"I've seen some of Matilda's photos," Sheila said the next morning.
She was leaning against the outside edge of my cubicle, looking in at me and tapping a long French-manicured finger nail on the plastic wall-divider. "They're amazing of the kids and alarming of the facility, a perfect combination of heart-warming and bone-chilling."
I laughed. "I love how you put that. I've yet to see them."
I was putting a finishing touch on a pitch for Sally. Matilda and I had decided to go the route I'd talked about with Charles. I was going to try playing Sally's game for Social Scene and write a separate piece, and Matilda and I would approach one of the other divisions with our orphanage story.
"You're going to keep working on this story, right?" Sheila asked. "I'd be sad if you gave up now."
