TweetyGram

24 - #RetroMonday

The second photo in the carousel post was a close-up shot of her. In the picture, she tilted her head to the side, closed her eyes, and covered half of her face with her hand, allowing rays of sunlight to highlight her jewelry: a pair of oversized hoop earrings, layered pearl and gold necklace, chunky cocktail rings, and a brass-gold-plated bracelet with palm tree, sunglasses-wearing pineapple, and starfish charms dangling from it.

Hmm? I brought my phone closer to my eyes and squinted at it. Where have I seen—

"Knock, knock." A gorgeous woman in her mid-thirties with short, curly blonde hair greeted me from the door of the break room, a warm smile on her face.

"Miss Parker. Good morning," I said, returning the gesture.

"Please, call me Zoe." Her heels clicked against the floor. Stopping beside me, she grabbed an empty cup and poured some steaming coffee into it. "Lindsey Darling, right?"

I shifted on my feet and tucked my hair behind my ear. "Yeah. It seems like I'm pretty popular around here after that accident, huh?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. I've had my fair share of gym mishaps too."

"I doubt it involved a Final-Destination-worthy string of accidents that leave you with a mild concussion."

She chortled. "Yeah, you were living a gymgoer's worst nightmare." As I stirred sugar into my coffee, she blew on hers and took a sip. "I heard you were filming content for TweetyGram at the time of your accident. Is it true?"

Her question surprised me. Over the past week, I'd heard people from various departments gossiping about my accident. Some said I'd slipped because of my cheap sneakers, others said I'd been starstruck by a super hot model who'd just walked into the gym, while the guys from sales insisted I'd seen a ghost. Or an alien.

The rumors went from harmless to bizarre, but none of them talked about me filming a dance video for TweetyGram. For a moment, I wondered how Zoe had found out about that. Yet my mind quickly came up with a simple explanation.

Zoe Parker might be the lifestyle editor of the L.A. Gazette, but she was, first and foremost, a journalist. A good one too, it seemed. Unlike my other colleagues, she was thorough enough to check the facts instead of blindly believing the rumors.

"Embarrassing to admit, but yes," I answered. "It's for my article."

"Ah." She offered me a comforting smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I once tried a thirty-day squat challenge for an article and ended up with a strained hamstring. Had to use a crutch for a week."

"Ouch. That must've been a nightmare."

"Well, the burden of being a lifestyle journalist. Can't be afraid to test out new trends so others don't have to." She shrugged. "Speaking of which, what do you think of lifestyle journalism?"

Something in her eyes told me she was waiting for an honest answer, and I gave her one. "I think it's the hardest kind of journalism. I mean, it's not exactly black and white. Everyone has their own opinion, and what you like doesn't always resonate with others."

"True. But it's also the most fun kind of journalism."

"Hmm?"

"I'm writing a piece on the new Farmers Market downtown and I'm heading there for research today. Do you want to come with me?"

I wasn't sure if I should accept the invitation. After all, being a lifestyle journalist was the last thing I wanted. But a voice in my heart told me I should at least give it a try. Besides, I had nothing to do in the office anyway.