Tom stared up at the pitch-black ceiling of studio number one with its jumble of lights, catwalks, and wires but saw nothing. His body had made it to work, but his mind was still across campus--in room 28, Dickenson Hall. Elizabeth's room. He'd been sitting in the deserted studio, staring into the darkness for fifteen minutes, trying to picture Elizabeth's face. It was the weirdest thing; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't do it.
It wasn't that he'd forgotten what she looked like. It was just that he couldn't bring her image to mind the way he once could. He fed himself the facts: blond hair, aqua eyes, heart-shaped face, adorable dimple, but none of it was coming together. Again he blamed the virtual-reality dreams. They had him spooked.
I do
know Elizabeth! he assured himself.
I know her better than . . . no, apparently I don't. He sighed loudly. Things were changing between them, and he didn't know what to do. Not only was Elizabeth not the perfect princess of his CyberDream, but she was no longer the perfect girl he'd met at that Sigma party at the beginning of the year. Practically overnight she'd become self-centered and short-tempered. Worst of all, she never had time for him anymore.
He thought back to that party. The moment he had walked into Sigma house and had seen her across the room, he'd known she was the only woman he'd ever love. She was beautiful, but that was a given. There'd been something else, some indescribable quality about her, that made him feel they were soul mates from their very first hello. They were so alike. Sure enough, he soon found out she hated frat parties as much as he did. They were both attending the Sigma party only to humor friends. They both wanted to be investigative reporters and cared about correcting social injustices. And they were both looking for an honest, caring relationship.
They hadn't immediately fallen into each other's arms--as much as Tom would have liked to. It took them what felt like ages to get to know each other, trust each other, and love each other. But as far as Tom was concerned, the delay was for Elizabeth's benefit. He knew from the start that she was the one.
"Earth to Tom."
Startled, Tom looked down to see freckle-faced Julie Fiore, the most recent addition to the WSW staff, waving a chubby arm in front of his face. "What?"
"Did you hear a word I just said?" she asked.
"No." He shook his head apologetically. "I'm afraid I didn't. Not until the 'Earth to Tom' part."
"Do I have enough of your attention to try again?" She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, but her giggle gave away her true feelings.
He couldn't help but smile back. Julie was one of the most cheerful people he'd ever met. She seemed to spread sunshine inside the TV studio. Maybe that was why Professor Sedder had sent her over. WSVU had certainly not been the happiest of workplaces lately.
Thanks mainly to the gloomy mood of its manager--me, Tom thought guiltily.
Julie didn't get the job because of her skills, that was for sure. Although she seemed to be catching on fast, she knew absolutely nothing about working in television journalism when she first started at WSVU. But maybe Tom wasn't being fair. Like everything else he did, even his judgment at work was being affected by thoughts of Elizabeth. Maybe he judged Julie too harshly simply because he still missed Elizabeth's presence at the station. Ever since she'd gone over to the
Sweet Valley Gazette and begun working her way up through the ranks of the campus newspaper, Tom had felt shorthanded around the TV station. No one had been able to live up to Elizabeth's legacy of efficiency and dedication.
"Tom?" Julie nudged gently against his arm. "I asked if you wanted to use the library-archives story for the afternoon news broadcast."
Tom crashed back to earth. "No," he growled.
"But it should be a good story. They're finding all kinds of historical items in those rooms below the library's basement. There are all these tunnels--"
"I know," he interrupted, hoping to tone down his earlier gruffness. "We'll do the story eventually, but I want to hold off on it for now. I, uh, still have a few more facts to check."
"OK" She checked her clipboard. "Oh, and Professor Sedder called. He said to let you know that your requisition for the new computer that'll link us to the weather station has been approved."
"What?" Tom blinked. "I'm sorry. Who did you say?"
"Who else approves requisitions? Professor Sedder, the faculty adviser."
"And what did he approve?"
"OK" Julie placed her hands on her ample hips. "Give it up. Talk to Julie. What's got you so frazzled? It can't be work because you haven't been here enough over the past three days to let that affect you. I should know; I'm the flunky who's had to take all your messages. Where have you been anyway?"
"Busy," he muttered. He was too ashamed to admit he'd been hanging around that CyberDreams tent, wasting his time living fantasies that had no hope of ever becoming real. Not that he really wanted them to . . . not after the way they ended.
"And I know you don't have classes on your mind because you have two messages here from your roommate, Danny Wyatt, wanting to know why you cut econ and advanced communications."
Tom winced. He had been neglecting everything lately.
"That leaves only one thing," Julie continued. "Problems with your love life."
Tom felt himself blushing, but Julie continued without the least hint of embarrassment.
"It's OK. You can tell Julie. They don't call me Dr. Heartache for nothing. All my friends come to me with their problems. As many times as I've been dumped on, I practically have a degree in makeups and breakups. I could probably write a dating-advice column for the
Gazette."
Tom wasn't interested in losing any more employees to the school newspaper--not even in joking about it. "Don't be talking about the
Gazette, traitor. Try to remember, you're in TV journalism now."
"Hey, that's right! I could have my own talk show here at WSVU. No nuts or sluts, though--strictly love problems and solutions. I love it! Want me to audition?" She set down her clipboard and stuck her pencil behind her ear. "We could start with fifteen minutes right between the news and the weekly calendar. At least until my popularity soars and the switchboard gets overloaded with calls for me. Then you'll be forced to give me a bigger spot. Maybe the hour allotted for the nightly campus news, whaddaya say?"
Tom grinned sheepishly. "Are you ever serious?"
She swiped her hand across her face and pretended to wipe her smile into an exaggerated frown. "OK, this is my serious business face. No more kidding around," she said in an unnaturally deep voice. "Why don't you tell Dr. Heartache what's really bugging you?"
"Well, Dr. Heartbreak--"
"--ache! "
"I
am aching! And I'm tired of being ignored. How can I get my girlfriend to pay more attention to me?"
Julie scurried over to the news anchor's desk and plopped into the chair. She folded her pudgy arms in front of her, stared into the nearest camera, and cleared her throat noisily. "Good morning, my lovesick viewers. Today's answer is for 'Ignored and Distracted.' The solution to your problem is simple. If you want your girlfriend to pay more attention to you, then you obviously need to pay more attention to her. Show her you still love
her. Maybe she's forgotten what it was like in the beginning of your relationship when your love was fresh and exciting."
Grinning despite his misery, Tom walked over to the news desk. He rested his elbows opposite Julie, leaned close, and whispered confidentially, "But Dr. Heartache, that's easier said than done. How can I show her I still love her as much as I did the first time I saw her . . . maybe even more, if that's possible?"
"Say it with flowers."
Tom wrinkled his nose and backed away. "Just flowers? Isn't that a bit clichéd?"
"Hey, you get what you pay for, buddy. Free advice is free advice." Julie winked and laughed. "But seriously, try the flowers. It's a classic, not a cliché."
Tom looked at her skeptically.
"Trust me. If we're talking about that cute little blonde whose picture is so prominently displayed on the desk in your office, I'd say she's a classics kind of girl."
"Maybe you're right."
"Of course I am. Dr. Heartache knows whereof she speaks. ...
