haven’t done anything wrong,” Mom says.
I stand there and stare at them, not sure what to say. Like I figured, they believe that I’m innocent.
I suppose that should make me feel good. They have faith in me.
Does that make them supportive or stupid?
Star Prospect Sent Packing
I PUT ON A WHITE SHIRT and a maroon tie and go to work twenty minutes early, mostly because I want to see what’s up. I’ve never worn a tie here before, but maybe this is a good day for it. Tucker isn’t around. I ask if he’s been in and am told that he’s in the managing editor’s office.
Tucker wouldn’t usually work on a Monday, but I figured he’d be here because of the drug bust. It’s his story; he’d want to follow it even on a day off.
I see Larry staring at me from the sports department. I nod and walk over. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says HELP WANTED
: Many Positions Available.
Under the words are cartoony drawings of people in various sexual positions. Great office attire.
I glance at the old Gerry McNamara poster, showing his classic jump-shooting form. The pride of Scranton. Undeniable.
“So what’s new?” Larry asks sarcastically, as if he already knows. He probably does know. Everybody in the newsroom probably does. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I don’t seem to be getting the usual warm greetings from people.
“Not much,” I say.
“Oh no?” He’s giving me a half sneer, like he’s disgusted with my behavior. He’s got a real case. The guy is drunk most of the time, even at work, so how is this different? Like there’s some sacred newsroom trust against smoking dope? And suddenly this sleazy sports guy is Mr. Morality.
I see Tucker come out of the office and head for his desk. Larry is looking over that way, too, as Greg, the managing editor, comes out and looks around.
“Nice knowing ya,” Larry says, looking away from me and back at the computer screen. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
“Yeah, screw you, too,” I say.
He gives a dismissive laugh. “Good riddance.”
Greg catches my eye and motions for me to come to his office. He’s young to be running a news department—maybe thirty-five, neat haircut, wears a suit.
“Why don’t you shut the door?” he says as I come in.
So I shut it.
“I’m sure you know that we’ll be publishing a story on the drug sweep either tomorrow or Wednesday,” he says.
“Sure.”
“Under the circumstances, it’s best that you not work tonight. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re an adult, so you’ll be named in the article unless the charges are suddenly dropped,” he says. “That’s our policy in situations like this. If you’re eighteen, we run your name.”
“I know. I figured that.”
I haven’t even sat down. But I guess that’s it. “So I should go?”
“I’m afraid so,” he says.
“What about Friday?”
He thinks for a second, maybe not sure what I meant.
“I’m scheduled to work,” I say.
“Oh,” he finally says. “We’ll call you.”
I reach for the doorknob.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says.
So he escorts me through the newsroom and down the stairs to the employee entrance. Totally unnecessary—I would have just left on my own—but I guess I understand. You can’t have dangerous criminals hanging around.
“Mike,” he says as we reach the door, “I have to take your pass card. Just while we sort things out.”
“What for?” I ask. They really are treating me like a criminal.
“Company policy,” he says.
“Company policy.” I take the pass card out of my wallet and hand it over.
“Good luck with this thing,” Greg says. He lowers his voice and leans closer. “I heard you can get the charges dropped and be reinstated at school if you come clean about the dealer.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
He looks a little surprised. If I know that, why haven’t I done it, right? He seems reluctant to kick me out. “You’ve been doing a good job here,”
I stand there and stare at them, not sure what to say. Like I figured, they believe that I’m innocent.
I suppose that should make me feel good. They have faith in me.
Does that make them supportive or stupid?
Star Prospect Sent Packing
I PUT ON A WHITE SHIRT and a maroon tie and go to work twenty minutes early, mostly because I want to see what’s up. I’ve never worn a tie here before, but maybe this is a good day for it. Tucker isn’t around. I ask if he’s been in and am told that he’s in the managing editor’s office.
Tucker wouldn’t usually work on a Monday, but I figured he’d be here because of the drug bust. It’s his story; he’d want to follow it even on a day off.
I see Larry staring at me from the sports department. I nod and walk over. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says HELP WANTED
: Many Positions Available.
Under the words are cartoony drawings of people in various sexual positions. Great office attire.
I glance at the old Gerry McNamara poster, showing his classic jump-shooting form. The pride of Scranton. Undeniable.
“So what’s new?” Larry asks sarcastically, as if he already knows. He probably does know. Everybody in the newsroom probably does. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I don’t seem to be getting the usual warm greetings from people.
“Not much,” I say.
“Oh no?” He’s giving me a half sneer, like he’s disgusted with my behavior. He’s got a real case. The guy is drunk most of the time, even at work, so how is this different? Like there’s some sacred newsroom trust against smoking dope? And suddenly this sleazy sports guy is Mr. Morality.
I see Tucker come out of the office and head for his desk. Larry is looking over that way, too, as Greg, the managing editor, comes out and looks around.
“Nice knowing ya,” Larry says, looking away from me and back at the computer screen. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
“Yeah, screw you, too,” I say.
He gives a dismissive laugh. “Good riddance.”
Greg catches my eye and motions for me to come to his office. He’s young to be running a news department—maybe thirty-five, neat haircut, wears a suit.
“Why don’t you shut the door?” he says as I come in.
So I shut it.
“I’m sure you know that we’ll be publishing a story on the drug sweep either tomorrow or Wednesday,” he says.
“Sure.”
“Under the circumstances, it’s best that you not work tonight. Understand?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re an adult, so you’ll be named in the article unless the charges are suddenly dropped,” he says. “That’s our policy in situations like this. If you’re eighteen, we run your name.”
“I know. I figured that.”
I haven’t even sat down. But I guess that’s it. “So I should go?”
“I’m afraid so,” he says.
“What about Friday?”
He thinks for a second, maybe not sure what I meant.
“I’m scheduled to work,” I say.
“Oh,” he finally says. “We’ll call you.”
I reach for the doorknob.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says.
So he escorts me through the newsroom and down the stairs to the employee entrance. Totally unnecessary—I would have just left on my own—but I guess I understand. You can’t have dangerous criminals hanging around.
“Mike,” he says as we reach the door, “I have to take your pass card. Just while we sort things out.”
“What for?” I ask. They really are treating me like a criminal.
“Company policy,” he says.
“Company policy.” I take the pass card out of my wallet and hand it over.
“Good luck with this thing,” Greg says. He lowers his voice and leans closer. “I heard you can get the charges dropped and be reinstated at school if you come clean about the dealer.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
He looks a little surprised. If I know that, why haven’t I done it, right? He seems reluctant to kick me out. “You’ve been doing a good job here,”
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