Senior year. The home stretch. It seemed like it had been a long time in coming. But life was like a circle. It was round; it had no end. Just when you think you've come to the end of one chapter of your life, another begins.
And so it had been for her. Lathal Harvey had really blossomed and come into her own during the past four years at North Central Texas University.
If her friends, teachers or anyone who had known her in the past saw her now -- they'd be surprised. That is, if they even recognized her. She'd changed that much. She was that different. Not changed in a bad way, not different in a bad way -- she had just blossomed into a beautiful, strong, independent, caring rose. She'd thrown her loving arms around the world. Often the love she freely gave was returned for she had family, friends and a boyfriend who loved her.

Her eyes twinkled as she admired a framed picture she had of her boyfriend sitting near her computer monitor. The picture had been taken for the campus yearbook. Dressed in his blue jeans and a green shirt, he'd posed in a casual "The Thinker" pose on a bench in Rose Grove. His warm smile and mischievous twinkling brown eyes greeted her.
Women swooned, wishing they could have her boyfriend, Malan Hamel. His gentlemanly charisma made him irresistible. He was sensitive, yet masculine. He was intelligent, tender, gentle passionate, handsome man and a talented actor.

Like her, Malan was a senior at North Central Texas University and he was one of the most beloved students on campus. He was the star actor at The Round, North Central Texas University's theater. That made him popular, but he never let his fame or popularity go to his head. He had quite a fan following, many of them women, much to her dismay.

Yes, women would just kill to have Malan for a boyfriend. But she had him. She didn't worry too much about losing him. Malan wasn't interested in any other girls. He only had eyes for her. He had given his heart to her and vice versa.

Those who had known her hadn't expected her to take the world by storm. But she had. She was a successful journalist. Even though she was still a student, she'd been offered jobs by several local newspapers and TV and radio stations as well as media outlets across the country. She'd won several awards from the university and had served as editor of The Review the fall semester of her junior year. Now she was editor of The Review again with her friend and colleague Kurt Blackenridge.

She and Kurt had been friends and taken several journalism classes during the past four years. She still remembered the first time they'd meet. She'd come to apply for a position at The Review. She'd been so nervous. A freshman, new to the campus, she was still making the transition from high school to college life and learning her way around campus. But there was something she definitely wanted to do -- work as a reporter for The Review.

She cautiously walked through The Review's glass doors as if she feared she'd be seduced by the Dark Side of the Force on the other side. Kurt glanced up from the application he was filing out on his clipboard.

A meek and mild expression was deeply etched into her face. Her bluish green eyes darted furtively around the room to ensure it was safe. So she wasn't Lois Lane, but maybe she was Clark Kent.

She smoothed her hands across her navy blue skirt, checking to make sure her white blouse was neatly tucked inside. Her hand bumped a red folder underneath her arm. She looked so lost.

"Can I help you?" Kurt said, wanting to help and be polite.

"Is this The Review office?" She aaskedd, her soft voice quivered revealing her anxiety and nervousness.

"Yes," he confirmed gesturing toward the receptionist across from them. "Check in at the desk and the receptionist will give you an application.

"Thanks," she said appreciative someone had showed her a helpful, friendly attitude. After getting an application from the receptionist, she took a seat to his right.

Flipping through his clips he kept neatly arranged inside a book similar to a photo album, Kurt said casually. "So what position are you applying for?"
He had a lot more clips than her. She'd worked at her high school paper during her freshman year, but she'd been horrible then. The Department of Defense high school in Grafenwoehr, Germany, she'd graduated from had been without a paper for two years. The paper, the Graf Griffin, had been discontinued because the school's typing teacher, who had been the adviser, decided not enough students knew how to type. That and she was more involved with her other clubs. A new teacher came to the school her senior year and reestablished the Graf Griffin. She'd worked there while she was the high school correspondent for the military paper, The Call, through cooperative work experience.

She didn't have enough experience for this. Maybe Dean Emerson had made a mistake in recommending she apply to work for the campus paper.

An awkward smile spread across Kurt's lips. "Let's start with an easier question. What's your name?"

"Lathal Harvey," she said quietly.

He extended his hand toward her. "Pleased to meet you, Lathal Harvey, I'm Kurt Blackenridge."

