Page 90 of My Best French Wedding

“Good.” She gave him her full-wattage smile. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

His mouth opened and then closed again without making a sound.

“That’s a line from an old movie.” As opposed to someone trying way too hard to turn this into a cheesy moment.

Walter smiled, a little shy, and Hildy’s embarrassment faded. Clean sheetsandsomeone to sit with tomorrow? Things were looking up.

“Hi,” Hildy said, a little out of breath, as she sank into the empty chair on Walter’s right the next morning. A toothpaste misfortune had forced her to change her entire outfit, hence the later-than-planned arrival.

Corinne leaned past him to give Hildy a sardonic look. “Nice of you to join us.”

Oh, goodie. Her mysterious and hostile roommate was sitting with Hildy’s only friend. “You two know each other?” She crossed her fingers the answer was no.

“Me and Wally go way back,” Corinne replied, before Walter could get a word in. “Scholarship kids stick together.” She raised her eyebrows, daring Hildy to pretend to be one of them.

“We met yesterday,” Walter said. “Corinne was locked out.”

Hildy wondered if he would say something similar about her.We met yesterday. She didn’t know how to use a washing machine. That was okay, because he was about to see her in her element.

She surveyed the rest of the room, sizing up the competition. One or two other loose clusters had formed, including a band of private school types who had clearly been acquainted for longer than a day. They reminded Hildy of her cousins, from the tips of their gelled hair to the leather laces on their boat shoes. No doubt they assumed the prize was theirs for the taking and had already written off the rest of the group for not looking like they’d traveled here by yacht. It was going to be a pleasure to wipe the floor with them.

A newspaper landed on the table in front of her. Hildy snappedto attention, making quick eye contact with the woman who was passing them out. She was old enough to have silver threaded through her shoulder-length dark hair, and her expression, while stern, lacked the tightly wound quality of a copyeditor. Probably a department head, judging by her age and air of command. Too intense for features, and not outdoorsy enough for photography or sports, so Hildy’s money was on the metro desk.

Her fingers tapped, nervous energy spilling over.Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.

“You okay?” Walter asked.

“I’m excited,” she whispered back, not softly enough to keep Corinne from rolling her eyes.

Hildy tuned her out. Why should she be ashamed? This was about to be adrenaline central. The program was always structured as a competition, and Hildy knew they worked in teams, but beyond that the curriculum varied every year. They could be asked to produce cutting-edge digital media or dig through old records on a cold case. Whatever it turned out to be, she was ready.

She hoped.

The woman who’d dropped off the papers joined a shorter man in a wrinkled button-down at the front of the room, crossing her arms as he gave the welcome speech. When he stepped aside, she took his place at the podium.

“Each of you has a copy of today’s morning paper,” she said. “Your assignment is to choose one item from any page and write a long-form follow-up. We’re looking for insight, originality, and depth. Do not regurgitate what’s already there.” Lowering her reading glasses, she speared them with a warning look before continuing.

“You’ll be working in groups of at least two, because this is a collaborative business. Your deadline is fivePMThursday, but I suggest you meet with the copydesk and design department wellbefore that. Faculty will be available for consultation.” She glanced at her watch. “Your time starts now.”

The rustle of newsprint filled the room. It sounded like a wind machine had been switched on. Hildy understood why people were flicking through the pages like their lives depended on it. They wanted to find the juiciest material and claim it first.

But this wasn’t a speed-reading contest, and Hildy didn’t intend to go the obvious route by choosing a crime or a scandal. The smarter play would be finding a nugget of gold in an unexpected place—something everyone else had overlooked. She took a deep breath before diving in.

The first group was out the door by the time she got past the A section.

“Hildy?” Walter’s voice wobbled a little, like he was trying not to sound nervous.

“Don’t worry,” she told him, without looking up.

“Did you see the piece about someone illegally dumping cooking oil in the retention pond?”

She hmmed an affirmative.

“We could try to track down the fast-food bandit?”

“I like that,” Corinne said. “Who is the Fry Guy? Or girl. We could make it pulpy. Put people at the scene.Midnight. The Arby’s parking lot. Rusty water drips onto the stained pavement.You know?”

“Give me a minute.” Hildy turned to Sports. Not her first choice, but you had to keep an open mind.