The Fixer: New Wave Newsroom Read Online Free Page B

“But first let’s get some ice for that.”
    I took off toward the dining hall, and to my surprise, he followed without protest. “Won’t the cafeteria be closed?”
    I shrugged, eyeballing the rickety gate secured with a padlock that looked like it had already given up the battle. I pulled a metal nail file out of my purse, and it only took a few seconds of jiggling for the lock to yield.
    He whistled. “Damn. I never would have pegged you as a criminal. Do they teach breaking and entering at finishing school these days?”
    â€œI didn’t go to finishing school,” I said, not even bothering to turn my head toward him so he could see my eyes rolling. “I’m going to be an investigative reporter.”
    â€œOf course you are.”
    â€œWell, if I’m not, then I’m really going to regret all these late nights in the newspaper office that require me to walk home across campus at two a.m. straight into the sights of dudes who are a hundred IQ points dumber than I am but who are also, maddeningly, about a hundred pounds heavier.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. Was he…smiling? Not really, just the slightest hint of a smirk was tugging the corners of his mouth, maybe, and it disappeared the moment I registered it. But still. “Sometimes a crime in support of the greater good is justifiable,” I said.
    After filling a bowl with ice from the soda fountain, it occurred to me that since we were in a cafeteria, I should probably nab some food for my cranky, always-hungry knight. Besides, my late night at the newspaper office had made me peckish, too. “Come on,” I said, leading the way into the kitchen hidden behind the buffet where we always lined up with our trays. “I’m starving.”
    I started opening cupboards, looking for something portable. “How about sandwiches?” I said, pulling out an extra-long loaf of Wonder Bread and moving to a wall of refrigerators. “We just need to find something to put in them—aha!” I held up a laughably large package of turkey cold cuts. “Oh, and industrial cheese, too!”
    He had opened the next fridge but popped his head out from behind its door, doing the almost-smiling thing again. “Would madame desire some mustard?”
    I burst out laughing at the enormous jug he held out. It must have been a gallon at least. “I’m more of a mayo girl,” I said when I recovered myself. But then he silently produced an even bigger container of Hellmann’s, and I totally cracked up again.
    â€œShhh,” he said. “I admit, I didn’t peg you as a criminal, but if you are one, I’m going to bet you’re not a stupid one, so shut the hell up.”
    I clamped my mouth shut, hefted my groceries in one arm, balanced the bowl of ice in the other, and gestured with my head for him to follow me. I about lost it again when he did so carrying both supersize condiments with an unnaturally straight face. How he managed them with the backpack and oversize portfolio he also had, I don’t know.
    Somehow, we managed to make it from the crime scene to my second-floor room undetected. I dumped the food on my desk. “You want to just dunk your hand in this bowl?”
    â€œNah, I’m okay.”
    â€œYou are not okay. Did you hear the sound when your fist connected with his face?” I started rummaging around in my half of the closet for something to use for a makeshift ice pack, settling on an old T-shirt that had seen better days. I spread it flat on my desk, dumped the ice on it, and tied up the opening at the bottom to fashion an ice pack. “You saved my ass out there, so humor me.”
    He rolled his eyes, but he took the homemade pack and wrapped it around his hand as he lowered himself onto my bed, sitting across it perpendicularly with his back against the wall it was shoved against. “Things did seem like they were about to