The Biggest Scoop

by Gillian St. Kevern

The Biggest Scoop

  By Gillian St. Kevern

  Copyright Gillian St. Kevern 2015

  The Biggest Scoop was written as part of the M/M Romance Group on Goodread's annual Don't Read in the Closet event. Josephine submitted a prompt, based on her idea I wrote The Biggest Scoop, and my beta-readers and the event volunteers turned it into the polished final product you see before you. This story would not be possible without the efforts of many, many people. I thoroughly recommend visiting the event's official site for more information and many other great stories.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Author Bio

  Contact and Media Info

  Chapter One

  Lips that begged to be kissed are a literary trope found only in romance novels, Carly Rae Jepsen songs and teen comedies. Not real life, right? So it was a total shock when Mr. Perry opened the door and ushered the lips into AP English.

  I sat up so quickly I caught my elbow on the edge of my desk and didn’t even feel it. My heart sped up. Instead of adrenaline, it pumped electricity. I tingled all over, suddenly very conscious that I had forgotten to brush my teeth before school.

  “Good morning, class. As you can see, we have two newcomers today. It’s rare to have a transfer student at this stage of the academic year, so I hope that you’ll make Taylor feel very welcome.”

  The lips had a name. Taylor. I sighed happily.

  I was not the only one. The rustling of loose-leaf was clearly audible. Mr. Perry glanced toward the windows. “Too fine a day for drafts… Now, where was I? Oh yes. Taylor, perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself.”

  Taylor nodded. He lived up to the promise of his mouth, built upon clean, well-defined lines. Sleek eyebrows gave his light blue eyes definition and emphasized the strength of his jaw. A young Cary Grant, or maybe a Humphrey Bogart. There was something very “leading man” about his forehead and the way he squared his shoulders as he stepped forward. “So, hi. My name’s Taylor. I just moved here last week. I’ve heard a lot about Bernhardt, and I’m looking forward to getting to know you all.”

  His voice. It had an unreal quality, like it came to us across a stage. Clear, confident, perfect.

  Mr. Perry nodded. “Taylor’s had a tour of the campus, but I’m sure you all remember how difficult it was to find classrooms your first freshman week. If I could have a volunteer to take him to” —Mr. Perry glanced at a paper in his hand— “Chemistry…?”

  Half the hands in the class rose.

  “Me, Mr. Perry! Pick me!” Sarah Choi waved frantically.

  “I’ll do it!” Her best friend, Alexis, actually stood.

  Mr. Perry raised an eyebrow. “How nice to see such energy on a Monday morning. If only you were this excited about your required reading.” He scanned the class. “Perhaps someone who actually takes chemistry.” His eyes settled on a quiet girl in the front row. “Emily. And Milo, get down off that chair before you fall.”

  Someone sniggered.

  I stepped off my chair and sat, my cheeks glowing.

  Again, I was not alone. Emily put her hand down, a pleased blush spreading over her face. There was an explosion of activity as the surrounding students cleared their things out of the way for Taylor to take the empty desk beside her.

  Mr. Perry went on with his announcements. “Our second visitor is conducting a research paper. Mr. Harper is here to observe our school. Mr. Harper?”

  Taylor shifted, adjusting to the AP English chairs. If he was conscious of being minutely observed, he didn’t show it. He leaned toward Emily, mouthing an enquiry. With a second blush, Emily opened her copy of Wuthering Heights to the chapter we were discussing. Instead of taking it from her, Taylor glanced up at Mr. Perry, still droning on, and carefully inched his desk toward Emily’s. As Taylor leaned in to get a closer look at the text, Emily tucked her hair behind her ear, now the exact shade of crimson as the Bernhardt school colors.

  I felt a deep pang. Why hadn’t I taken chemistry?

  “So I’m sure you’ll all do your best to assist Mr. Harper in his research. Now, one last thing before we return to Wuthering Heights. Class elections.”

  I looked down at my binder quickly, but not before I had caught Logan glancing in my direction, his lip curled. My heart beat again, but this time the feeling that accompanied it was nausea.

  “In the absence of any nominations, the deadline has been extended until Wednesday. Now, I know that Carson and Blake are missed, but the fact remains that if a replacement class president and vice president are not chosen by the end of the week, there will be no winter formal.”

  I sank back in my seat. Great. Now the girls were glaring at me too.

  “I trust that you will think it over and make the best decision, not just for the juniors of Bernhardt but the school as a whole. Now.” Mr. Perry leaned over his desk. “Let’s continue our discussion of Lockwood and unreliable narrators.”

  As I turned to the right page, my chair was jolted, and I dropped the book. Jordan smirked and did not apologize. Picking it up, I caught Taylor watching Mr. Perry write on the board.

  His expression was serious, far too serious even for AP English. As class continued, I noticed that Taylor glanced at the students around him, adjusting his posture to match and looking to see how Emily made her notes. But even in the same attitude of half-attention as the rest of the class, Taylor had something no one else did.

  It wasn’t just that he was handsome, or that on him the gray and crimson uniform blazer looked like a tailor-made suit. There was a purpose to everything he did and it created a ripple effect around him. Taylor acted on our class like a magnetic pulse. I watched as hair was smoothed, sweaters readjusted and ties straightened— wait, Carlos? But he was dating a cheerleader!

