The Biggest Scoop

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “We’ll see how long it takes our classmates to hear about my script.” Would he take the bait?

  No. Taylor just looked at me. “I’m not in the habit of spreading gossip.”

  “It’s only your first day at high school. Just wait.”

  “I’m not going to turn into one of your vapid friends.”

  “But if you don’t watch TV and you don’t have a girlfriend, what else are you going to talk about?”

  “Maybe I don’t want friends.” Taylor picked up his book again. “Maybe I want to spend my time in school productively. You know, learn something.”

  “No one goes to school to learn.” I hesitated. “I saw you heading home. You looked— lonely.”

  Taylor shrugged. “I’m used to it. My parents travel a lot. They always leave someone looking after me, but even then I’m usually doing my own thing.”

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  “My dad’s assistant. She thought I should ask if you wanted food.”

  “That depends on the food.”

  “I don’t know.” Taylor picked up his phone again. “What is there to order in around here?”

  My turn to look at him skeptically. “What happened to knowing how to order takeout?”

  By the time I’d run Taylor through the local delivery places, I had to stay and make sure it all arrived properly. That took us all the way through science, and when we were done eating, we were on to math.

  As Taylor worked on a practice question, I browsed the DVD shelves. Someone in his family was a serious film collector. Everything from the newest releases to classics were neatly arranged on the shelves. “I cannot believe you have Some Like it Hot! It’s my favorite movie.”

  Taylor hummed absently. “I think I got this one. Come look?”

  I leaned over his chair to glance at the calculation. “Took you long enough. Maybe you should watch more TV.”

  Taylor sighed, closing the textbook. “My brain is fried. TV might be all it’s good for.”

  I smirked, packing up my own books. As I looked up, I found that Taylor was studying me closely. “What now? Do I have pepperoni in my teeth?”

  “You’re actually really smart,” Taylor said slowly.

  “Why do you think I’m at Bernhardt?”

  “After the crap you spouted at lunch, I wasn’t sure.”

  I swept my books into my bag and stood. “I know how the system works. That doesn’t mean I like the system.”

  “If you’re smart enough to know how messed up it is, how come you’re not smart enough to know better than to go along with it?”

  “Because to get people to listen to you, you have to be popular. To be popular, you have to fake who you are to fit in. By the time you’ve done that and people like you, you’re not who you were. You’re invested in the system.”

  “It’s high school. Not prison.” Taylor shook his head.

  “Trust me,” I told him. “Standing up for your values only ever gets you the fuzzy end of the lollipop.”

  “The what?”

  “The fuzzy end of the lollipop. You know, Marilyn Monroe’s character, Sugar, and her saxophone players? They always run away and leave her with it?”

  Taylor’s expression was as blank as a whiteboard that had just been wiped clean.

  I dropped my bag back onto the table. “You haven’t watched it.”

  “Watched what?”

  “How can someone act so superior and not have watched Some Like it Hot?” I pushed him toward the massive sofa. “Sit down. You’re about to be educated.”

  “By the original dumb blonde?” Taylor snorted. “I don’t think so.”

  “You can insult me, but leave Marilyn out of this!” I removed the DVD from its case and looked around for the player.

  “Here,” Taylor said, taking the disc. “But I warn you now, I’ll watch it, but I’m not going to like it.”

  ****

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  The ending theme swelled up to fill the gap left by those final words. I sighed happily, arms wrapped around the cushion on my lap. “See?”

  Taylor had stopped complaining, and we’d watched the last half of the movie in silence that could have been companionable if he didn’t hate me. “It wasn’t bad.”

  “Bad? It was nominated for six Academy Awards!”

  “I’ll admit. Monroe is actually a decent actress, and there were some good lines. But it’s not exactly The Theory of Everything.”

  “People don’t want uncomfortable truths. They want to be entertained. Why do you think Slumdog Millionaire sold better than Ghandi?”

