chapter forty-one

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Marina St

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Marina St. Clair is a USW alumnus who graduated with her Master's in journalism from Columbia two years ago. She was invited back to speak about her experiences in graduate school, her four different internships, and her first two years working at a prestigious political publication.

I've been excited about this Q&A since I found out about it a few weeks ago because Marina took the exact path that I'm trying to pave for myself—graduate school, internships, and finally, a steady job working at a publication that, according to her, allows her to write the kind of articles she's genuinely passionate about.

"I'm sure there are quite a few audience members who are anxious to head over to the stadium to catch the last half of the semi-final game—go Warriors!" She smiles at the different cheers that echo through the small crowd. "I won't keep you for much longer. How about one final question?"

The girl next to me raises her hand, and when Marina nods toward her with a smile, she asks about internships—more specifically, how Marina managed to land four of them. By the time Marina's done answering, I have half a page worth of notes written and newfound anxiety blooming in my chest. Apparently, the resume of internships is just as important, if not more, than the graduate degree itself, and based on Marina's timeline, I'm already behind.

"Alright, I think we'll close out questions there." Paige, our sitting editor-in-chief, who's been moderating this Q&A, thanks Marina for taking time out of her busy schedule to come back to visit us.

Most of the crowd is already filing through the exit to run across campus to the arena. Glancing at the clock on the back wall, my chest tightens when I catch the time. It's nearly eight, which means they're about to break for halftime. Part of me wants to follow the crowd out, but when I look back at Marina speaking to Paige just off stage, I know this is probably the only chance I'll get to talk to someone who has experience in the industry before it's too late.

Edging through the crowd, I slip past the people loitering near the refreshment table. By the time I make it to the front of the auditorium, my stomach is a tight, twisting knot, and I have to remind myself of why I'm doing this—I need a second opinion. I need to know if there's a way. I need to know if there's hope.

Paige's gaze finds me as I walk up, and when she grins and waves me forward, I look over to Marina, who's smiling at me as I stop beside Paige.

"Marina, this is Abby Ryan, one of the best and brightest on the paper." Paige beams at me.

"Abby Ryan," Marina muses. "You wrote that feature article on the basketball player." I'm a little shocked that she read through our latest issue and even more amazed that she remembered my name on the byline. "I have to admit, I'm not usually one to read sports features, but you did an amazing job with it. There was so much presence in that article; I was captivated the entire time."

"Thank you." I grin, looking from her to Paige and back. "It was my first sports feature, so I'm glad I didn't completely bomb it."

"You killed it, Abs. Seriously." Paige laughs. "It's been this issue's most clicked article by far. Had I known sports features would get that kind of attention, I would've written one myself."

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