Hot Off the Press (Ridgemont University Book 1)

by Meredith Taylor

Simon gave his shoes one final wipe down from the cloth he kept in his glove compartment, and gave his reflection in the rearview mirror one last glance. His dark brown hair was smoothly combed in a side parting, not a hair out of place. Simon took pride and care in his appearance, and tonight he had to look his best.

  “Jeez, boy beauty, are you done admiring your masterpiece in the mirror? Time to get to the function already!” Olivia yelled from outside of his car, her fist rapping against the passenger door’s window.

  Simon grinned, climbed out of the car, and happily hooked his arm into Olivia’s. He entered the town hall, and was greeted by a first-year student, eagerly smiling at him, as she handed him the program for the evening. Simon entered the foyer and admired the formidable statue of Steve Biko, his imposing frame captured in stone as his figure sat in a pose of deep reflection.

  The hall didn’t disappoint, and the journalism faculty’s ample cash reserves were proudly put on display, with elaborate floral decorations of white orchids and glittering silver vases lending a tasteful elegance to the evening’s atmosphere. Around fifty attendees were huddled in typically Capetonian cliques, and Simon’s eyes quickly scanned the room, darting to find Ian Peters.

  “Hey, do you see Zuko around?” Olivia asked, pulling at his arm.

  “What?” Simon was roused from his preoccupied search for Ian.

  “Wait, I got this. Let me guess. Ian Peters, right?” Olivia teased, but smiled at him and lightly nudged him in his side with her elbow.

  Simon decided to sidestep Olivia’s teasing, as he didn’t feel up to another round of being reminded of what a dismal failure his love life was. Simon was also reminded of Zuko’s absence lately, and he creased his brow.

  “He did mention a couple of weeks ago that he would definitely be coming, right? That was your impression as well? I saw him at the rally but he didn’t come and speak to me after.”

  “Yep, that’s what I thought as well. Hmmm. Hey, that cutey Jeremy from Rainbow is coming over! Simon, you have to meet him!”

  Simon rolled his eyes, but found himself following Olivia’s gaze. Jeremy, a member of Rainbow, the university’s LGBT society, strolled over. Tall, slim, and blonde, Jeremy’s bright, gleaming green eyes glanced over confidently, and he winked at Simon just as he leaned in to hug Olivia. Simon blushed and looked the other way.

  “Sweetheart, how have you been? Aren’t you just a picture of gorgeousness?” Olivia gushed. Simon felt a ridiculous twinge of jealousy. He didn’t react well when Olivia was so chummy with other gay guys. He appreciated the special bond that often exists between girls and their gay guy friends, and he found himself at times jealously guarding his territory. Even so, Jeremy was definitely cute. Even Simon had to admit that.

  “And so, Mr. Clarke Kent, how have you been?” Jeremy all but batted his eyelashes at Simon, and Simon involuntarily blushed at the attention. Was Jeremy really flirting with him, or was he just imagining things?

  “Um, I’ve been fine thank you, how about yourself?” Wow, Simon, what riveting repartee you’re creating here. Simon mentally smacked his head.

  “Oh, you know, Lois Lane is patiently awaiting the arrival of her Superman, ready to be whisked off her feet and to be flown into the sunlight.”

  Simon did a little bit of a double take, but found himself reluctantly admiring Jeremy’s candor and comfort with approaching a guy. Even he knew that Jeremy was flirting with him, and he was attracted to Jeremy...sort of.

  “Well, uh, that’s nice.” It took everything Simon had not to punch himself in the gut. Jeremy raised his eyebrows, and he curled his lips in... what, sympathy? Simon felt himself lowering his eyes involuntarily. Even he was amazed at his poor romantic socializing skills. Don Juan he certainly was not! Jeremy turned to Olivia, who herself was shaking her head subtly, but there was just enough motion that Simon could gather that she was feeling sorry for him.

  “Liv dear, mind doing me the honor of being my dancing queen?”

  “Why Jeremy darling, I would be ever so humbled. Oh, by George, the thrills!” Jeremy threw back his head in laughter, hooked his arm into Olivia’s, and the two skipped happily to the dance floor. Simon’s flurry of envy grew stronger, and he wondered to himself what kept him back from flirting so openly and comfortably as other people seemed to be able to do.

  Simon shook his head vigorously from side to side, raised his shoulders in a shrug, and resolved not to let a failed flirting interaction get to him. He scanned the room, hoping that Ian had finally shown up during his dismal attempt at doing the mating dance, but instead, his eye caught a tall, slim figure, his back turned to him. Simon instantly recognized the rainbow-themed blazer, the afro and the deep burgundy skinny jeans. He walked over eagerly and tapped Zuko on the shoulder.

