by Liz Botts
“Is that Channel Fifteen’s News ‘Copter?” Esther bellowed from her office. “And if it is why isn’t ours in the air yet? I sent the message out five minutes ago!”
I blinked at this news. Had it really only been five minutes? Everything seemed to be happening in fast forward, but in reality we were in slow motion. Several more staff members pressed against the window as we all tried to get a glimpse of the logo on the side of the helicopter.
“It’s ours!” My voice rang out over the din. Another surge of adrenaline made me giddy. Beyond the swiftly flowing North River I could see the squat form of the bank surrounded by the flashing red and blue lights of what seemed like one hundred police cars.
“Excellent. Now everyone, we go on air in thirty seconds, get back to your places.” Marika appeared behind us. She gave me a pointed look that I took to mean that if it wasn’t breaking news I’d be in trouble for not listening. She tended to treat me like a preschooler at times. Not wanting any actual problems with my internship, I scooted back to the news ticker, which was still a harsh slash of red on the screen.
The screens that hung on two sides of the room flickered on, the camera showing a somber looking Bonnie and an excited looking John. He was an adrenaline junky. Breaking news was always his favorite to film because he didn’t know what was coming next. He’d told my journalism class that when he came as a guest lecturer first semester. That was part of the reason I’d applied for the internship. John made TV news sound like the most exciting career possible, even in a dinky little city like ours.
“This is what we know at this hour,” John began. “Reports have been received that the First National Bank on Main has been the scene of a robbery. There are reports of hostages taken and shots fired. Police have set up blockades, and all traffic is being routed away from the scene. The Main Street Bridge is closed, as well as the Polk Street and Ridge Street bridges. We’ll be bringing you live updates as soon as we have them. Bonnie?”
As Bonnie launched in to the specifics of the reports coming in, I noticed that she seemed especially sad and tense. Usually she managed to keep things light, her expression relaxed, even hopeful during the bad stories. It made me wonder what she knew that she wasn’t sharing yet. She shuffled her papers, and cut to the helicopter report. I let my gaze stray back to the screen where other stories of less urgency were coming in. I made a note of a few that might be of some interest to people in the Stateline area. I smiled to myself as I felt pretty good for finally getting to participate in a real news story on a real news day.
“I’ll take over.” Jamie reappeared behind me.
Her break apparently over, she wanted back on the story of the year. Before I could stop myself, I felt my mouth twist into a frown that bordered on a sneer. Still, there was nothing I could do. I was a lowly intern, and this was her actual job. Without saying anything, I got up. Jamie flashed me what could only be described as a triumphant smile, and sat back down at the news ticker. She read my note, and right as I watched she crumpled it up, and stuck it into the recycling bin under the desk.
I looked around for Marika, but not finding her I made my way back over to the window. The view was actually disappointing because the only side of the bank visible was the back side where there weren’t even any windows. Rumor was that was where the vault was. I knew that a normal bank’s vault wouldn’t be the stuff of rumor and legend, but First National Bank had been built over one hundred years ago. The city founders had constructed the bank to house stores of gold, which supposedly rivaled Fort Knox back in the day. Very few people had seen the vault, which only the bank director and his assistant knew the code for. That was enough to start stories for sure, but the icing on top of the cake was the fact that the vault was reported to be two stories tall.
“What do you think’s happening in there?” Chloe came up beside me, and leaned her shoulder into mine. She was subdued for the first time since I’d met her, and I realized she wanted comfort.
A cold shiver rolled over me. Real people were stuck in that bank with real psychos. Now I knew why Bonnie looked the way she did. When she had to report news that had such immediate implications for the community we were part of she obviously couldn’t help but be moved by the situation. All the horrible outcomes of this standoff began to play through my mind. I felt like I was missing some piece of information; like a memory hovering just out of reach.
Just as I was about to feel even more melancholy, my phone began to buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out even though we weren’t supposed to make personal calls during work. Who was going to notice right now anyway? It was my mom. I had to answer.
“Allison! Are you alright? I saw the First National Bank on the news. Have you been taken hostage?” My mom’s voice shrilled in my ear, and despite the circumstances, I giggled. Mom heard that because her next tone put my mirth to rest. “Allison Noelle Jones, are you making light of this?”
“No, Mom, I promise I’m not. And I’m fine. I’m still at the station.” I held my breath, hoping not to get into any more trouble. Talking back was my mom’s number one pet peeve, and it always resulted in some form of punishment. Not usually grounding worthy, but at the minimum a night with no technology. I mean, technically I hadn’t talked back, but I suspected I was on thin ice. That was just one thing I looked forward to about getting out of the house for college. I had over-protective mom number one. No other mother on the planet could worry like my mom could. My three sisters and I agreed she could get in record books with the sheer number of things she worried about at any given moment.
“Okay, well, be careful. Don’t come home until the police give the all clear.” Mom tsked in a way that made me wonder if she’d been crying. A wave of guilt washed over me for my less than pleasant thoughts about her.
Still… “Hey, Mom, maybe I should just get dinner here then?”