  “Ghandi was a biographical—” Taylor paused. “You’ve seen Ghandi?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised!” I stood up, releasing the cushion I’d been hugging. “And I’m saying that if they’d cast Dev Patel as Ghandi, it would be a lot more popular.”

  Taylor winced. “I cannot understand how someone who watched Ghandi can prefer this sort of thing.” He waved a hand toward the flat screen where the credits for Some Like it Hot still played. “Ghandi stood up for his beliefs. He never gave in, never stopped believing in a better world— He changed the world!”

  “So did Marilyn Monroe!”

  “How?” Taylor stood up too. “What kind of a message does the movie send? You can lie; you can disguise yourself; you can steal, but in the end it doesn’t even matter?”

  “Did we even watch the same movie? It’s about the fact that you’re not perfect; nobody’s perfect, but you can still be happy. There is someone who will love you for who you are— no matter who you are.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not what the movie was about—”

  “Was too!”

  “And even if it was, that’s got nothing to do with real life!”

  “What, and Ghandi does? How many Ghandis have you met in real life?”

  Taylor looked at me again.

  “I know he was a real person! But person, singular. I guarantee you that you will not run into anyone like him at Bernhardt.”

  “But I will meet plenty of people like Sugar or Osgood?”

  I balled my hands into fists. “How is dressing like a woman to avoid being killed by the mob any different to dressing like a cheerleader and going to school every day, pretending to be someone you’re not?”

  “You can’t compare a bunch of high schoolers to the mob!”

  “Want to bet? Join the wrestling practice after school tomorrow and then watch The Godfather. See who you think is more humane afterward—”

  The apartment door opened. “Taylor, I’m so sorry. Traffic—” A woman in a business suit slowed to a halt. “Who is this?”

  “The classmate I told you about.” Taylor motioned toward me with visible reluctance. “Naomi, this is Milo. Milo, this is Naomi, my dad’s assistant—”

  Naomi raised eyebrows and shook my hand. “You’re out late on a school night, Milo.”

  “Am I?” I looked at my phone. “Oh shit! I mean— See you at school, Taylor.”

  Taylor followed me to the door. “You’re not going to get in trouble?”

  “What? No! My mom doesn’t get home till three. I’m fine. I have a deadline is all.”

  I ran all the way back to my apartment, but it was no use. It was after ten, and I had no idea of what I was going to do for Candice’s front-page article.

  “Why? Why does this always happen to me?”

  I lay face down on the carpet, wondering what the headline would be. Written Off: Prestigious History of Bernhardt Student Newspaper Comes to an End as Editor Murders Only Remaining Staff Member. I couldn’t even blame Candice. I knew she’d give me a fair write-up from jail.

  I rolled onto my back. The ceiling was remarkably lacking in inspiration. The poster that had been there had come down, and I hadn’t gotten around to putting it back up, so it just looked like a blank piece of paper. Exactly what I didn’t need. I rolled onto my side.

  Th
ere had to be a way to write this article. If I couldn’t tell it from my perspective without getting beaten up and the paper canceled for entirely biased reasons, maybe I could tell it from the perspective of Carson’s friends? Bros before Dances: Junior Class Unanimous in Loyalty for Ex-Class President. I could talk about Carson’s influence, the many good things that he had done for the school, such as playing football and… playing football… I bit my lip. He’d won awards for playing football, right?

  “Candice wouldn’t need to kill me. I’d do it myself!”

  I put my hands over my face. There was no way I could write crap like that. If only there was a presidential candidate! Someone who didn’t care about cliques or popularity, someone willing to go out on a limb…

  I stretched out my hands, feeling on the carpet for pen and paper scribbling down my thoughts. Taylor for class president… Could I sell this? Taylor had the charisma for sure… but he’d committed the ultimate sin of sitting at the loser table. Or was that to his advantage? Taylor navigates the minefield of high school cliques with an ease far beyond his years. On his first day, he talked not only to Logan, already earmarked for great things on the varsity football team next season and other leading student luminaries, but he took the time to get to know some of Bernhardt’s less outgoing students. There. And Logan couldn’t even be mad because I’d name-dropped him. Ignorant of the circumstances that led to— Uh. Better not to mention Carson at all— the need for a second election, Taylor promises to be a candidate that the entire junior class can proudly call their own. That should do it for the academics and fringe groups. They’d support anyone who wasn’t a football player or cheerleader. But Taylor would need their vote, too…