  “Zee, how have you been? It’s been too long!”

  Zuko whirled around enthusiastically at the sound of Simon’s voice, and quickly enfolded Simon in a tight hug.

  “Hey Simon, it’s good to see you, too!”

  Zuko held on to Simon even tighter, and resisted Simon’s reflex to break the hug. Something was wrong.

  “Zuko, hey, hold on, are you okay? You seemed to rush off after the rally. Come on, talk to me.”

  Zuko finally let go of Simon, his brow folded in a crease, and his eyes wide with distress. Simon couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but something seemed different about the skin tone of his left eye.

  “Hey, hold on Zuko, come a bit closer...hey, what is that?! Zuko, what happened to your eye?”

  Zuko turned away from Simon. While Simon was not always the most adept at flirting, he had always prided himself on being a pretty good friend, and with his arm around Zuko’s shoulder, he steered him outside to the balcony, the gentle summer breeze offering some comfort from the stuffy interior.

  “Zuko, please, come on, talk to me. Who did this to you?”

  Zuko, who had always been outspoken, loud and proud - one of the many things that Simon liked about him - quietly bowed his head and said, “Them.”

  “Zuko, you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that. Help me out here.”

  “Simon, this isn’t exactly cool, man.” Zuko’s temperament changed from quiet and withdrawn to suddenly hostile. “You don’t know what it’s like. Living in that res, constantly being made to feel that you’re not good enough, the hammering on your door by your drunken res mates, shouting at you to go sleep on the street. And that’s not even half of it! And this? This is what you can see, this is what is visible! They know to leave most of the bruises out of sight!”

  By now, Zuko’s voice was shaking, his eyes wide with fear and anger, and his arms clenched on Simon’s shoulder, the passion of his speech overwhelming both him and Simon.

  “Zee, I had no idea, I’m so sorry. What, what assholes! Complete d-bags! Have you told anyone about this? Does anyone know?”

  “No, I haven’t mentioned this to anyone.”

  Simon pointed to Zuko’s eye, “Tell me about this assault. What exactly happened?”

  “Same thing that has been happening the last two weeks after I moved into that hellhole. They tried to barge into my room. My coward roommate pretended that he didn’t hear, and finally, fed up, I went to confront them. The minute I opened up the door they wrestled me to the ground, I managed to push them off me, and somewhere in the process I got a black eye. I have some bruises as well.” Zuko removed his rainbow blazer, a symbol in such clear contrast to his grim tale, and he lifted up his shirt to reveal bruises and welts spread across his torso.

  “Zuko, this is totally not okay. We can’t let them get away with this. There must be something we can do. We can call the police. Talk to management. The Weekly will have a field day with this. We can totally bring these guys to justice!”

  Zuko let out a deep, frustrated sigh, and shook his head at Simon, his upper eyelids lowered.

  “No. No. I don’t want you to do anything. It’s okay, I can handle it. Everybody’s jus
t kind of feeling everybody else out, testing their worth, or some such crap. It’ll get better. But I mean it, Simon, please don’t do anything.”

  “You’re just going to let them continue treating you like this? Zuko, this isn’t cool. I’m worried about you.”

  For the first time during their conversation, Zuko smiled in recognition of Simon’s affection for him.

  “They promised they won’t do it again. I know I sound like I’m suffering from Battered Wife Syndrome, but they seemed genuine, man. I just want to move on and get to studying, follow in your and Olivia’s footsteps. Be a writer. You guys are the best.” Zuko mustered up a smile and, despite his great efforts, Simon knew after years of friendship that Zuko was genuinely troubled. The fact that Zuko was trying to cover up his distress was even more worrying. But Simon knew when not to push, lest he lose Zuko’s trust.

  “I’m not happy about this at all. But I’ll take your word for it. Please stay in touch, okay? Don’t disappear again.” Simon gave Zuko an extra gentle hug, now mindful of Zuko’s injured body, and Zuko left to visit the restroom.

  Simon rested his hands on the balcony, a little bit lost in thought. He was worried. And not just about Zuko. Simon was aware that he was a little bit too willing to let Zuko’s dire situation go unattended, precisely because he didn’t want to get too involved. Even though he had learned to accept himself, he wasn’t sure that he was entirely ready to confront other people with the fact that he was gay. He felt a little bit guilty, wondering if he was really being a good friend to Zuko and, feeling downcast, he walked back into the hall.

