*May 25, 2010*

"Katherine!" Briana jumped out of her chair, running up to me to give me a hug. "Oh my gosh it's so good to see you!" She wore a white,  low-cut minidress that clung to her curves like a dying man to his last breath. Maybe she was here to visit someone. Surely, she wouldn't dress like that on the first day as an intern.

Surely, she wasn't here as an intern.

Briana pulled away, leaning on the desk behind her... my desk.

"What-" I paused, chewing on my bottom lip, biting down the mix of confusion and rage. "Briana?"

"Our first day of work!" She giggled, and I died. "Rephrase: not work... not yet, but soon. Our first day at The New Yorker. Aren't you excited?"

I felt my face boil, and my lips twitch before forming a smile, which probably looked more like a scowl. I assumed I achieved something  genuine enough as her delight didn't falter. Then again, this was Briana Taylor.

"I can see you are," she said, confirming my assumption. I could be dying, and she'd still be smiling. "We're gonna have so much fun  together. This summer's gonna be amazing. We have to make every second count."

Just then, Zara walked in, a stack of
manuscripts in her arms. She  was red all over, muttering something to herself when she saw Briana and me. I hurried over to help her, one particularly thick manuscript about to topple over. She frowned at me, apologetic it seemed, then thanked me. Meanwhile, Briana stood at the other side of the desk, texting someone as if Zara weren't there.

Zara laid the scripts on the desk, well, my desk. This couldn't be Briana's desk for the next three months!

"Katherine, welcome to The New Yorker. How have you been?" She flipped her hair over her shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"I'm great. My first day as an intern. I really couldn't ask for anything more. I guess... I don't really know what to say right now," I  replied, my voice quiet.

"Phoebe told me she emailed you the assignment?" Zara asked too quickly. She walked around Briana and me to turn on the computer at the reception desk, avoiding my pointed gaze. What was going on here? She was gonna act like this was normal?

"You got an assignment from Phoebe? How? Why?" Briana asked, looking up from her iPhone, her forehead scrunched up.

"Briana, I'm gonna need you to hurry down to Starbucks and buy some coffee for Ms. Evanson. She likes a bold extra hot soy venti Americano with an extra shot of espresso."

"But-"

"She's going to be here in fifteen minutes. If I don't see that drink on her desk in ten minutes, I'm sending you home."

"But- I thought Katherine was going to be the gopher?" I raised my eyebrows at that but kept my eyes averted, silently stewing.

"You'll be given your roles during orientation. For now, you're getting coffee for the whole staff. And, how nice for us, Katherine, it's on Briana this morning."

Briana stopped, crossed her arms and wiggled her nose. Then, with a bemused look on her face, she headed out the door without another word.

"Um-" I began.

"I know," Zara said, leaning against the desk with her shoulders slumped forward. "Theresa sent me an email last week with this..." She rolled her eyes. "...news. Briana's going to be an intern with you."

"You have got to be kidding-" I blurted out.

"Listen, this isn't the time to complain."

"My complaints aren't unfounded." I tried a civil tone. "You and I know she doesn't belong here."

"That decision was made." Zara tapped her fingers along the desktop. "There's nothing you can do about it."

"Don't you think I deserve-"

Zara smirked, her hazel eyes ablaze. "Deserve? You forget where you are. This isn't Drexden or a small-town paper. I'm the one who has to  deal with you two."

"I'm sorry, Zara, but I know this internship has never accepted two interns before. Why is she here?"

She stood up, towering over me in her leopard-print stilettos. "All you need to know right now is that your duties will be divided. She will be handling correspondence. You will do research. So, where are the reports Ms. Evanson assigned?" Zara looked down at me expectantly.

"Um... I..." I fumbled with the fastener on my satchel, my cheeks burning.

"'Um I'? Are they done or not?"

"Just about done. Um, I have one left. I'll get it to you by three, like you said..."

"Really, Katherine?" Zara said dryly. "Ms. Evanson needs it by three, which means I need it by noon to write a final summary. You should have had it done."

"I..."

She pressed her lips together, crossing her arms again. "Look, I know this is your first day, but you should know how important first  impressions are. This cannot happen again. Ms. Evanson will count this as a second strike."

"I can finish the final report by noon!" I offered. "I'll do it."

