She’d done everything UW had to offer, taken every broadcast and print journalism class that mattered, and learned what she could from a year’s worth of interning at the public affairs station. It was time now to jump into the dog-eat-dog world of TV news. She wanted to surge into the crowd of reporters and elbow her way to the front.

“You’re not ready,” Chad said, sighing. It was the third time he’d said it in as many minutes.

“You’re wrong,” she said, leaning toward the mirror above his dresser, applying one more coat of mascara. In the glam early eighties, you couldn’t wear too much makeup or have too big a hairdo. “You’ve made me ready and we both know it. You got me to change my hair to this boring Jane Pauley bob. Every suit I own is black and my shoes look like a suburban housewife’s.” She put the mascara brush back in the holder and slowly turned around, studying the Lee press-on nails she’d applied this morning. “What more do I need?”

He sat up in bed. From this distance he looked either saddened by their discussion or tired; she wasn’t sure which. “You know the answer to that question,” he said softly.

She dug through her purse for another color of lipstick. “I’m sick of college. I need to get into the real world.”

“You’re not ready, Tully. A reporter needs to exhibit a perfect mix of objectivity and compassion. You’re too objective, too cold.”

This was the one criticism that bugged her. She’d spent years not feeling things. Now she was suddenly supposed to be both compassionate and objective at the same time. Empathetic but professional. She couldn’t quite pull it off and she and Chad both knew it. “I’m not talking about the networks yet. It’s just one interview for a part-time job until graduation.” She walked over to the bed. In her black suit and white blouse, she was the picture of conservative chic. She’d even tamed the sexiness of her shoulder-length hair by pulling it back into a banana clip. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she pushed a long lock of hair away from his eyes. “You’re just not ready for me to go out into the world.”

He sighed, touched her jawline with his knuckle. “It’s true I prefer you in my bed to out of it.”

“Admit it: I’m ready.” She’d intended to sound sexy and grown-up, but the vulnerable tremble in her voice betrayed her. She needed his approval like she needed air or sunlight. She’d go without it, of course, but less confidently, and today she needed every scrap of confidence she could find.

“Ah, Tully,” he said finally. “You were born ready.”