Page 4 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
“Well, it’s something.” She frowned. “The one closest to you in age was the one who played here, right?”
“Yeah. Lincoln.”
“My daughter had such a crush on him.” She smiled, shaking her head. “Like mother like daughter, I guess. Thankfully, he never found out she existed and she moved on and was spared the Bastón heartache.”
I pressed my lips together in what I hoped was a smile. What was I supposed to say to a woman who thirty-plus years later, clearly wasn’t over the fact that my father dumped her? Especially one I was hoping to get a job from? Silence really was the best answer to most things. I broke after it stretched for a moment too long.
She cleared her throat before she spoke. “Do you take good photographs?”
“I’ve been told I do.”
“Would you be willing to photograph sports and write about other things? Maybe student relations or dating life as a college student? Something we’ve been lacking is a column on things to do outside of campus, though I’m not sure this is the right timing for that after what happened to Lana.” She sighed heavily.
“Did you find anything? I mean, when you were allowed to investigate?” I sat up straighter.
“We got as far as finding out that she was trailing some secret societies, but they won’t talk. Hell, we don’t even know who’s in all of these little secret cults.” She sat back in her chair. It squeaked and bounced back with the force of the movement. “One of the organizations has agreed to let us list them by name every year so that people know who the members are, but the rest are still hiding beneath their red and black cloaks.”
“Oh.”
“Well, it’s settled. I’ll provide you with a camera and paperwork. There’s a sports event happening on Friday night. Some sort of mixer. Your assignment starts then.”
“Thank you so much.” I stood up and shook her hand. “I’ll take the best pictures I can.”
“And please, if you have anything you’d like to write about, shoot me an email and we’ll talk. I don’t want to discourage you from doing something more.” She gave me another sweep. “Maybe you can write about fashion around campus.”
“Um . . . maybe. Yeah.”
I let go of her hand and walked back to the main campus, where the human resources department for the paper was and spent the next hour filling out paperwork and thinking about the kind of secrets people must have in order to be involved in a secret group. Then, I called my brother and filled him in on the last few days of my life.
“Why would she put you in charge of sports? You don’t even like sports.”
Lincoln sounded tired. He always sounded tired, whether it was from the lack of sleep or the meds he was on, I wasn’t sure, but his voice was always drowsy.
“I’m just taking pictures of the sports things.”
“You’re a senior. Shouldn’t you be in charge of that paper?”
“I just got here, remember?”
“So? Tell them who your father is.”
“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes. “I refuse to fall into that bullshit.”
“Which is why you’re going to be taking pictures of sports instead of writing actual content.”
I paused in front of my door, with my key midway to the lock. Under any other circumstance, using my family name might work in my favor. Even in this case, it may have worked in my favor, but who knows. She was letting me get in on the action despite not having applied for a position there. Still, my brother’s tone, as bored and matter-of-fact as he sounded, bothered me.
“I did tell her who my father is, but guess who she dated in college? Dad. And guess who screwed her over? Dad,” I said, pushing the key into the lock and turning it. “She was dating Dad when he met Mom.”
“So she’s punishing you for Dad’s actions.” Lincoln snorted. “Just when I think I can’t hate him any more than I already do.”
“Lincoln.” My eyes widened. That was the only thing he actually did talk about these days—his hatred toward our father. “You’re living under his roof again.”
“Not by choice. Besides, he’s never home anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Stop saying things like that.”
“Whatever, Mae. He’s an asshole and that lady tried to put you in charge of fashion,” he said. “So, fuck her too.”
“Well, I’m not going to argue that sentiment.” I bit back a laugh, because it was the most Lincoln-thing he’d said since the accident. He responded with a laugh of his own, which made me smile wider.
“What do you think dad will say now that you got another job with another paper after he specifically told you to forget about that dream?”
“I don’t know.” I set my bags down on the counter and cradled the phone on my shoulder as I undid the straps of my wedges. “He’s the one paying for school and you know he wants all of us to work in one of his businesses, so he’ll probably scream at me, but what’s he going to do? March over here and make me quit the school newspaper?”
