As soon as Rona had left, the noise-level of the room lifted noticeably. It started off as a gradual rise, but it built exponentially: it reminded Sacha of the sound of a class full of young children when a teacher leaves the room briefly. Sacha felt a little ambivalent about this: on the one hand it was nice that people could finally relax; on the other hand she felt her solidarity should be with Rona rather than anybody else - especially, as she now realised, given that she was still feeling bad after being stood up right after her birthday.

But regardless, there was now a computer free and Sacha stood up and made her way over to it. Just before she got there, however, a hand was placed on it by one of the magazine's other writers - a young woman with long dread-locked hair who'd scurried over as soon as she saw Sacha making a move. Sacha opened her mouth to say something: "Uhh . . ."

"Do you mind, please?" asked the woman. "I really need to finish off an article before the Wyvern gets back."

"The Wyvern?"

"It's kinda like a small dragon, I think . . ." The woman nodded her head towards the door Rona had just exited through. "It's one of Jamie's jokes. You know what a nerd he is."

Sacha shook her head. "Who's Jamie?"

"He writes film reviews sometimes."

"I don't think I've met him." Sacha had seen this woman around the office before, usually talking loudly to one or two of her colleagues rather than writing, and she'd already decided she didn't like her all that much. This suspicion was only being reinforced.

"So please?" asked the woman again, laying her other hand on the laptop.

"You know, I did put my name down on the booking sheet."

"But I need it! I've gotta finish the article -"

"Yes I know, before Rona gets back." Sacha glared through the lenses of her glasses. She put her hands on her hips. "I've also got an article to finish, you know. So does just about everybody in here. What makes you so special?"

"Just, please though?" The woman started widening her eyes. "See?" she laughed. "You're making me do the puppy-dog eyes!"

Sacha cocked her head contemptuously. "I hate dogs" she lied, thinking of her family's dog back in Canberra. "How old are you?" she demanded.

"Uh, 21" replied the woman, the look in her eyes starting to change to one of confusion.

"Jesus" muttered Sacha to herself. "You're all kids in this place . . ." She turned her attention back to the woman, who was starting to paw the laptop uncertainly like a possessive cat. "I've forgotten your name" said Sacha, and quickly continued before the woman had a chance to remind her: "but whatever you're called, I can tell you this: it's time to quit the 'cute' act, 'cause it gets annoying in a damned hurry. Start behaving like a member of society, 'cause all the puppy-dog eyes in the world aren't gonna help you when you've pissed off all your friends and you're sitting all alone in some mouse-infested kitchen eating baked-beans from a can." And before the woman could protest, Sacha snatched the laptop from beneath her hands. "And give me that fucking computer" Sacha said, "I'm next on the booking sheet."