In memory of Nicole Lewanski

See! Sydney
imprinted in bold black lettering.
“Hi, April,” Sam said to a twenty-something girl sitting behind a simple white
desk.
“Hi, Sam,” said April. “Is this your ten o’clock?” She motioned to me.
Sam nodded.
“You must be Audrey, then,” she said with a smile. “Welcome to our little
office.”
Behind her was a small open-plan office with an exposed brick wall at the back
and large block windows throughout the length of the airy, bright room. There
were steel pipes and wood beams across the ceiling from which terrariums hung
on thin metal wires. A handful of desks, most of them empty, were scattered in a
random formation with only a couple of journalists milling about, and there was a
waiting area with a lounge and coffee bar. Overstuffed beanbags sat in the corners
atop gray rustic floorboards. A track by Pink Floyd was playing softly.
“We have a very lax work ethic here,” said Sam. “Most of our writers don’t

---

get in until after eleven. They can come and go as they please, as long as they
hand in their articles on time.”
“It’s a good system,” said April. “Everyone’s happy, and the work is better as a
result.”
I had spent a great deal of time researching this publication. It was established
five years ago and had already won a slew of awards.
“Although when we have a deadline, this place can be a madhouse,” said Sam.
“Oh yeah,” said April. “It can get pretty crazy.” She gestured behind her.
“But, usually, this is the kind of vibe you’ll get here.”
I 
FOLLOWED
S
AM
to her desk, and we sat facing each other. A picture of Angie in
a silver frame caught my eye. It looked like a recent one, taken with him standing
in a canoe, wearing a large sombrero hat and red heart-shaped sunglasses and
brandishing a paddle like a sword. “That picture always makes me laugh,” she
said, following my gaze.
“Angie is probably the most photogenic person in the world.”
“Isn’t he?” Her voice was full of affection. “He is the light of my life, you
know. I still remember the first time I held him. He looked like a bean sprout. I
tell him that all the time.”
I laughed.
“So, Audrey,” Sam put her palms flat on the table, “tell me about yourself.
What are your ambitions?”
I considered her question for a few moments. “I love writing; I always have. I
suppose my ultimate goal is to write a book one day.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose this position will be a good start. You’ll
get to cut your teeth on an award-winning publication and mix with like-minded
professionals.” She smiled at me. “Are you thinking of taking any courses next
year?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t finish my exams, so I might have to at some
stage.”
“Interesting. I know most publications only hire kids with degrees. But I’m a
bit of a maverick, and it’s worked well for me so far. When I’m hiring, I always
look for something very particular. It’s hard to explain. I suppose, in a way, it’s
instinctive. I seem to have a knack for knowing whether a writer is capable or
not.”
I nodded and waited for her to continue.

---

“And I definitely see potential in you. I think with a little guidance you’ll brush
up great in no time. I’m not sure what Angie has told you about the intern
position, but I’ll go through it with you now. Have you had any prior work
experience?”
“I did a short internship at my dad’s office about a year ago. He works in
finance.”
“Basic office duties?”
“Yeah, answering the phone, getting coffees, lots of filing.”
She smiled. “Well, you’ll have a similar role here. You’ll be doing research and
accompanying our senior journalists on interviews. And you’ll have the
opportunity to pitch story ideas at our meetings. Our brainstorming sessions are
always great fun.”
“Sounds perfect!”
“Good. The length of the internship is three months. I am looking to add a
new writer to our team, so if it all goes well, there could be a paid position made
available in mid-March.”
I felt a jolt of excitement. “Really?” I could hardly believe my luck.
She smiled and nodded. “Yes, really.”
“That would be wonderful! Truly.”
“Well, then I guess you start Monday.” She stood up and stuck out her hand at
me from across the desk.
I got up from my chair and shook her hand, a grin plastered across my face.
“Thank you so much.”
“No problem at all. Welcome to the team, Audrey. I think you’re going to
love it here.”
L
UCY
CAME
TO
pick me up after my meeting.
“How did it go?” she asked, as I slid into the passenger seat of Octopus One.
“Fantastic!” I said, beaming at her.
“So tell me all about it.”
“The internship is three months, and then I might get a paid job after that.”
“No way!” said Lucy. “Even lit graduates are having a super hard time getting
a position.”
“I know. It’s actually surreal.”
“Well, I guess we have another thing to celebrate!”

