Ben

“Yeah, I’ll copy the flyer for you.” I shoot Liam, one of the junior photographers, a smile and accept the single, neon advertisement for his band’s underground show.

“Thanks, man.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Printer credits are a bitch.”

“Don’t I know it.” I smile one last time and twist away from him toward the copy room. I don’t know anything about printer credits. My school didn’t have them, and as an adult here, I don’t even have access to those credits. But Liam’s a nice guy. He doesn’t need to know that.

As I walk, I check my phone. Still nothing from Marcie. I doubt there’s...