January 9

My article was finally published today. After slaving for hours getting every comma in the right place and using the most intelligent vocabulary words in the thesaurus, I think I can safely say that it is the best it can be. When Mr. Knofliky read it, he said I was a great writer. I beamed with pride, but then he just chuckled and said that he liked stories without a trace of the truth in them. That totally shocked me.

“Wait, what?!” I asked, snatching up my article again. “This story is full of truth!”

He snorted and said, “Sure it is!” and made a big deal on winking, which made him laugh more. I was really annoyed.

“No, seriously, Mr. Knofliky,” I said. “It’s 100 true! I know some of the other stuff I’ve written hasn’t been exactly…spot on, but this is a great story AND it’s totally factual! Please believe me!” I pleaded. It had never occurred to me that people might actually not believe it, since the stories I wrote normally were completely fabricated.

“Uh-huh, get out of my office,” he said, dismissing me, and picking up The New York Times. He insists that he reads it only to “see what we’re up against”, but I know it’s just because he wants to know the facts sometimes, and not random made-up stories.

I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. I could never win! I could just never win! No one would believe my story, and I was doomed to failure. I’d probably be found out soon, and put right back into the slammer, where I would rot away for all eternity…

“Dahl, what are you doin’?!” shrieked Champagne, inviting herself into my vestibule. “You should be out celebrating! Have you seen the public, dahling?! They loooove your article! They’re eating it right up, just like it was crème brulée or somethin’!!!”

“What?” I asked, checking the time. I must have fallen asleep or something, because it was two hours since Knofliky had read my printed up article in The Daily Feign and I couldn’t remember what happened in between.

“Look!” cried Champagne. She turned on my computer and logged on to AOL. Sure enough, on the welcome screen, there was a picture of me (meaning me like Margie Elfton) and a headline saying “Margie the Murderer- Innocent?!”

“Oh my GOD!” I shouted. “I’m on AOL!!! I mean, uh, you know, my article spurred a story on AOL’s welcome page,” I added sheepishly. I almost forgot to use my accent.

“Isn’t it marrrrvelous?” asked Champagne delightedly. “See, that’s the beauty of the media- once one newspaper or news program says it, they all do! Who knows? Your article could be in The Times by tomorrow!”

I was so excited I could barely sit still. “Wow! I’m just…at a loss for words! How amazing!” I squealed, and gave Champagne a big hug.

“Knock, knock!” said Lyle, knocking on the wall of my cubicle. Ellie was following behind him, carrying a flower arrangement that was so big it could have easily eaten her for breakfast. “We come bearing gifts- we were just so overjoyed that you were able to create such a buzz with this article of yours, and especially being so new at this job and all, that we decided we should buy you some flowers.”

I graciously accepted them. “Thank you, guys,” I said, giving them both a hug. Ellie adjusted her glasses, obviously a bit surprised by the friendly gesture, but smiled anyway.

The whole day people would not leave me alone. One old woman even stopped me in the street to say she’d Googled me and thought that it was just sooo nice that I’d tried to help cure some of the injustice in the world by publishing that article. She got that right!!!

I’m walking on air! It’s only a matter of time before everything is all right again.

Margie