William Joseph "Billy" Batson

Hilde doesn't think she has ever gone this long without reporting the news since she first began to write. It's been a self-imposed challenge for the last few months, a disclaimer on top of her website, the Darrow Digest, announcing a summer-long hiatus and that she'll be back in the fall. That time has almost come. Next week marks the start of school — for her, the start of high school — and her fourteenth birthday. Her intention has always been to get back to business as usual by then.

None of which is to say that she hasn't still been working. She has. That's the very reason for the hiatus in the first place. When she's actively reporting on current happenings or investigating older ones, she gets hyper-focused, tuning out any and everything else, often to the detriment of other aspects in her life. She figured out a while ago that the only way to get this other project done would be to give it that same attention; otherwise, it would just get delayed, pushed into the background, indefinitely. There will always be some news story, something different going on, especially in a place like this. For once, she has to let someone else handle it.

After all, this is worthwhile, too. Maybe the most worthwhile thing she's ever done, if she's honest with herself, or a continuation of it. What started as an essay for English class two years ago turned into supplemental writing exercises, which then turned into the crazy idea to do something more with them. To tell the whole story — of Richie Fife, of her dad, of Strata and her Pop-Pop and the Gillis family. How it became her story, too. She didn't even know about any of it until she was in it, but she would never have become the person she is if not for all of those specific, interconnected events, all those years ago. It might not have the weight here that it did back in Erie Harbor, but it matters all the same. And it's a story that deserves to be told.

So, these last few months, that's been her focus. Taking all of the assorted bits of writing she's done about it here, cobbling them together into some sort of cohesive whole, trying to update them to be half as good as her original investigative work was on it back when she was first uncovering those long-buried truths. The goal has been to have a completed draft of a book by the end of summer vacation. She's consulted with Mr. Hauser throughout, she's shared excerpts with Bill, asking for feedback, and with Gwenny, because she isn't going to not let her bestie read her writing, especially when it's basically consuming her life.

And, finally, she thinks she has something she feels good about. Something she might be able to submit to someone. A finished product.

As she looks at her laptop, where she's reread her own work for probably the trillionth time, she doesn't actually feel the sort of excitement or satisfaction that she expected to. Instead, more of a bittersweet feeling sweeps over her. More than anything, she wishes her dad were here to read it, too, or her mom and her sisters, or her Pop-Pop. She just has to believe that they would be proud of her. In a weird way, one she wouldn't know how to articulate, she's proud of herself.

For a moment, she lets herself just sit there at her desk, breathing in deeply. Then, determined to find that excitement if she doesn't come about it organically, she sends similar texts to some of the closest people in her contact list: I think... the draft is finished? What do I even do with myself? This is crazy! followed by a handful of emojis: a face with spiral eyes, confetti, another face with a hand covering its mouth, two red exclamation points.

She closes her computer, puts shoes on, and goes outside, a smile beginning to pull at the corners of her mouth as she makes her way out to the sidewalk and begins walking. There it is, the enthusiasm she's looking for, a slow-creeping giddy feeling. "Oh my god," she says to herself, quiet but audible, cheeks flushing as her expression brightens further. "Oh my god. I think I did it."

[ Timed to Saturday afternoon-ish, or whenever! If you know Hilde, feel free to have received an excited text, but whether you know her already or not, it's a great time to come across her. ST/LT always welcome, open until this says otherwise. ]