Zara smirked again, shifting her weight onto her right leg.

"Email me the first three now and finish up the last by noon. We will have a brief orientation at one, there's a staff meeting at 2:30, then you and I will meet at four to discuss the Festival in October."

"Okay...okay, where do I sit?"

Zara walked over to a desk crammed in the corner behind a couple of filing cabinets and the wall. With about fifteen feet separating me from my "bestie," I felt like I was on that deserted island on "Lost," with that damn black cloud just over my shoulder.

Zara showed me the passwords for the iMac on the desk, then left me to the report. Macs weren't my forté, but I guess there was a first time for everything.

Checking my email, I saw a message from the author of the final manuscript, The Yellow River, telling me he was sorry, but he would get it by 11:30 a.m. because he had a presentation at work. It was too close to call. So, after I emailed Zara the first three reports, I skimmed through the 400 pages and wrote a one-page summary. The entire time, Briana would not stop yapping.

"I bet everyone in Porter's class is dying to be us, just dying." Which wasn't bad, until she had the nerve to say, "But Zara is such a cunt."

I had to stop writing the report when she said that. Zara was in the office adjacent to Briana's desk, and Briana didn't whisper. I turned  around in my seat to watch her stuff a galley in a FedEx box.

"It was just coffee, Briana. Get over it."

"That was the last time she ordered me around. I'll have her picking up coffee for me by the end of the week."

"Seriously?" What was wrong with this girl?  "This isn't Drexden, Briana. It's the real world. You can't always get what you want."

"Maybe. But in the end, I always get what I deserve."

A call came in for Ms. Evanson, cutting our conversation short. Prior to that comment, I would have been ever so thankful to the Lord Jesus Christ for shutting her up, but I was suddenly curious. Just what did Briana do to get her inappropriate, sycophantic ass in that seat over there? My seat!

I struggled to concentrate on the final paragraph of the report, typing the period at fifteen minutes after twelve. I hit send,  hyperventilating. Fifteen minutes after twelve? Was that my third strike? Already down to the final one and the first day wasn't even over? This had to be a record. I should win a prize for it.

Reading Zara's response to all four reports – a mere "Thanks" – I breathed a sigh of relief. I leaned back in my seat and shut my eyes.  What a morning.

Reaching into my bag for my cell phone, I hoped for a message from Nicholas. He didn't have much to do today. He had a meeting with a friend and the afternoon off. When the screen on my phone lit up, there were four messages:

*Nicholas:* Hakuna Matata. What a wonderful phrase? Hakuna Matata. Ain't no passing craze. It means no worries for the rest of your days. It's our problem free philosophy Hakuna Matata.
9:13 a.m.

*Nicholas:* miss you.
9:30 a.m.

*Nicholas:* Did you get the final report?
10:15 a.m.

*Nicholas:* I guess you're busy. I'll see you later.
11:58 a.m.

I replied with a brief text, my heart hammering in my chest, telling him I missed him more, and I couldn't wait to see him. I didn't want him out of my sight tonight. Being so busy helped keep me focused, but just the thought of him now made my head spin.

There was a call from my mom and an email from Phoebe wishing me good luck and that we should hang out tonight. I replied with a maybe but kind of regretted it. Tonight was made for more bedtime stories with Nicholas. He would make this awful day better with just one look.

Heading over to the water cooler, which was next to Briana's desk, of course, I had the honor of receiving advice from her royal rottenness.

"Why so serious? Relax, Katherine," she said, while texting on her phone.

I drank my water with a nod then returned to my desk, silencing the vile thoughts I had of bashing in her many body parts. Why so bloody, Briana? Why your brain matter on the wall, Briana? Why are you here, Briana?

"I bet a monkey could do Zara's job," she had the audacity to mutter.

"Hey, Zara's not that bad," I managed through clenched teeth. "Besides, she's in the room right next to you. She can hear everything."

"I don't give a damn," Briana drawled. "I'm here and there's nothing she could do about it."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"What?"

"I'm saying I could tell Zara to go to hell and she can't do a thing. You want in on a little secret to getting what you want?" She got up  from her seat and strutted my way as if she owned the place. "Blackmail."

A memory flashed in my mind of Porter and Briana arguing a few weeks ago, him warning her "not to come." Then, I remembered how shocked she was on the last day of class when he told her she'd failed. She had looked at him like that was the last thing that should have ever come out of his mouth.