“Yes, I think that’s the best idea. I’m sure there are some places not affected by this mess that would deliver. Do you have enough money? I’ll call Jake and let him know not to pick you up until you call.” My mom rambled on a bit longer, but I tuned her out as I watched several ambulances rush across the bridge to take their places beside the police cars.
When I finally hung up, Chloe gave me a sideways look. “Aren’t you eighteen?”
“Nearly, why?”
“Your mom treats you like a tween, no offense.”
I laughed. “None taken. She totally does. I’m just shocked she agreed to let me order dinner. The artificial ingredients in most food is just one of her many worries. If she isn’t cooking for us, she makes it seem like we’re eating nuclear waste.”
Chloe joined my laughter, but we both quieted as a fourth helicopter came into view. “I think that one’s from Chicago.”
We both squinted into the gray light of the early evening sky. Sure enough the logo displayed on the side indicated it was from one of the major stations in the Windy City. Chloe and exchanged glances. Neither of us had to say that once the Chicago news stations came in, it was considered major news. The kind that went national. Another wave of adrenaline coursed through my veins.
“Esther’s having a fit.” Rory’s voice close to my left shoulder made me jump. Chloe and I turned to him. “She’s been watching all the other coverage as it comes in, and Channel Eight out of Chicago has an exclusive interview with the bank manager’s assistant. He got out before they started taking hostages.”
I gasped, and my eyes got wide as I tried to suppress the sudden rush of information happening in my brain. “Do you know who the hostages are? I mean, has any of that information been released yet?”
Rory shook his head. “The only thing we know for sure right now is that the bank manager is still in there. He’s an obvious choice for a hostage since he knows the code for the vault. Hey, are you okay?”
“N—no. I have to go make a phone call.” With that I turned and sprinted out of the newsroom to the closest stairwell. It was the closest place I could co
me to privacy. With shaking fingers I pulled up Jake’s number. I waited, breathless, as it rang once, twice, three times. Finally he picked up. “Jake? Are you okay?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” I could hear something thudding rhythmically in the background. Just listening to the sound, I could picture Jake’s younger brother, Andrew, tossing a tennis ball against the wall. “Have you watched the news at all this afternoon?”
Jake snorted. “That’s your deal, Al, not mine.”
The bottom fell out of my stomach, kind of like when you reach the highest part of a roller coaster, and I thought I might be sick. “Are your parents home?” My voice got tinier as reality set in.
“What’s up, Allison? You know they don’t get home until after five.”
Taking a deep breath I said, “It’s your grandpa. He’s a hostage. At the bank.”
Silence filled the phone, then Jake snapped, “Andy, cut it out. What are you talking about, Allison?”
“There was a robbery at the bank, and then they took hostages, and oh Jake, I think it’s bad.” My words hung in the air, and I didn’t know what else to do or say.
“Al, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to….call my mom or something.” With that the line went dead. I stared at the phone in my hand, somehow willing him to call back and tell me that Rory had been misinformed. Hugging my arms around myself, I went back up to the newsroom to see if there was any new information.
When I stepped through the doors, I paused trying to comprehend the chaos that seemed to be ramping up. Esther was just on the other side of the glass paneled control room doors. Her normal calm demeanor had gone out the window, and at the moment she was flailing her arms wildly above her head as she yelled at some poor crew member. My guess was that she was upset about the interview Chicago Eight had gotten with the assistant manager. But really? What did any of this matter if Jake’s grandpa was hurt? And why hadn’t I remembered the fact that he worked there earlier? I was a lousy friend. There was no way I could make it up to Jake, especially if something did happen.
Chloe found me a second later. “They’re calling in sharpshooters,” she said, her eyes big and round, and slipped her arm through mine.
My stomach churned worse. In every action/hostage movie I had ever seen they only called in sharpshooters when the situation deteriorated. What did that mean for Jake’s grandpa? I shook my head to get a clear grip on things, but it didn’t work. All it did was make me feel vaguely dizzy, which added to the nausea that waved over me.
The buzzing in my pocket made me jump. At the beginning of this whole mess the excitement had been so real, so tangible. Now it all just felt dangerous and out of control. Seeing that it was Jake calling me back, I extracted myself from Chloe.
“Jake?”
“He’s okay, Al. He barricaded himself in his office. The guys—the robbers—whoever they are have shot at the door a few times, but they can’t get in. He shoved his desk in the way. That sucker’s big and oak or something.” Jake’s voice shook as he tried to hide the fear that I knew he must be feeling. In all the time I’d known Jake—since they moved in next door when I was five—he’d always been brave. Always.
“I’m so glad, Jake. They called in sharpshooters.” I whispered the information because I didn’t know if we were supposed to leak anything or not. It wasn’t like I had been watching the coverage. I’d had other things on my mind. Then inspiration struck. “Jake? Do you—do you think your grandpa might talk to Bonnie on the air? He could, you know, reassure people.”
The words tumbled out before my brain had a chance to process them. Once they registered, I squeezed my eyes shut. There I went being an insensitive friend again. To my surprise, Jake said, “That’d be great. My parents have been fielding all sorts of phone calls. It’s already wearing on them. I’ll give you his cell number, and I’ll let him know you’ll be calling.”