  Taylor’s depth of world knowledge and passion for good causes is only matched by his interest in sports. Not only does he have experience fencing, but he plans to attend wrestling practice, too. The jocks sorted, now it was time for the girls. Taylor is single, but with the kind of attention his campaign will bring him, he is unlikely to remain that way for long. This reporter sees plenty of study dates on the horizon for this keen student leader.

  I snorted. It was cheesy beyond belief, and I needed to work in band somehow, but I had a story. I just had to refine it. Opening my laptop, I felt better than I had in weeks. I was about to solve everyone’s problems. Candice would get her story. The juniors would get their formal. Some lucky girl was going to date the new class president. And Taylor…

  How would Taylor take this? I hesitated, remembering the slouched figure I’d seen in the hall.

  I want to spend my time in school productively. You know, learn something.

  What could be more productive than class president? Or instructive?

  “You thought being the new kid got a lot of attention,” I assured my laptop screen. “Just wait until you’re class president. Everyone’s going to love you.”

  ****

  Chapter Three

  There was a message from Mom on the fridge the next morning. I thought you liked stew :(

  “Mom.” For all that she considered herself a thoroughly modern woman, Mom did guilt like a Greek grandmother. I thought you wanted me to make friends, I wrote back.

  It was no good. Not with the dishes I’d forgotten to do cleaned and drying on the counter and the Crock-Pot standing empty. I erased my message, conscious of the pizza I’d helped Taylor consume.

  I was at a friend’s place— No, that wasn’t right. Taylor and I were far from friends.

  Then again, Taylor wouldn’t watch Some Like it Hot for someone he despised. “That’s the moral integrity that will make him such a great student leader,” I informed the fridge. I was socializing with a member of my peer group who is not in the newspaper club. #MiloLeftTheHouse #RedLetterDay #Stewsday #StewIsNowBreakfast

  As I came down the stairs, I saw Taylor lingering outside his building. He fell into place beside me as I walked. “Aren’t you leaving a little late? Or are you collecting detentions on purpose?”

  “Not if I take the shortcut,” I told him. I was happy, full of the stew. It flooded my stomach with a warm glow that spread outward, making me feel on top of the world, especially when Taylor started telling me what he thought of the notes I’d lent him. At that moment, I was totally capable of taking on anything Bernhardt could throw at me.

  I even felt slightly sorry as we approached the school building and saw a cluster of Feministas at the gates, smoothing down their hair and jostling each other. It had only been a day, but I would miss hanging out with Taylor.

  “I’ve got Calc first, but I don’t know where the classroom is. Would you mind—”

  “No need,” I told him. “You won’t have any problems getting to class today.” The pep squad practiced before school. Candice must have rushed to school to print the paper and leave it where they could find it. If the pep squad picked up the paper, the entire school would hear about it before lunch. That could only be good for our circulation.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re about to find out.” We’d been spotted, the girls making a beeline toward us. “And let me be the first to congratulate you on your presidency.”

  “My what? Milo—”

  “Taylor! Hi!” Alexis elbowed me out of the way. “We thought you might need a guide to your first period class.”

  “That’s… very kind of you—”

  “Who wouldn’t want to help a new student out?” Sarah Choi took Taylor’s other flank, like two lionesses moving in for the kill. “Calculus, right? Me too!”

  “Calculus, her? We all know she’s doing remedial algebra.” Stacey folded her arms as Sarah Choi and Alexis herded their prey away from the pride.

  “Right? Some girls will do anything for a cute guy.” Sarah Gillepsie shook her head. Her eyes fell on me. I took a step back, but I was too late. “Milo. You spoke to him. What kind of girl does Taylor go for?”

