The big guy grunted. “She the one with the letters?”

“That’s her.” Mr. Ryan smiled at Tully. “He’s Mutt. Our cameraman.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mutt.”

That made them both laugh and the sound of their laughter only cemented her anxiety that she was too young for this.

He led her into a corner office and pointed to a metal chair in front of a wooden desk. “Have a seat,” he said, closing the door behind him.

He took a seat behind the desk and looked at her.

She sat up straight, trying to look older. “So, you’re the one who has been clogging my mail with tapes and résumés. I’m sure, with all your ambition, you’ve researched us. We’re the Seattle team for KCPO in Tacoma. We don’t have an internship program here.”

“That what your letters said.”

“I know. I wrote them.” Leaning back in his chair, he wishboned his arms behind his head.

“Did you read my articles and watch my tapes?”

“Actually, that’s why you’re here. When I realized you weren’t going to stop sending me audition tapes, I figured I might as well watch one.”

“And?”

“And you’ll be good one day. You’ve got that thing.”

One day? Will be?

“But you’re a long way from ready.”

“That’s why I want this internship.”

“The nonexistent one, you mean.”

“I’ll work twenty to thirty hours a week for free, and I don’t care if I get college credit or not. I’ll write copy, fact-check, do research. Anything. How can you go wrong?”

“Anything?” He was looking at her intently now. “Will you make coffee and vacuum and clean the bathroom?”

“Who does all that now?”

“Mutt and me. And Carol, when she’s not following a story.”

“Then absolutely I will.”

“So you’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I will.”

He sat back, studying her closely. “You understand you’d be a grunt, and an unpaid one at that.”

“I understand. I could work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

Finally he said, “Okay, Tallulah Hart.” He stood up. “Show me what you can do.”

“I will.” She smiled. “And it’s Tully.”

He walked her back through the office. “Hey, Mutt, this is our new intern, Tully Hart.”

“Cool,” Mutt said, not looking up from the camera equipment in his lap.

At the door, Mr. Ryan paused and looked at her. “I hope you intend to take this job seriously, Ms. Hart. Or this is an experiment that will have a shorter shelf life than milk.”

“You can count on me, Mr. Ryan.”

“Call me Johnny. I’ll see you Friday. Say eight A.M.?”

“I’ll be here.”

She played and replayed the encounter over and over in her head as she walked briskly down the street to the bus stop and caught a ride.