  His thoughts scattered, and his mind preoccupied with worry about his friend, he walked over to his table. He felt the heat emanating from the room, and took off his blazer. His eye caught the name tags placed next to each other with his and Olivia’s names. He found himself wishing that Olivia’s name was replaced with ‘Ian Peters’. Simon noticed that the volume of the music was lowered, and that the lights of the room were brightened. He turned around, and immediately his gaze was fixed upon Ian, as was everyone else’s. Simon knew that Ian had a panache, a sense of style that was unrivaled on campus, but tonight he outdid himself. Wearing a pinstripe grey suit that settled snugly on his broad shoulders, his hair wavy, light, and softly luminous, Ian took Simon’s breath away. His blazer was unbuttoned, and foregoing the need for a tie, he had unbuttoned a few of the top buttons of his shirt. Simon felt lightheaded as he noticed how closely the navy blue cocktail shirt hugged Ian’s chest. Simon was so distracted by the vision that was Ian, that he barely noticed that Ian was fast approaching him. As Ian neared, a huge grin enveloped his face, and he mischievously winked at Simon, as if the two of them shared a secret. Simon shook his head a few times, in an effort to regain focus and appear in control in front of Ian.

  “Simon, buddy, looking smart my friend!” Ian smacked Simon on the shoulder, and luckily for Simon, he managed to steel himself moments before impact, avoiding making himself look like a fool by falling over his feet like the last time. Ian started, “Listen, uh, about the other night... Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You know, I guess that I thought you just looked, uhh, I don’t know, I guess I had a couple of drinks and was just feeling a little bit overly friendly.” The one corner of Ian’s full lips turned upward, and his hand rested on Simon’s shoulder. This time he gave Simon’s shoulder a soft squeeze, as his eyes became gentler.

  Simon, forever on the ready for a round of rejection, feared that Ian was trying to let him down easy if he got the wrong impression, and he put on his best poker face; his lips became tightly wound, and his eyes projected an unaffectedness that could cool the Swiss Alps. He shrugged off Ian’s hand.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, boss. You were drunk, you needed help cleaning up the office. That’s about as far as my recollection of the evening’s events extends.” Simon raised his eyebrows challengingly, and stared Ian down.

  Ian looked a little bit startled and confused.

  “I see. Well, old chap, I’m sorry to have put you out.” Ian gave an unconvincing grin, and then made his way to the front of the room, where the guests had been impatiently awaiting his address.

  Simon watched him trail away to the stage, unfeeling and determined not to read anything into Ian’s dejected body language.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for attending!” Ian proceeded to thank the various faculty heads, the vice-rector in attendance, and all of his staff.

  “Now, I have a small announcement to make. As richly rewarding, challenging, and exciting as it has been to be the editor of the Ridgemont Weekly, I have unfortunately not been able to dedicate as much time and energy on my studies as I would have liked to as I approach graduation. It is with this concern in mind that I have decided to retire as editor of the Ridgemont Weekly at the end of this term.”

  Simon felt a terrible, sinking feeling in his chest, and his face dropped. Ian was leaving the Weekly? Under Ian’s guidance, the readership for the newspaper had increased, online engagement had tripled, and advertising revenue has skyrocketed. Of course, Simon was well aware that his disappointment in Ian leaving had nothing to do with the future of the Weekly - he would miss Ian desperately.

  Simon steeled himself against the disappointment. What Ian said next piqued his interest.

  “Seeing as I will be leaving the paper in a few weeks, we will be interviewing candidates for the position of editor in the coming weeks. Naturally, a recent record of excellent reporting will count in your favor. Be on the lookout for the job advertisements online and circulated internally in the next few days.”

  Simon’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up in anticipation. Could this be the big break he had been waiting for?

  “Now what’s got you looking like you just spotted the cookie jar, Northbrook?” Margeaux’s voice, sickly sweet, buzzed in his ear.

  “Oh, hey there Margeaux.” Simon expertly assumed a neutral expression, his features relaxed as he tried to appear nonchalant, determined not to let his interest in the editor position show. “Oh you know, I was just thinking of a few promising candidates for the editor position that I think I might make a recommendation for.”

  Margeaux gave him a skeptical look, and she let out a snort. Simon wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  “Is that right, Northbrook? Well, you need look no further. After my brilliant interview with Harry Baleka the other day, it’s as good as in the bag.” Margeaux gave him a wide grin, her obnoxiously white teeth gleaming in the dark, and left Simon stewing.