  “Uh—”

  “You can tell us, Milo.” Stacey’s voice dripped with honey. “We’re friends.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Stacey had not been my friend when she’d showed up with Declan to chase us out of our classroom.

  Before I could voice my skepticism, a hand landed on my shoulder. “Sorry, ladies. If you want to know more about Taylor, you’ll have to read about him in our election special. Out Thursday.” Candice propelled me into the school building.

  “Election special?”

  “That was brilliant, Milo. I ran the issue past the pep squad as a trial run, and I tell you, I have never seen them so awake this early in the morning since the school banned energy drinks.” Candice thumped me on the back. “We’re onto a winner here. I want a follow-up article by tonight.”

  The hall chatter had a different edge this morning. I made my way from AP Calculus to AP English, trying to put my finger on it. There was an undercurrent of excitement to the talk that seemed more in keeping with Friday than Tuesday. More than one student flicked through the paper. I slowed down to hear what they said.

  “I found the cutest dress online. Perfect for the formal—”

  “Only one candidate. There’s only one outcome!”

  “Single! Do you think he plays an instrument?”

  “You want to impress him with your tuba playing skills, Nadine, you might have to actually, oh, I don’t know— practice?”

  “Not that it matters if Alexis has her sights on him.”

  “She already has two boyfriends… Three is excessive, isn’t it? I’m going to try—”

  “Oh my god. Don’t look now, but the emo loser—”

  I looked.

  Lily stalked down the hall, her shoulders high. Her black hair usually fell around her face carelessly, but today she’d tied it up in a messy bun. There was something different about her face, too. I paused to study her. It wasn’t the smoky eye shadow, or the thick black eyeliner; that hadn’t changed. Her nails were their usual shade of black, and Lily habitually preferred the trouser option of the uniform, p
airing it with boots and a chunky metallic belt. Everything about her was prickly and unappealing— except her mouth. I stepped out of Lily’s way, wondering. I’d never seen her wear lipstick in a natural color. What did it mean?

  “What’s the meaning of this?”

  I looked up to find Taylor standing next to me. “I don’t know. Lily felt like a change?”

  Taylor took my arm and dragged me into AP English. “This.” He thrust the paper at me. “You can’t tell me you’re not behind this!”

  I took the paper, automatically smoothing out the creases. “Behind this? It’s an article, not a scheme!”

  “From the ridiculous amount of attention I’ve been getting, I wasn’t sure.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You make it sound like getting nominated for class president is a bad thing.”

  “Shouldn’t you ask someone before making a decision like that on their behalf?”

  “It’s only a nomination! You don’t have to accept it. Anyway, I thought being class president would be perfect for you.”

  “How? I don’t care about popularity. I just want to enjoy high school.”

  “And that’s what makes you such a good candidate for class president! Think about it— you’d be fair, weigh everyone’s needs equally.”

  Taylor shook his head. “I don’t know who anyone is or anything about this school!”

  “What better way to learn?” I put my binder down on my desk and started unpacking my pencil case. “As class president, you’ll have a reason to talk to everyone, regardless of clique.”

  “But I don’t want to be class president! There’s got to be someone who’d do a better job.”

  “There’s no one. Trust me. We’ve had weeks without a single nomination.” I put my hand on Taylor’s arm. “If you think about it, you’ll see what a good idea it is. You told me yesterday how much all the clique politics sickened you, right?”

  Taylor squinted at me. “Is this revenge for that?”

  I took my hand back. “I’m doing you a huge favor here! Seriously, I thought you wanted to change the world.”

  “Milo. What?”

  The rest of the class was filing in, and we were starting to attract attention. “I bet Ghandi was class president.” I sat down.

  “Where are you sitting, Taylor?” Sarah Gillepsie swayed over to us.

  “He’s sitting with me.” Alexis pulled out the chair next to her desk. “Right, Taylor?”

  Taylor looked between the girls. “I already chose a desk—”