I give him a blank stare, until he can put two and two together and realize what a ridiculous statement that is for the sister of Jamal Beaumont.

“My piece is gone. I met the deadline.” I touch the paper and lift it up. I don’t know how to say what I really want to ask. Was it intentional to place Angela’s story instead of mine as a way to shame me and my brother? It aches that anyone could think Jamal killed Angela. That they might have decided on the placement of the article because it would show what side they’re on.

“The editorial board decided to go with a different feature.”

I look closer at the article.

Tragic Loss of One of Our Own: Saying Goodbye to Angela

By Natalie Haynes

One of their own.

As strange as this might sound, I think Angela was probably the closest to understanding me. I should be allowed to mourn for her, too.

This was the one place that kept me surviving in school. A place I could use my voice. Maybe one that everyone didn’t agree with, but I had a space for it, and Angela always advocated for me. She had my back.

“The last paper of the year is designed by the new editor,” Mr. Kaine says. “There’s been a shift.”

I shake my head. New editor? The vote is supposed to be this coming Wednesday.

“When was the vote?”

“Friday.” Mr. Kaine looks down, avoiding my gaze. He could have stopped it if he thought things were unfair, but he didn’t.

“You allowed this? What about my vote?” This is unbelievable. I thought next year would be different. I could play a more prominent role. Now that hope is gone.

“If there had been a tie, I would have let you vote.”

“What was the vote?”

He doesn’t answer.

“What was the vote?” My heart beats fast.

“Unanimous. I’m sorry. You’ll have to pitch ‘Tracy’s Corner’ to Natalie and the executive board next year.”

In one breath, he confirms that Natalie will be editor and I didn’t even get enough votes to be on the executive board, after three years of putting in the work.

“We should go.” Mr. Kaine says. “I’m speaking about Angela.”

“I just need a moment.”

Mr. Kaine looks like he’s about to ask me to leave, but instead he closes the door behind him. I’m conflicted with thoughts. Loss is all I can form. Loss of Jamal. Loss of Angela. Loss of my dream to become editor. Each has a different impact, but they each mean so much to me.

My head is spinning. I loved my corner. The newsroom. And it’s gone. I take a seat, head down, crying.