Her first friend, she smiled. She didn't have many friends yet. Except for Tanya, her dorm roommate. Tanya Smith had been in her friend at Sheridan High School in LA before her father, who served in the U.S. Army nursing corps, had been assigned overseas. She'd lost track of Tanya during the 3 1/2 years she'd lived in Germany. It had been purely coincendence that her path had crossed with her high school friend, much less be sharing a dorm room with her.

Kurt ran his fingers through his short, spiked, wavy, blond hair. He could have easily passed for Zack on "Saved By the Bell."

He tightened his red tie and then pulled his black blazer tightly around his broad shoulders. There wasn't anything nervous in his gestures. He exuded complete confidence.

He regarded her. "I haven't seen you around before. Where are you from?"

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. Journalists ... always asking 20 questions. "Well, I'm definitely not from Mars, if that's what you're thinking," she teased.

His emerald green eyes admired her slim figure. He had a girlfriend, who he'd been dating since his junior year of high school, but this girl was hot. And she seemed unaware of her beauty.

He grinned, "I thought men were from Mars and women were from Venus."

She laughed, "I think I like you, Kurt Blackenridge."
I think I like you too, he thought, but said nothing. She continued, "I came here from Germany."

"You're a foreign exchange student?" He asked in disbelief. She didn't have any difficulty speaking English or an accent. She didn't look German. He heard the German women stunk because they didn't shower everyday. He'd also heard German women looked like gorillas because they didn't shave under their arms or their legs. She smelled nice and looked very clean cut, wholesome and pure.

She shook her head, "No, my father was in the Army. He was stationed in Germany and then we moved back to Wisconsin when he retired. So you could say I'm really a Northern girl."
"... the Northern girls with the way they kiss keep their boyfriends warm at night," sang David Lee Roth in a remake of the Beach Boy's "California Girls." He wondered if she'd give him her number.

Hey, Kurt, do you remember Rachelle your girlfriend? He shook the temptation off. "I bet you have some stories to tell."

"Yes," she said simply.

She was trying to end the conversation, but he wanted to get to know her. "What are you doing in Texas?"

"I suppose a world traveler landing in the Lone Star state is quite curious," she mused, adding teasingly. "And a conversation piece. I could have gone to college in Wisconsin but I wanted to get away from my parents. Be on my own. Know what I mean?"

He nodded. He had come to Texas from the Midwest for the same reason -- to escape his parents and the small town rural life he'd come to hate.

A tall, scrawny young man with jet black hair, wearing an Iron Maiden T-shirt and jeans stepped into the doorway. His grayish eyes consulted his clipboard and then regarded them. "Kurt Blackenridge?"
His lips pressed into a determined line. "Guess I'm the next contestant on 'The Price's Right.'"

Her lips wrenched into a wry knot in the left corner of her mouth. "Good luck, Kurt."
"Good luck, Lathal," he waved as he disappeared into The Review's office.

She hadn't landed a reporter position at The Review at first. She spent the first few months as a correspondent before being bumped to reporter after another girl quit. She'd heard rumors that the then Review editor Patterson Dane had some problems with women -- sexual harassment, sort of thing, supposedly, and that's why the girl left.

She worried about being a victim of sexual harassment under Patterson's stead. The sexual harassment hadn't been a problem. Patterson just hated her -- but she suspected he hated all women.

Basically, Patterson Dane was a jerk! Thank God he was gone -- long gone.

Still, Patterson Dane would be absolutely floored by her success. He hadn't believed in or encouraged her at all. But that was no surprise. Patterson Dane only thought of himself.

Dane had worked writing editorials for The Big Horn, Hallow Oaks paper, for a while, and then faded into obscurity. No one had any idea where he was or what he was doing.

She didn't care about Patterson Dane. He could kiss her white fanny. She knew she was one of the best, and that was all that matter.

They say it it's the shy and quiet ones. She smiled, stretching at her desk.

Kurt set down the red pen he'd been using to edit copy. She faced him from the opposite side of the desk. He said quietly, "So, Lathal, have you given the Associated Press internship in Europe any more thought?"

During the past four years, Lathal and Kurt had been like peas in a pod. They'd constantly encouraged each other to strive for the best. They motivated each other to push the envelope farther than they had before. They wanted success and good things to happen.

