Off the Record Camryn Garrett (best book club books txt) 📖

Alice and Monique cheer, wrapping me in a hug from both sides. I barely register it. I should be happy. Two weeks ago, I would’ve been ecstatic. But things aren’t as simple as I thought they would be.

“Stop thinking,” Alice demands, pulling away. “So what, you made a mistake with Marius? Everyone makes mistakes. You can’t beat yourself up over it. Come on. You’re watching Living Single with us.”

She doesn’t even like the show—at least, she always makes us turn it off when we’re at home. I’m too tired to call her out. I want to believe what she said—that everyone makes mistakes and I should get over myself. But this feels like more than a mistake.

You can only control your own actions.

I need to tell Penny I’m not the right person to write the article. I feel like someone else should be responsible. Someone who wouldn’t have said something so horrible to Marius. I should probably call her; this is the sort of thing you talk about on the phone. But I won’t be able to handle it.

While we’re sitting on the couch, Living Single playing in the background, I pull out my phone.

Penny, I text, I have to talk to you about something really important.

I wait a minute or two. She doesn’t answer. There aren’t even the three dots at the bottom of the screen, showing that she’s typing. I’m not sure if that makes this easier or harder.

I don’t know if I’m meant to do this.

She doesn’t answer that text, either.

I lean back against the couch, trying to immerse myself in the show, in Alice and Monique’s conversation. Instead, I zone out. I start to think about Marius, the way he laid himself out in front of me, like I could move him however I wanted, eyes soft with trust, laughing when I poked his side.

I ruined that. And I can’t stop thinking about the way Savannah teared up when we spoke to her, the painful silences when I spoke to Tallulah. Marius has been dealing with this by himself, and I didn’t help him. I guess I couldn’t have known, but still. I wish I could change the entire thing.

But I can’t change the entire thing—not by myself. The most powerful thing I can do is finish this story. No matter what anyone else says, I feel like this is my problem now. Maybe it always has been. I can’t just give up, even if there are big consequences. I owe it to all of them. I owe it to myself.

I push myself off the couch and walk back to my laptop.

“Josie?” Monique calls.

I open up the document with all of the stories, all of the words entrusted to me, and begin to write. Behind me, I hear Alice’s quiet voice explaining things, hear Monique exclaim loudly with surprise, but I ignore it. I write and write and don’t stop until there’s a story I’m proud of. Finally, after what feels like hours, I attach the story to an email and send it to Penny.

It’s finished. And now it’s out of my hands.

@JosieTheJournalist: i’m sorry I keep forgetting to tweet. things are crazy rn

Alice and I head back to the hotel to finish packing our stuff and check out. By the time we’re ready to leave for the airport, to sit around and wait for our flight later tonight, I check my phone and see I have a barrage of texts from Penny.

the story is AMAZING

remember how I said I’ve been trying to figure out who to send it to? I think I have an idea

okay so I sent the story to an editor at the Times that I know! Fingers crossed

I’m guessing you’re asleep

okay you aren’t answering bUT JOSIE, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY: KIM (the editor) SAID SHE THINKS THE STORY IS GREAT AND WANTS TO HAVE A CALL WITH US TODAY. HELLO?????

I hate talking on the phone, but nothing is more terrifying than getting on a conference call with an editor from the Times. Like, I can’t actually picture anything any more terrifying than what I’m doing right now, especially since I’m standing in the hotel lobby.

“I just wanted to let you two know that this is such an important story,” the editor says. She introduced herself when she called, but I don’t remember her name. I’m barely figuring out what’s going on. “I’m so impressed by what you already have.”

“It’s really all Josie,” Penny says from the other line. “She’s super talented.”

I know now is the time for me to say something. My throat is dry.

“Thanks,” I say. And then there’s a long pause.

“Anyway,” the editor continues, “we’d really like to take a crack at publishing it. But that means we’ll need you to come down to the office to work out the details.”

Details? Like what? I try to swallow, but my throat is still dry.

“Details? Like what?” asks Penny, who still has her voice. “Do we need a lawyer?”

Alice pulls her suitcase over to a sofa and sits with a dramatic flourish. I stick my tongue out at her. She winks at me.

“If you’d like,” the editor says. “But we have our own. I’d like to review any notes and recordings that you have from reporting the story. We’d also like our lawyer to review the story and advise us on any further steps we should take to fact-check.”

I picture Penny sitting next to me, giving me a meaningful glance. I force my eyes closed and take a deep breath. I’ve been keeping everything in order because I figured something like this would happen—also because I know journalists need to be able to back up everything they write. But something about turning it all over to this editor, to the Times, makes it scarier. It makes it realer.

“So should we say three?” the editor is saying. “We’ll be done with lunch by then.”

“Sure,” Penny says. “That works for us. Right, Josie?”

I