  Simon walked away from Margeaux, and found himself drifting aimlessly to the balcony again, his thoughts on Ian’s impending departure. He felt conflicted for being given the opportunity to apply for editor, but also acutely aware of the sinking feeling in his stomach at the prospect of not seeing Ian on a daily basis. For what seemed to be the umpteenth time, Simon wanted to slap himself across the face for acting so cavalier and cold with Ian. He wished that he could summon up the courage to gently touch Ian on the shoulder and gauge his reaction, or to send him a knowing grin across the room, or to linger a little bit whenever Ian’s big, warm hands gripped his in a handshake. Simon let out a heavy sigh, his chest sinking and his spirit falling. He gripped the cold railing of the balcony, and tried to distract himself with the sight of Karelberg Mountain, the strategically placed lights illuminating the mountain to cast a beautiful contrast against the dark of the night.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Simon whirled around at the sound of Ian’s voice, and nearly tumbled forward in the process. Ian alone had this startling effect on him, and he never ceased to be amazed at what a commanding influence his now nearly-former editor had on him.

  “Oh, Ian. I didn’t notice you. You creepy creep, creeping up behind me like that.” Simon let out an awkward laugh and cringed. Really, and I call myself a writer?

  “Well now, I guess I have been called worse than a creepy creep, but hey, at leas
t I caught your attention, right?” Ian’s eyelids were slightly lowered.

  Simon noticed Zuko far off in the distance, slow dancing with Jeremy, the boy who had approached Simon earlier, and couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of envy at Zuko’s ease at picking up boys. What did Simon so glaringly lack?

  Simon glanced back at Ian, his heart racing a mile a minute. If Zuko could so effortlessly get closer to a guy he met barely two minutes ago, why could he not summon up the courage to let Ian know, even just subtly, how he felt?

  Just as Simon was pondering his ineptitude in flirting, a flash of red swooped in between the already constricted space between himself and Ian, and, giggling and giddy, The Flash, otherwise known as Margeaux Chamberlain, planted a wet one on Ian’s cheek.

  “There you are, you ole salt-and-pepper greyhound journo! Finally hanging up the monocle and putting the pen out to dry, huh? At least it means you’ll have some free time for me.”

  To Simon’s astonishment, Margeaux proceeded to kiss Ian full on the lips. Shameless, he thought. Margeaux even had the gall to reach behind her and push Simon back, sending a very clear signal for him to back off.

  “Margeaux, wow, hold on there cowgirl! These lips don’t come unscrewed, no matter how hard you suck!” Ian frowned a bit in distaste, to Simon’s absolute delight. Why did he not tell Margeaux off immediately, in no uncertain terms?

  Margeaux, clearly unperturbed, smiled with a faux innocence that annoyed Simon to no end, and pinched Ian on the butt.

  “Ole chief, you know what I want, I know what you want, and you and I both know people like us wrote the rules to this game.” Margeaux placed her hands on Ian’s strong, muscular chest, and looked up at him, her upper eyelids lowered seductively and her mouth primed in a pout.

  To Simon’s dismay, even Ian couldn’t resist Margeaux’s feminine wiles, and he threw back his head, laughing.

  “Well, looks like I might need the assistance of Mr. Johnny Walker to keep up with you, Margeaux. I guess it is a celebration after all.” Ian winked at Simon as he left the balcony, and Simon felt his heart skip a beat and his knees weaken ever so slightly.

  “And so, Simple Simon, what’s your story? Do I have some competition for editor-in-chief of Ridgemont Weekly, or should we just fulfil everybody’s expectations and have me land the position? I’m sure I could squeeze you into entertainment. Maybe book reviews or something.”

  Simon squirmed at being called Simple Simon, a nickname from his childhood, mocking him for being so single-minded about his studies - all work and no play. He had confided his dislike of the nickname to Margeaux months earlier in a moment of weakness, before he knew her well enough, and she seemed to delight in dredging up his past hurt and embarrassment.

  “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, Margeaux. But word to the wise: don’t count your chickens before they hatch. And don’t buy the lingerie before you get the man for that matter, either.”

  Margeaux let out an involuntary gasp, but she smiled as if she enjoyed Simon’s ballsiness. Simon turned around, bolstered by his cheeky comment to Margeaux.

  The battle lines had been drawn. The prize definitely worth fighting for: stepping in to fulfil the duties of editor-in-chief of Ridgemont Weekly, which, under the leadership and vision of Ian, had been voted best student newspaper nationally. Simon reentered the hall, and resolved that he would be editor, no matter what.

  Chapter 6