*Slow updates*
After agreeing to be the focus of a college article,
senior Charlie Murtaugh gets more than he bargains for when he's assigned a clueless sophomore who knows nothing about the sport.
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Is it okay to give up?
Because if it is now will be the best damn time to do so. I have managed to drag my lazy ass all the way across campus to Charlie's complex with so much determination that I didn't take one second to think about the fact that Charlie might not be home-or anyone else for that matter. It's either that or everyone's too lazy to get the door which is always the case with my friends and I.
Melissa didn't find it funny when I walked in with nothing but my tails tucked between my legs for our meeting today. She said something along these lines-Get me that first draft by Thursday or kiss your internship goodbye.' I had to use Samantha's FBI skills to find Charlie's accommodation.
That girl can find a needle in a haystack. I don't know how she does it.
Boo thang Charlie lives at the complex for the athletes next to Boyer Hall. Fourth floor, apartment 208. You owe me a large pizza from Papa John's-just cheese.
But I've been pushing the round white button embedded into the equally white door for a while now-no one is opening. Five more times, I call it quit with a sigh and retreat from the door.
The door's definitely not opening.
I start walking towards the lift at the end of the hallway taking in just how beautiful this complex corridor looks under the white lights. The corridor floor is covered in a plush grey carpet, a brown door mat separating the door to each room.
I've heard that the athletes get everything fancy, I just didn't think it was this fancy. I mean this place looks like it leaped out of a 5 star hotel as I stepped into the reception. Yes, they have a reception and a receptionist. What for? I don't know.
I step into the lift feeling worse than I did when I stepped out of it as I stare at my reflection in the mirror stuck to the elevator walls. I've definitely had better days but that doesn't change the fact that I look like crap. My hair is everywhere-courtesy of the evening LA breeze and my brown eyes look tired as hell.
Even after crawling into bed at only 2am in the morning, I forced myself to get out of bed as early as 7 so that I can make it to Starbucks at exactly 8 O'clock to meet Charlie. Despite the gruesome hangover that I had and my unwillingness to live, I managed to sit through an hour of staring out of the window hoping that before I finish my second venti I'd see him walk into the coffee shop with an apologetic smile on his face as he takes a seat opposite me.
Who was I kidding? He was never going to show up and I was a fool for even thinking he would.
For stupid reason-one of it being my age, the other being my experience-Charlie doesn't think I'm suitable to write his article and that doesn't only make me mad but also hurts me in ways that I can't explain. One look and Charlie has seen my own biggest fear-how much of shit journalist I am. I had high hopes for myself with this internship but I can't even get one thing right.
