Off The Record

Chapter 1

The first time I wrote about him, I thought it would be a byline, not a bomb strapped to my career.

But here I was, standing, watching the world around me burn while the clock ticked down in slow motion; only hoping for a miracle.

New college, new beginnings. That's what most transfer students are greeted with at their new admissions meeting.

"So, what brings you to our campus?" The perky blonde with her tight ponytail asked as she motioned for me to sit across from her.

"The easy answer is that transferring was best for my college experience," I said, setting my bag down before looking back at her.

"And the not easy answer?" She pressed, thinking I was probably bullied, slept with a teacher, streaked across the football field, or killed somebody in a hazing ritual; something I'm sure she'd probably seen before.

I pressed my lips together, deciding if it was worth explaining before she said, "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's nowhere near as bad as some of the other stuff we see. Every experience is valid."

Ah, the therapy speech.

Your feelings and experience are valid. We value you here at *insert university*, you're not even close to the worst case we've seen, so you should be comfortable sharing.

"I exposed the dean of my program for stealing thousands of dollars from the university. That was proven but I also suggested he was potentially getting students intentionally killed while on assignments for him." I paused, "Which also proved to be true."

She stared at me in blind shock as her mouth did that fish thing people do when they're searching for the right words.

"And then I published it all in the school paper, across the internet, it was picked up by local media, and then eventually became a worldwide story. So, they decided it was best I transfer and not 'cause any more issues for their students' and 'stop terrorizing their teachers with digital warfare'." I smiled.

Well, this might end up being the shortest-lived acceptance and quickest 'we've changed our mind' meeting I've had.

"I uh-" she stuttered, "Wow...that's um- that's an experience we haven't had before."

I shrugged, "Most people haven't."

"Well, um- I guess-" She said before being cut off by the swinging door and a woman entering the room.

"Miss Gwendolyn Marlowe! What an honor it is to meet you." She smiled, pushing her glasses up before offering her hand to me.

I shook it tightly, "Thank you." I paused, "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met, or I'm a terrible person who forgot your name."

"We haven't met, but we will know one another very well soon." She smiled and took the seat next to me, "I'm Mrs. Micah. I run the writing majors, specifically with a focus in the journalism department. I run the school paper, magazine, and help with most of the media outlets here on campus as well." She rattled as I took her in.

Beautiful curly brown hair, turtle shell glasses, a pencil behind her ear, and a super cute oversized white cardigan. She just needed a coffee in hand, and then she would remind me exactly of my mom.

"Obviously, we can't wait to see you in our program. However, I know you may have some reservations about being involved in our papers, given what happened to you. But I would like to assure you that you'll be working with me, mostly low-scale stuff, unfortunately not as interesting as big-scale busts and murder, but if it happens, I'm glad you're on our team." She joked.