you might want to check the news!”
When the door shut, Zimmerman looked at me expectantly. “Do you need to go?”
I shook my head and sat taller. “I’m sure it’s just reporters wanting to follow up on the walkout. Whatever it is can wait. I do want to add, though, that if you’re worried about how to pay for my promotion, I have an idea. In addition to becoming a full librarian, I’d like to work four days a week so I can use Fridays for a personal writing project. That way, you don’t have to pay me as much.”
There. I hadn’t held anything back. I’d put everything I wanted on the table. No matter what happened, at least I’d been true to myself.
To my surprise, Principal Zimmerman laughed. “It’s fitting you offered me a solution to an anticipated problem. Problem-solving seems to be among your strengths.” He leaned forward, folding his arms on his desk. “Alexis, you’re an asset to this school. Not only do you have a strong rapport with your students, but lately you’ve proven yourself as a leader.” He shook his silvery head. “The truth is, I should’ve given you a promotion a long time ago. I appreciate your patience.”
Was I hearing right? I resisted the urge to rub my ears.
“And you can have Fridays off without the reduced pay. As for the matter of funding, I’m sure I’ll find a way. These last few years of budget cuts have at least taught me how to stretch pennies. Let’s just cross our fingers Mr. Arthur wins the election, shall we?”
He stood up and I followed suit, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Congratulations, Alexis.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “You’ve earned it.” His eyes twinkled. “I got a lot of knitting done during those three days of the walkout. Not a bad way to spend one’s time.”
The fact that Zimmerman had joined us in the walkout would never cease to amaze me. Muriel was right: sometimes you could trust people to show up. “Thank you—for everything.”
I was going to be a full librarian. And I’d get the time and space to write my book. It was more than a dream come true. I felt like I was walking on clouds leaving Zimmerman’s office—until I glided past Megan’s desk. “You checked your phone yet?” she asked, deep in a game of Minesweeper.
I wanted to linger more in this lovely bubble of triumph, but I supposed I owed it to the campaign to respond to reporters in a timely fashion. I couldn’t wait to tell Nora the news about my new job. I dug around in my bag, yanked out my phone, and—
I had twenty-two missed calls, fifty-four texts, and three hundred Twitter notifications. My heart dropped into my stomach. I opened Twitter first, because I was a masochist.
And there, flooding my mentions, were the pictures. Not of me and Logan, but of me and Will. The photos were dark and grainy, taken at night from a cell phone, but you could see we were standing outside the Four Seasons Hotel, dressed for a wedding. Will was kissing me, hands cupping my face.
I thought we’d gone unnoticed, dodged a bullet. But here we were, blasted for the whole world to see. I caught only the first headline—“Logan Arthur’s Girlfriend Caught Cheating”—and the first response—“How dare that dumb whore??!!”—before I pressed the screen dark, hands shaking. Then the phone slipped and clattered to the floor.