He stared at her, his mouth hanging open the slightest bit before he seemed to remember where he was. “Follow me, Ms. Hart.” He led her down the bland white hallway to the last fake wood door on the left, which he opened.

His office was a small corner space, with a window that looked directly at the monorail’s elevated cement track. The walls were completely bare.

Tully sat on the black fold-up chair positioned in front of his desk. Mr. Rorbach took his seat and stared at her. “One hundred and twelve letters, Ms. Hart.” He patted the thick manila file folder on his desk.

He’d saved all the letters she’d sent. That must mean something. She pulled her newest résumé out of the briefcase and set it on his desk. “As I’m sure you’ll notice, the high school paper has repeatedly put my work on its front page. Additionally I’ve included an in-depth piece on the Guatemalan earthquake, an update on Karen Ann Quinlan, and a heart-wrenching look at Freddie Prinze’s last days. They’ll surely showcase my ability.”

“You’re seventeen years old.”

“Yes.”

“Next month you’ll start your senior year of high school.”

All those letters had worked. He knew everything about her. “Exactly. I think that’s an interesting story angle, by the way. Going in to senior year; watching the class of ‘78. Maybe we could do monthly features about what really goes on behind the doors of a local high school. I’m sure your viewers—”

“Ms. Hart.” He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on the tips, looking at her. She got the impression he was trying not to smile.

“Yes, Mr. Rorbach?”

“This is the ABC affiliate, for gosh sakes. We don’t hire high school kids.”

“But you have interns.”

“From UW and other colleges. Our interns know their way around a TV station. Most of them have already worked on their campus broadcasts. I’m sorry, but you’re just not ready.”

“Oh.”

They stared at each other.

“I’ve been at this job a long time, Ms. Hart, and I’ve rarely seen anyone as full of ambition as you.” He patted the folder of her letters again. “I’ll tell you what, you keep sending me your writing. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“So when I’m ready to be a reporter, you’ll hire me?”

He laughed. “You just send me the articles. And get good grades and go to college, okay? Then we’ll see.”

Tully felt energized again. “I’ll send you an update once a month. You’ll hire me someday, Mr. Rorbach. You’ll see.”

“I wouldn’t bet against you, Ms. Hart.”

They talked for a few more moments, and then Mr. Rorbach showed her out of his office. On the way to the stairs, he stopped at the trophy case, where dozens of Emmys and other news awards glinted golden in the light.

“I’ll win an Emmy someday,” she said, touching the glass with her fingertips. She refused to let herself be wounded by this setback, and that was all it was: a setback.