"There are various articles to choose from, guys. The university newspaper comes out in twenty days. We need both light and serious pieces. Group A is in charge of the lighter ones, and Group B will handle the serious ones. Next issue, we'll swap."

Professor Davy clicked on the projector, and our assignment topics flashed on the screen.

"Group A, raise your hands."

I sighed and raised mine.

"Okay, so we've got... Ella Cameron, Brenda Thomas, Sandy Peters, Pauline Mason, and Antony Smith." He looked at us over the rim of his glasses. "Right?"

We nodded.

"Good. Here are your topics."

The screen shifted.

Film Reviews of the year

Fashion & Feminism in the 2010s

Bartending: Straight Up

Manhunt 2025: Male Modelling Competition

How to Treat a Hangover

Corruption in Football: The UEFA Files

"The last one isn't exactly light, but don't go too deep with it."

"I'll take the sports one," Antony blurted before anyone else had a chance.

"No problem," the professor said, jotting it down.

"I want the Manhunt piece," Brenda added, flipping her hair dramatically. "I know someone in the competition."

Of course, she did. Brenda Thomas knew everyone—or at least claimed to. She was one of those people who always had an opinion, always needed to be the centre of attention, and always got what she wanted. Professors included.

"You do now, do you?" Professor Davy smirked. "Alright, it's yours."

Another win for Queen Brenda.

Then, his eyes landed on me.

"Miss Cameron, from what I know, you work at a nightclub?"

I already knew where this was going.

"Yes," I answered, bracing myself.

"Do you bartend as well?"

"Uh, just a little, sir. I mainly wa—"

"Good. The bartending article is yours."

And just like that, I was stuck with it.

I barely bartended. Sure, I could open a beer, pour some vodka, and make a basic whiskey coke, but I was no expert. The real bartenders at Shadows—people like Jimmy—were the artists. But wait... Jimmy!

A lightbulb went off.

I could ask Jimmy to help. Maybe even take photos of him at work. Hell, Ed was good with a camera—he could help, too. Suddenly, the assignment didn't seem so bad.

***

"Who's the best bartender in the whole wide world?"

"What do you want, El?" Jimmy's voice was already amused.

"I need a favour..."

"Figured as much. Spill."

"I'm writing an article for the university newspaper about bartending, and I ne—"

"Fine."

What the hell was it with people cutting me off today?

"What the fuck, Jimmy? I haven't even finished."

"El... I'm kinda busy right now. Unless you wanna stay on the line and listen..."

In the background, a girl giggled.

"Oh my God, gross! Talk later." I hung up so fast I practically threw my phone.

Well, I guess I could write about one of the "perks" of being a bartender...

***

Chrys wasn't coming to Shadows—she'd already partied Monday and had weekend plans. So after a long day of house chores, I left her curled up under a fleece blanket, watching some subtitled European film that she claimed was art.

"Have a good one," she called as Ed honked outside.

"Bye, beautiful. Don't stay up too late."

Minutes later, we were at the club.

"What's with the notepad?" Ed asked as I pulled it from my bag.

"Article research. You're helping, by the way."

He groaned. "Damn it. I can't escape you."

"You love it," I teased as we walked into the packed venue.

Bartenders were stocking fridges. Waiters loaded ice machines. The usual pre-shift chaos. I found Jimmy at his station, flashing me his signature grin.

"So, you wanna interview me, huh?" he teased.

"Don't flatter yourself. Can we do it now, or are you busy?"

"Gotta set up first. What if we take our break at the same time later?"

"Works for me."

As I turned to leave, Jimmy called after me.

"El, you know my friend Harry, right? Care to interview him, too?"

I paused. Harry?

"Yeah... I know who he is, but I don't really know him. Why?"

"He's also a model. Any exposure helps. He'd probably be into it."

Ah. That made sense.

"Want me to contact him?" Jimmy asked.

I hesitated for half a second. Harry was definitely talented behind the bar, and he looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.

"Sure. That'd actually be great."

Jimmy smirked. "He's a good guy, Ella. So, y'know... make him look good."

I snorted. "He doesn't need my help for that. He looks good all on his own."

Jimmy just laughed.

By the time my break rolled around, my feet ached. The back of the kitchen was our go-to spot—worn wooden bench, slightly quieter music, and a moment to breathe.

I collapsed onto the bench, kicking off my shoes and hugging my knees to my chest.

Jimmy walked out, took one look at me, and cracked up.

"Nice position, doll. Ready for my interview?"

I pulled out my phone and notebook. "Shoot."

Jimmy was an open book. He talked about how bartending was like performing, how the money was good but came with an expiration date, and how you had to keep up the show no matter what.

Between laughs and teasing, he gave me some gold for my article.

"Alright, we better get back," he said, handing me my shoes.

"Oh, I almost forgot—I texted Harry. He's thrilled to do the interview. This is his number. He's expecting a call from you tomorrow at noon."

He held out my phone so I could save the number.

"Awesome," I said, writing Harry's name in my notes.

Suddenly, this article was turning into something way bigger than I expected.