And why not? They were friends after all.

Kurt had a rather snazzy internship at The Globe to consider, but she hadn't given her internship much thought. She hadn't even told Malan about it. She wouldn't mind having an opportunity to return to Europe, but she didn't want to be without her boyfriend -- which might be fiance. She suspected Malan wanted to propose to her but hadn't yet. -- had for the whole summer.

Review adviser and North Central Texas University journalism professor Dean Carl Emerson strode into the newsroom late that afternoon. Dean Emerson, clad in a beige suit, was a constant present in the newsroom. The journalism professor didn't hide in his office like many campus newspaper advisers did. He everything from dive right in and work alongside his students or make a late night fast food run.

His hands in his pockets, Dean Emerson stood by his senior editors' desks. He said casually, "I need to talk to you two. There's a hot story brewing and I need one of you to cover it."

Obviously Dean Emerson didn't feel the reporters at The Review were up to the task. Or the story was so big the journalism professor wanted his best reporters on it. "Oh?" Kurt said with interest. Dean Emerson had aroused her curiosity. He had her complete attention.

"I've just come from talking to a friend of mine," Dean Emerson said. Translation: Dean Emerson's friend was North Texas University theater professor Dean Paul Lerm. "And it seems North Central Texas University had done something that's quite a coupe. The theater department will competed in the national university theater competition in Hawaii. It's been years since the university has participated in the competion," the journalism professor laid a hand on her shoulder. "And you're going to cover it."

She laughed softly. "Dean Emerson, I can't cover the theater. It's a conflict of interest."

Dean Emerson was well aware of her relationship with the campus theater's leading actor, Malan Hamel. "I understand that," Dean Emerson said with slight annoyance creeping into his voice. "But my hands are tied. This assignment came straight from the top."
Meaning Paul Lerm had made the request to his wife, the president of North Central Texas University. She frowned. "Paul knows better that." Paul Lerm was also aware of Lathal's relationship with his star actor, Malan Hamel.

"You should go, Lathal," Kurt chimed in. "It'll be good for you."
Kurt knew about her relationship with Malan -- practically the whole campus did. "Are you crazy?" She blinked in surprise.

Kurt grinned, "I can handle things while you're gone."

"I didn't say you couldn't," she protested. "I just think this is a really bad idea."

"Nah," Kurt said, knowing she deserved this. "They've got the right journalist for the job."
"Besides, it's not going to be a burden on Kurt," Dean Emerson said. "The competition takes place after the semester is over, and Kurt will be interning with The Globe this summer."

Dean Emerson had not mentioned her prospective internship with the Associated Press in Europe. Her journalism adviser and mentor knew she had not made a decision about it, and perhaps he planned to discuss it privately with her.

"If the competition is after the semester's over, then why are we worrying about it?" She said, desperately trying to get out of it.

"It's a big deal and it needs to be covered," Dean Emerson pointed out. "And you're going to do it. The Big Horn is sending their photographer to work with you because you're the only journalist from the area going."

She frowned. She didn't mind her work being used by all the local media entities, but the extra work she had to do bothered her.

"Your travel arrangements, accommodations and food have been paid for by the university, and there's a stipend. You'll be making $10 an hour like a regular reporter," Dean Emerson told her.

Her face lit up. Sweet! "Maybe it won't be so bad," she mused thoughtfully.

"No, it's not bad at all," Dean Emerson assured her. Lathal and Kurt were his ace journalists. The journalism professor felt she deserved this. He knew she'd represent the university and herself well. "Well, I imagine you have a lot to do."

Yes, she did, and much of it involved the North Central Texas University theater department. She briefly wondered if Malan had known about the national competition but hadn't told her. He hesitated to be without her even though it was for two weeks.

They shouldn't be keeping secrets like this from each other. Guilt filled her. She still hadn't told Malan about her AP internship in Europe because she hadn't wanted to be without him for a summer.

Not wanting to subject her boyfriend to a long distance relationship, or her boyfriend not wanting to be apart from her, was not an excuse for them to pass up career opportunities. She sighed. Decisions, decisions. She disliked making them, but eventually she'd have to figure out what she wanted to do whether she liked it or not.