---

A 
FEW
MINUTES
later, Lucy pulled up in front of a quaint terrace house on a leafy,
tree-lined street.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said it was close. I could walk to
work.”
“I told you it was perfect,” said Lucy.
We got out of the car and walked through the gate and up the short flight of
steps.
“It’s so cute,” I said. The door was painted a steampunk black and had an
ornate brass knocker. The number 
42
was painted on the door in large gold
lettering.
“Wait until you get inside,” she said, fishing the key out of her pocket and
sticking it in the lock.
“Oh, wow,” I breathed when we stepped across the threshold and into the
house. I stood with my mouth agape as I took in the polished cherrywood floors
and the retro-style furniture that gave the place a fun, playful vibe. There was a
full-sized jukebox in the main hallway, accompanied by a vintage flip ball
machine and fortune-telling wheel. Lucy’s uncle was an art collector, and there
were numerous paintings and limited-edition prints in ornate frames along the
walls. We began walking through the house, marveling at the high ceilings that
were a perfect complement to the open-plan layout that led us from the hallway
to the lounge area and through the kitchen. There was a small room in the back,
piled up high with an assortment of DVDs, books, cardboard boxes, and other
paraphernalia. The back door opened to a charming English-style courtyard. A
small outdoor table and chair set made of decorative wrought iron stood in the
center of the yard, surrounded by lilies, white roses, and potted gardenias. “My
uncle says my life won’t be worth living if we let his plants die,” said Lucy.
Upstairs, there were two sun-drenched rooms, each with an en suite bathroom.
“Candela would have loved it here,” I said, feeling suddenly wistful.
“I know,” said Lucy. “We always said we’d move in together after school—the
three of us. It kind of feels weird doing it without her.”
“It does. Hey, what day is it today?”
Lucy checked her phone. “The fourteenth.”
We looked at each other as the significance of the date dawned on us. It was
Candela’s birthday. I couldn’t believe we almost forgot.
“We should call her,” said Lucy.
I raised an eyebrow. “We can try.”
My mind shot back to that day at Alexandria, outside Candela’s house. Even

---

though we hadn’t spoken since then, I thought about her constantly. I had long
since given up trying to make amends, but I couldn’t ignore her birthday.
“Well, what have we got to lose?” said Lucy, tapping her number.
“Fingers crossed she’ll pick up,” I said.
“Hey, Lucy.” To our surprise, Candela answered almost right away.
“Hi, stranger,” said Lucy. “I’m here with Audrey.”
“Hey, Candela,” I said cautiously.
“Hey,” she replied brightly. There wasn’t a trace of hostility in her voice, and
it made me feel hopeful.
“Happy birthday!” Lucy and I chimed in unison.
She laughed. “Aw, thanks guys.”
“We miss you,” said Lucy.
“I miss you both too,” she said. There was a hint of sadness in her voice. It was
her first birthday without us. “So what are you guys up to?”
Lucy told Candela about her uncle’s house and how we would be house-sitting
in the near future. “You know, you can crash here whenever you want.”
“Thank you,” said Candela. She sounded touched. “Maybe I can come and
visit you both when you’re settled in.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” said Lucy.
“I have to get back to work now,” said Candela. “Thanks for the call.”
“You’re working on your birthday?” I asked.
“Yeah, double shift,” she said, with a sigh. “I’m just on my lunch break.”
“Okay, we’ll let you go, then,” said Lucy. “It’s good to hear your voice,
Candela.”
L
ATER
THAT
EVENING
, I brought my parents up to speed about the exciting events
of my day. As a tactical move, I told them about the internship and possible job
offer first.
“That’s wonderful, honey,” said Dad, beaming at me.
“Congratulations, Audrey,” said Mum. She looked genuinely happy for me.
“Maybe a good time to go for your driver’s license?” This was something I had
been putting off, despite Mum’s constant nagging. The idea of being in control of
a dangerous hunk of metal while in the throes of a panic attack was a scenario
that I did not want to find myself in.
“Actually, Lucy’s uncle just accepted a job offer in Paris, and she’ll be house-
sitting for him while he’s away. It’s a big house, and it’s really close to the