After I found a pen and paper, I took down the number with an even shakier hand. “Thanks, Jake. You’re really my best friend.”
Jake made a weird sound, and said, “Anything for you, Allie.”
I blinked in surprise at my childhood nickname, but before I could comment, Jake had hung up. Then came the waiting. After three minutes, I dialed the number he had given me.
“Allison Jones?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Norman?”
“I understand from my grandson that I’ll be on the air with Bonnie Cooper.” For someone being held hostage, Mr. Norman sounded remarkably calm.
“I’ll give you to our executive producer in one minute.” I walked into the control room, my ears buzzing from the enormity of what I was about to do. “Esther?”
Esther turned. “What do you want, Agnes? I’m a little busy here right now.”
I swallowed. “I have Archibald Norman, First National Bank’s president on the phone. He’s willing to talk on air with Bonnie. He’s still inside.”
Chapter Three
I was a celebrity during fourth hour journalism.
No one else in the class had an internship. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Emma Waters had one at the dippy local newspaper, but mine was by far the cooler of the two.
Everyone in town had heard about the standoff/robbery/hostage situation, and Channel Fifteen news had really gotten a coup with the Archibald Norman interview. After Esther had picked herself up off the floor, she had practically hugged me. I bet she’d know my name from now on, and who knew what kind of responsibilities they would give me now?
Mr. Fisher, our journalism teacher, sat on his desk like he always did at the beginning of class. I knew he wanted to stay cool or whatever was in his head, but he was approaching forty, had a receding hairline, and wore suspenders and bowties. Not in an ironic fashion sort of way, either. The only thing missing from his ensemble was one of those fedora-like hats with a little piece of paper stuck in the brim.
“A little bird informed me that our very own Allison Jones might have had something to do with Channel Fifteen’s amazing coverage of the hostage situation yesterday. Miss Jones, would you like to tell us about it?” He grinned at me, and I knew Marika had called him. That was one thing about my internship that I hated. The two of them talked on a weekly basis, and I was pretty sure Marika had the hots for him.
I flushed, the warm heat creeping around my ears, which were fully exposed by my ponytail. Ducking my head, I felt a rush of pleasure at the attention as everyone turned to look at me. Despite my inclination to blush every time anyone singled me out for praise, I really did love being in the limelight.
“It was nothing. Just a lucky break.” I shrugged, even though I fully took the praise.
“That may be, but a good source is a good source. And what do we know about a good source?”
“A good source makes a good story great,” we all chorused. Mr. Fisher had been drilling that little fact into our heads since the first day of the school year. Even when we were just working on stories for the school paper, he insisted that we get the best source possible. So, for example, if I was doing a story on why the cafeteria food stank, I had to ask not only the students and the cafeteria workers, but also try to get the opinion of the school district’s nutritionist. Everything we did was fully fleshed out.
“What was it like?” A guy named Nicolai asked. “I mean, being part of the action?”
“I was hardly part of the action. The folks at the news station did all the work. I just stood by, really.” I laughed, but only partly because it really had been incredible. The only part that had dragged me down was Mom’s fretting when I got home. “It was really wild, though. We could see all the helicopters and emergency vehicles. One guy I work with even swore he saw the sharpshooter who—“My voice faltered as I brought up the part of the story everyone had been avoiding. All anyone wanted to remember was that the hostages had all been rescued. No one liked mentioning that two of the suspects had been shot and killed after the standoff had dragged on for eight hours.
Mr. Fisher looke
d at me with that gaze he had down pat. He always made you feel like he was a therapist or something, and he could see your pain or your secrets. At that moment I knew he could tell how uncomfortable the whole subject was because yet again I was reminded that real people had been on the other end of the story. While our side was full of adrenaline and excitement at having something truly major to report, the other side had experienced the full range that terror had to offer. Those were real people.
“Class, what Allison did yesterday is just one small part of what a news team does when a story breaks. The key is to be a team player. Now, how many of you are interested in that sort of career?” He glanced around as a few people besides me raised their hands. With a nod, he moved to the chalkboard, snapping his suspenders as he went. I was pretty sure it was a nervous tick that he had. Man, he would drive Marika nuts. “I know I’ve talked about this before but since so many of you are seniors, I want to go over this again. Especially since today is the first day of the new quarter, and you all know what that means.”
Groans resounded throughout the room. I reached into my backpack for the three inch binder that we were required to keep. Every single thing written on the board had to go into the notebook. A new quarter meant that we had to two days to pretty up the past quarter’s notes, and turn them in.
The rest of class was spent writing down the exact same material that we had done in December. I knew Mr. Fisher liked to re-emphasize points to make them stick, but sometimes it just seemed like over kill. A lot of my other teachers handed out notes already typed up or even sent them as messages on our phones. Those were pretty great, but there was something to be said for the feeling of a pen on a sheet of paper. I kind of loved the way the ink glided. There was no better word for it. I uttered a rapturous sigh. Nicolai turned around in his seat and stared at me.
