Firefly Lane (Firefly Lane 1)

"But you have interns. "

"From UW and other colleges. Our interns know their way around a TV station. Most of them have already worked on their campus broadcasts. Im sorry, but youre just not ready. "

"Oh. "

They stared at each other.

"Ive been at this job a long time, Ms. Hart, and Ive rarely seen anyone as full of ambition as you. " He patted the folder of her letters again. "Ill tell you what, you keep sending me your writing. Ill keep an eye out for you. "

"So when Im ready to be a reporter, youll hire me?"

He laughed. "You just send me the articles. And get good grades and go to college, okay? Then well see. "

Tully felt energized again. "Ill send you an update once a month. Youll hire me someday, Mr. Rorbach. Youll see. "

"I wouldnt bet against you, Ms. Hart. "

They talked for a few more moments, and then Mr. Rorbach showed her out of his office. On the way to the stairs, he stopped at the trophy case, where dozens of Emmys and other news awards glinted golden in the light.

"Ill win an Emmy someday," she said, touching the glass with her fingertips. She refused to let herself be wounded by this setback, and that was all it was: a setback.

"You know what, Tallulah Hart, I believe you. Now go off to high school and enjoy your senior year. Real life comes fast enough. "

Outside, it looked like a postcard of Seattle; the kind of blue-skied, cloudless, picture-perfect day that lured out-of-towners into selling their homes in duller, less spectacular places and moving here. If only they knew how rare these days were. Like a rocket blaster, summer burned fast and bright in this part of the world and went out with equal speed.

Holding her grandfathers thick black briefcase against her chest, she walked up the street toward the bus stop. On an elevated track above her head, the monorail thundered past, making the ground quake.

All the way home, she told herself it was really an opportunity; now shed be able to prove her worth in college and get an even better job.

But no matter how she tried to recast it, the sense of having failed wouldnt release its hold. When she got home she felt smaller somehow, her shoulders weighted down.

She unlocked the front door and went inside, tossing the briefcase on the kitchen table.

Gran was in the living room, sitting on the tattered old sofa, with her stockinged feet on the crushed velvet ottoman and an unfinished sampler in her lap. Asleep, she snored lightly.

At the sight of her grandmother, Tully had to force a smile. "Hey, Gran," she said softly, moving into the living room, bending down to touch her grandmothers knobby hand. She sat down beside her.

Gran came awake slowly. Behind the thick old-fashioned glasses, her confused gaze cleared. "How did it go?"

"The assistant news director thought I was too qualified, can you believe it? He said the position was a dead end for someone with my skills. "

Gran squeezed her hand. "Youre too young, huh?"

The tears shed been holding back stung her eyes. Embarrassed, she brushed them away. "I know theyll offer me a job as soon as I get into college. Youll see. Ill make you proud. "

Gran gave her the poor-Tully look. "Im already proud. Its Dorothys attention you want. "

Tully leaned against her grans slim shoulder and let herself be held. In a few moments, she knew this pain would fade again; like a sunburn, it would heal itself and leave her slightly more protected from the glare. "Ive got you, Gran, so she doesnt matter. "

Gran sighed tiredly. "Why dont you call your friend Katie now? But dont stay on too long. Its expensive. "

Just the thought of that, talking to Kate, lifted Tullys spirits. With the long-distance charges what they were, they rarely got to call each other. "Thanks, Gran. I will. "

The next week Tully got a job at the Queen Anne Bee, her neighborhood weekly newspaper. Her duties pretty much matched the measly per-hour wage they paid her, but she didnt care. She was in the business. She spent almost every waking hour of the summer of 77 in the small, cramped offices, soaking up every bit of knowledge she could. When she wasnt bird-dogging the reporters or making copies or delivering coffee, she was at home, playing gin rummy with Gran for matchsticks. Every Sunday night, like clockwork, she wrote to Kate and shared the minute details of her week.

Now she sat at her little-girls desk in her bedroom and reread this weeks eight-page letter, then signed it Best Friends Forever, Tully , and carefully folded it into thirds.

On her desk was the most recent postcard from Kate, who was away on the Mularkey familys yearly camping trip. Kate called it Hell Week with Bugs, but Tully was jealous of each perfect-sounding moment. She wished that shed been able to go on the vacation with them; turning down the invitation had been one of the most difficult things shed done. But between her all-important summer job and Grans declining health, shed had no real choice.