“I have some bad news.” Jenny stood in the front of the conference room, a room filled with tables, paper, files, and most of our office supplies, a serious frown marred her features. We rarely used the room for anything other than days like today, when Jenny, our student newspaper adviser, had news that we all needed to hear at the same time. Usually news we didn’t want to hear, and I squirmed in my seat, uneasy.I stared at her face, saw the worry lines at the corners of her gray eyes, mostly hidden behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and noted how flushed her face was. She’d either hit early menopause or she was worried. Her pencil-straight black hair, cut in a short bob just at her chin, gave her a severe look, but she wasn’t at all. Normally, she was quite playful, helpful, and kind. Today, however, she was worried, and it showed in everything she did, especially when she started to wring her hands together. I tapped my favorite pen, a bright orange, thick enamel pen my dad b
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