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Rated: E · Fiction · Young Adult · #1497547
This is a small part of a story that I have been working with. It is young adult lit
Hello. My name Is Abi Jones and I am an undercover spy. No really I am. I know what you must be thinking, if I really was an undercover spy, why am I telling you? I guess I believe that even If I die, I want people to know what happened. Plus, I’ve always wanted to be a journalist, and this Is the closest thing I could get. In fact, that’s how I became an undercover spy. I was in journalism school at Boston University. It was my dream school; I’ve wanted to go there ever since my parents told me that is where they met. I felt like I had a calling there, and even though It meant giving up the cool social life that most girls wanted to have back in high school; I made sure my dream/calling came true.

It was my sophomore year at BU. My freshman year was just like everyone said it would be: Crazy. I had adventures everywhere, from making new friends to juggling time and school to everything else in between. I was still living in my dorm my second year, and my roommate was the same- Jordan Sajin (it’s a girl, promise). Since my freshman year, Jordi (that’s what I call her) has become one of my closest friends. She knew everything about me, from how hard I wanted to get onto the newspaper staff my sophomore year (which by the way, I got on the staff and that’s what caused this whole undercover spy mess). Jordi also knew about my enormous crush on Charlie, the hunky reporter that every (and I mean, every!) girl wanted to call her on. With jet black hair and green eyes, towering a few Inches over 6 feet, he was every girls dream come true. Did I mention he was also the star reporter? Yeah, total dream, I know.

So here was I starting my sophomore year, totally psyched because I get to be on staff of BU-Times (I know original, right?) and I get to attempt to know Charlie. Okay that was more of a dream, I mean I really not someone that most people notice. I’m there, but at the same time… it’s like I’m not. That’s why I wanted to a writer and let my words speak for me, if my looks and etc don’t. It was the first day of the staff meeting.

I walked in and look around. Imagine it- a huge room with tons and tons of computers, and phones and windows on one side, so the reporters and staff know if its day or night. In the right hand corner, there were offices; four total. Editor-n-chief office, design headquarters, staff meeting room and a super small (the size of a dorm closet small) room for a break room that can be used by everyone. In there, I could smell the coffee. It wasn’t the good, freshly made coffee it was the, 500 pots later coffee. But that’s just the break room, and little me was too shy to enter the break room, and I have yet to be in the newsroom for a long period of time to use it.

So, since everyone was filing In, I did what any other shy girl would do, I went to the corner and sat down. Looking around I took in all of the people there. There were the designers that sat in their end, talking about design stuff (yeah I really don’t know what words they were using, something about picas--Isn’t that a fish?). then there were the sports guys, all sitting around talking about ESPN, and about BU's upcoming game against Florida state, which happens to be the biggest game of the season (according to them).
"Hey Charlie" a girl shouts over the noisy room. I look over at the door, and I feel my mouth drop. Mr. Gorgeous himself walks into the room. The drool starts appearing. Maybe I can get to know him this year...maybe he will read my writing and seek me out and....I blinked. Okay now back to reality. Charlie walks over the editor n chief, Tom, (who also happens to be his best friend), and to the managing editor Nicole, (who Is a walking talking model. You know the gorgeous girls that you want to hate, but they are so nice to you that you can’t. and It’s the genuine nice, not fake nice, so It makes you even more angry...and yes. I’m jealous. Sue me. Well actually please don’t.)
© Copyright 2008 Brigette B. (brigetteb at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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