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Authors: Sarah Webb
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Then I spot what looks like the college magazine stand, complete with an old-fashioned black typewriter sitting proudly on one of its many tables. The stand is covered in pink flags, each one has
Trinity Tatler
printed on it in thick black cursive script. Some of the students manning it are wearing pink fitted polo shirts, also emblazoned with the words
Trinity Tatler
.
I’m half walking away — no point in talking to them without Clover — when a singsong Galway accent mocks, “Don’t join
Trinity Tatler
, then. See if I care.”
A gorgeous black guy with melty chocolate eyes and a sky-high quiff of hair is talking to me. He’s certainly not wearing anything resembling a pink polo shirt. He looks Odd McOdd in his checked shirt, baggy shorts, shiny blue high-tops, and geeky glasses, but
très
cute. He’s perched on the edge of a table, and from the length of his amazingly strong-looking legs, he must be at least six feet tall.
“That’s right,” he is saying. “Walk away. We don’t want any riffraff. And D4s are banned. Quite enough of them perching on the mag’s desks and filing their talons already.” He sweeps his eyes left and right at the girls behind the desk, and then looks directly at me. “You a D4, doll face? Nah, you don’t have that pinched I’m-on-a-permanent-diet expression. And you’re looking far too funky. This is your lucky day. I might just let you join our band of merry men.”
I grin at him. “Sorry, but I’m not a student here. I’m just passing through.”
He winks. “I get it: spying for a rival college mag. Clever. Well, you won’t get a peep from these babies.” He pinches his lips closed.
I laugh. “I’m only thirteen. I’m still in school.”
“I never like to judge, doll face.” He smiles such a cute smile that my knees nearly buckle under me. “I’m Patrick Akinjobi. Paddy to my friends. Assistant editor and general gofer. And what are you doing here today if you’re not spying?”
“I’m with my aunt. She’s registering today. First-year English.”
“Mature student?”
I smile. “Very immature.” Then something occurs to me. Paddy seems really cool — Clover would love him, and if she got involved with the magazine, maybe college wouldn’t seem so daunting.
“She’s only seventeen,” I tell him, “but she’s already a very experienced journalist. She’s been working for the
Goss
during her gap year.”
Paddy looks impressed. “The teen mag? It’s always winning print and media awards. I’ve read some of their articles online.”
“Clover’s their agony aunt, and she also writes features,” I say, encouraged by his interest. “She interviewed Matt Munroe last summer.”
“Hey, I think I read that piece. The Hollywood actor with Irish roots? Exclusive interview, wasn’t it?”
I nod proudly.
“This Clover sounds like my kind of gal. The mag could sure do with some experienced journos. The current crop of writers are muppets. When can I meet her?”
“Right now.” And I jab a quick text to Clover.
“So what’s your name?” Paddy asks.
I’m opening my mouth to tell him when a girl appears beside him. She’s another mink-haired D4 and is wearing the pink
Trinity Tatler
polo shirt with denim shorts. She has orange legs up to her armpits and a face thick with makeup. And for some reason she looks familiar.
“Hey, Paddy,” she says, completely ignoring me. “My laptop’s acting up again. Can you, like, fix it?” She thrusts a pearly pink laptop into his hands and then sits down on the desk with her back to me. How rude!
“Sorry,” he says to me, putting the laptop down on the table and scowling at it. “Our editor’s very impatient. All hail our leader.” He puts both his hands in the air and pretends to kowtow.
“Just get on with it, please, Wimpy Kid,” the D4 snaps. “And stop with the moaning. I bet you’ve done nothing except chat with people all morning. Have you even signed up any new meat? And,
Trinity Tatler
printed on it in thick black cursive script. Some of the students manning it are wearing pink fitted polo shirts, also emblazoned with the words
Trinity Tatler
.
I’m half walking away — no point in talking to them without Clover — when a singsong Galway accent mocks, “Don’t join
Trinity Tatler
, then. See if I care.”
A gorgeous black guy with melty chocolate eyes and a sky-high quiff of hair is talking to me. He’s certainly not wearing anything resembling a pink polo shirt. He looks Odd McOdd in his checked shirt, baggy shorts, shiny blue high-tops, and geeky glasses, but
très
cute. He’s perched on the edge of a table, and from the length of his amazingly strong-looking legs, he must be at least six feet tall.
“That’s right,” he is saying. “Walk away. We don’t want any riffraff. And D4s are banned. Quite enough of them perching on the mag’s desks and filing their talons already.” He sweeps his eyes left and right at the girls behind the desk, and then looks directly at me. “You a D4, doll face? Nah, you don’t have that pinched I’m-on-a-permanent-diet expression. And you’re looking far too funky. This is your lucky day. I might just let you join our band of merry men.”
I grin at him. “Sorry, but I’m not a student here. I’m just passing through.”
He winks. “I get it: spying for a rival college mag. Clever. Well, you won’t get a peep from these babies.” He pinches his lips closed.
I laugh. “I’m only thirteen. I’m still in school.”
“I never like to judge, doll face.” He smiles such a cute smile that my knees nearly buckle under me. “I’m Patrick Akinjobi. Paddy to my friends. Assistant editor and general gofer. And what are you doing here today if you’re not spying?”
“I’m with my aunt. She’s registering today. First-year English.”
“Mature student?”
I smile. “Very immature.” Then something occurs to me. Paddy seems really cool — Clover would love him, and if she got involved with the magazine, maybe college wouldn’t seem so daunting.
“She’s only seventeen,” I tell him, “but she’s already a very experienced journalist. She’s been working for the
Goss
during her gap year.”
Paddy looks impressed. “The teen mag? It’s always winning print and media awards. I’ve read some of their articles online.”
“Clover’s their agony aunt, and she also writes features,” I say, encouraged by his interest. “She interviewed Matt Munroe last summer.”
“Hey, I think I read that piece. The Hollywood actor with Irish roots? Exclusive interview, wasn’t it?”
I nod proudly.
“This Clover sounds like my kind of gal. The mag could sure do with some experienced journos. The current crop of writers are muppets. When can I meet her?”
“Right now.” And I jab a quick text to Clover.
“So what’s your name?” Paddy asks.
I’m opening my mouth to tell him when a girl appears beside him. She’s another mink-haired D4 and is wearing the pink
Trinity Tatler
polo shirt with denim shorts. She has orange legs up to her armpits and a face thick with makeup. And for some reason she looks familiar.
“Hey, Paddy,” she says, completely ignoring me. “My laptop’s acting up again. Can you, like, fix it?” She thrusts a pearly pink laptop into his hands and then sits down on the desk with her back to me. How rude!
“Sorry,” he says to me, putting the laptop down on the table and scowling at it. “Our editor’s very impatient. All hail our leader.” He puts both his hands in the air and pretends to kowtow.
“Just get on with it, please, Wimpy Kid,” the D4 snaps. “And stop with the moaning. I bet you’ve done nothing except chat with people all morning. Have you even signed up any new meat? And,
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