She must have had something over Porter, something that would destroy his career, something that she could use to get whatever she wanted, no, deserved.

It had been a fleeting thought, a joke, even. And yet, the idea I had had of them cavorting with each other last month rushed back to me in waves.

Briana and Porter sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G. Or worse. What if he was her pimp?

"Who did you blackmail? Porter?"

"Something like that." She was positively glowing.

I didn't have any more time to mull over this former "unnecessary" and current "very necessary" truth, as Zara walked in to begin orientation at 1.

We learned a little bit more about the Festival in October, or as Zara called it, "TNYF," Briana brown-nosing the entire time.

During the staff meeting, Briana interrupted the editors with dozens of questions. Although valid, they were very disruptive. I thought Ms. Evanson would be as irritated as the rest of us, but she had this glint in her eye with every question. She seemed impressed.

The meeting ended at four, leaving me dizzy with envy. Homicidal thoughts tore through me. I wanted to rip Briana's lips off and burn her notes. I wanted to be praised. I wanted Ms. Evanson to look at me like that. Why hadn't I prepared for the meeting? Oh, right. Nicholas.

I sat at my desk, the TNYF project daunting as hell in front of me on my desk. How would I have time to research over one hundred authors in the next three months? About half weren't even American, a quarter were Arabic, which I knew about as much of as I knew about baseball.

I bet Briana knew some of them. She seemed to know everything else.

"Katherine," I heard Zara call out from Ms. Evanson's office. "Can I see you for a moment?"

"I'll... I'll be right there."

I got up, feeling Briana's eyes on me the entire time, wanting to tear her eyes out. I didn't know why she looked so jealous. I wasn't the one who blackmailed a professor into getting an internship I didn't deserve.

I quickened my step as I passed Zara's office, as tiny as a closet and so messy. There were so many manuscripts, I wouldn't be able to take a step inside without knocking a couple dozen of them over.

Ms. Evanson's office was a couple of doors down, the door left open a crack. I knocked and Zara called me in. "Have a seat," she said. "And take a deep breath. You've done nothing wrong." I let out a breath I didn't know I held and gulped in some of this sweet Editor in Chief air.

"Where's Ms. Evanson?"

"At a meeting," was her curt reply.

I pouted at that, catching something like pity flash across Zara's eyes. It was gone as fast as my pout, which I regretted. I wasn't a child.

She continued, "So, what did you think of the first day?"

"Well, it could have been better... considering."

"I know. I know."

I peeked up at her then looked away. "I just don't understand..."

"I didn't either. Just know that I've been where you've been. I've seen girls like her think they're God's gift. They get to where they are using the most underhanded methods," she said, her eyes demanding mine so I looked up. Nice. She saw right through Briana's machinations. I wondered what Ms. Evanson thought of her as Zara continued. "I've seen them become editors of so many magazines who have as much foresight as Sarah Palin. Don't let her get to you."

I nodded, smoothing out my skirt, looking down at the floor. Easier said than done, but I couldn't tell her that. She wouldn't want to hear my excuses.

"Do you, Katherine, and everything else will fall into place."

Zara told me the reports I'd done were good, although the next one for TNYF had to be written more succinctly. One page was too long, apparently. When she said my style was all over the place with a soft humor in her voice, a mix of that self-loathing and envy returned to me. Briana would have had this done, wouldn't she? 

"Katherine, don't worry about it, really. It's only the first day. You'll be fine."

"But..." I bit my bottom lip in frustration. "Two strikes."

"That's right. Not three."

We went over tomorrow's agenda, then she told me I was done for the day. I got up, taking my first deep breath of the day and headed out. At the threshold, I stopped. It behooved me to say one more thing.

"Zara?" I asked, turning to face her.

She looked up from Ms. Evanson's monitor. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

She smiled and waved me off. Porter had warned me about how tough she supposedly was, but Zara was a good person. And she saw right through Briana's schemes. If I floundered, she would help me... hopefully... maybe. At least she wouldn't laugh at me.

As I crossed the threshold, I saw a familiar set of long jean-clad legs and Black Nikes stretched out from behind the waiting area. Goosebumps raced down my arms and legs. My cheeks and neck grew hot.

Nicholas.