long live lola

two

Nadia's eyes narrow before Inez even registers what I said, and they are both looking over at me. I did not propose any grand idea for the monthly issue, thus my work on Lola's memorial should inspire no conflict in other productions for the paper. Having me, a relative nobody, write this is a win-win.

    But there are two issues. The most obvious being that I did not know Lola Hargood, the most time we spent together being her final moments. The second is that the tone required for a memorial piece, delicate, and fluffy, did not match my writing style at all. I did not do sentimental well, however, the only other person in this room who would know that is Annie. The others, particularly Inez, will not be familiar enough with my work to know my fortes from my weaknesses.

    "Perfect. Vi will do it," Inez says, ignoring the fact that nobody calls me Vi. Some people are nickname people, I am not a nickname person.

    She walks into her office, Nadia right behind her, and slams the door, ending the meeting. I see her press a shaking hand to her forehead just as Nadia tugs on the bamboo blinds, blocking the rest of us out.

    "Violet," Annie says to my side, turning to face me."What the hell?"

    I fake nonchalance, shrugging. "What? I need something to work on this month besides being a glorified spellcheck."

    "You can't write a memorial. You're too..."

    Harsh, abrasive, brutal. I've heard it all before, but never as an insult, never as something that has held me back. Cutthroat writing has always been my blessing, not my curse.

    "Exactly, I need to broaden my horizon. Round out my portfolio," I say, using both my hands on the ground to help push me into a standing position. If anyone notices me struggling with my leg, they do not mention it.

    Part of what I'm telling Annie is the truth, and I watch as she nods her head and accepts it. Yes, I do need to develop the ability to adapt my writing, and mold myself to the story and not the other way around. My flexibility as a writer needs work. But that is not the reason I raised my hand and told Inez I would take this story.

    I took it because there is more to it. Find out, I have to find out.

    Why else would Lola whisper those words to me, her final words, summoned with all the energy of a dying girl? Maybe she recognized me, knew I was a writer, where I wrote, who I worked under even. And she wanted me to reveal the truth of her death, of her suicide. Her dying wish had been uttered to me, and I intend on following through with it.

    The hardest part of all will be gaining access to the Smallshore Six, or perhaps five now. Besides the police, they had not spoken to anyone about Lola. The only person who has gone to the press is Lola's mother, the widowed military wife who has now also lost her only child. Whether under the lawyers' instruction or their own sense of self-preservation, Inez, Nadia, Brighton, Goldie, and James were not talking.

    But perhaps under the Dean's instructions. Perhaps with the knowledge that without their cooperation, they could not control the narrative. Perhaps to a seemingly harmless college sophomore journalist, they might just talk. They might talk enough for me to pick apart their story entirely, to find out what really happened.

    "Let's go Sea Shells, I'm dying for caffeine," I say once Annie and I are on our feet, pulling my cardigan closer around my midriff as we move through the Student Union and outside, across the courtyard to the library cafe.

    Sea Shells is exactly what you picture of an elite campus coffee house. Fresh pastries and other baked goods, baristas with elaborate facial hair and piercings climbing the cartilage in their ears, different pins tacked onto their aprons. I order two oat lattes for Annie and me and we sit in the corner by the window, perfect for people watching innocuously. Annie tosses her box braids over her shoulder and pulls out a bullet journal where she has kept all her ideas over the summer. She says staying in Smallshore over the summer is her secret weapon for the Spectator because she is never out of the loop. Although, our loops and the rest of the Smallshore student body loops are two entirely different circles.