  I turned the pages of Wuthering Heights, nodding automatically as Mr. Perry talked. Inwardly, there was only one thing I could think of. This was it. I was sure of it. His good looks. The effect he had on the class. The fact we didn’t know anything about him beyond his name.

  Taylor was the perfect story.

  ****

  “Of course prom is prom.” Bernhardt’s buildings were gray stone and the corridors long, with high Gothic arches that collected echoes like other buildings did cobwebs. Emily’s voice was almost drowned out by the chatter. If I hadn’t been lying in wait, I’d have missed it entirely in the between class rush. “But it’s more for the seniors. The winter formal’s always been organized by the juniors. We plan, we advertise and sell tickets. The money we make goes to our chosen charity.”

  “That sounds like a pretty cool idea.” Taylor’s voice was clearly audible, creating ripples as it went. Students stopped to listen. I felt a thrill travel through me as I crouched beside the water cooler. “How come no one wants to be president? The responsibility?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” Emily was getting closer. “We had class elections at the start of the year, but Carson and Blake—”

  Now! I stood.

  Emily shrieked, stopping still. She held her binder of notes above her head, staring down at the puddle spreading across her chest.

  “Emily! I’m so sorry.” I was sorry. Emily was too focused on her grades to care about clique politics and had always been cool to me. But there were serious stakes here. “At least it’s just water.”

  She gaped at me.


  “You’ve got time to fix this,” I assured her, nudging her gently toward the girl’s bathroom. “Don’t worry. I’ll take Taylor to his next class.” And before either of them could protest, I stood on my tiptoes to glance at his schedule. “Drawing? Me too. This way.”

  Taylor lingered. “Can I help?”

  Emily looked down at her dripping shirt. Her shoulders drooped. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Come on!” I ushered Taylor down the hall, leaving Emily and her growing puddle behind us. “Ms. Cox doesn’t tolerate tardiness.”

  We made it to drawing with seconds to spare. I carefully tore out the page I was working on and gave my sketchbook to Taylor. “You literally just moved here?”

  He nodded. “I spent yesterday unpacking. We haven’t even shopped for school stuff beyond the uniform. You sure you want to give me your sketchbook? What if you need a second piece of paper?”

  I shook my head. “I won’t need more than one.”

  Taylor’s eyes skimmed over me. Wondering how to interpret my statement? “Thanks.”

  I nudged my box of charcoals across the table to him, trying unsuccessfully to quell the acrobatic performance in my stomach. I had work to do. Work entirely unrelated to the still life arrangement of shells and driftwood set up on the table in the center of the classroom. “It’s nothing. So.” I took a breath. Like any investigative reporter, I got right to the headline. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Taylor started. “That’s a personal question.”

  I smiled at him. “I’m a personable guy. Well?”

  He shook his head, turning back to the still life with a strange smirk. “No girlfriend.”

  My stomach did a very unjournalistic back flip. “Boyfriend?”

  Taylor looked at me sideways. “No one. I am entirely single.”

  I clutched my piece of charcoal tightly. “Single,” I repeated. “Does that mean—”

  A shadow fell over me. “Milo Markopoulos, do I need to remind you that this is Elective Drawing, not Investigative Journalism?”

  I looked up into the unimpressed gaze of our teacher. “No, Ms. Cox.”

  “You get two more warnings.” Her gaze lingered over Taylor. “You must be the transfer student?” As he nodded, something in her rocky demeanor softened minutely. “Don’t let Milo distract you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t.”

  I waited until Ms. Cox was at the other end of the room. “What’s your type?”

  “Realistic, I guess?” Taylor looked down at the sketchbook. “It’s just a sketch.”

  “Not art. People. That you potentially date.”

  Taylor glanced across the room. “The teacher just said—”

  “It’s fine,” I assured him. “You won’t get in trouble. You’re new.”

  “And if I answer the question, will you stop asking me?”

  “Momentarily.”

  Taylor pursed his lips together. My initial impression of a mouth that was all about kissing returned. I almost missed his reply. “I don’t have a type.”

  “You must. Blondes? Brunettes?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “Athletic? Academic? The Life of the Party? Class Clown?”

  “I’ll tell you one thing. It’s not chatty guys who can’t take a hint.”

  I stared at him. Behind me, I heard Madison giggle.

  Ms. Cox looked up from helping Carlos. “Creating a disturbance are we, Milo?”

  “Sorry, Ms. Cox.”

  “If this happens again…”

  “Yes, Ms. Cox.”

  I timed myself by the classroom clock. For ten minutes, the only sound in the classroom was the rustle of paper, the rough scratch of an eraser and the echoes of the brass band practicing down the hall.

  Ten minutes was pretty much the limit of human endurance for that. “Where did you live before Tarrytown?”

  Taylor gave me an “I can’t believe this” look but answered anyway. “I didn’t live anywhere. My family moves a lot.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “We weren’t anywhere long enough for me to enroll.” Taylor shrugged, his attention on the shell taking shape on his paper. “I guess I was homeschooled.”

  “Seriously? You don’t act homeschooled.” Leaning over his shoulder to watch Taylor’s sketch take shape, I noticed that his hand tightened around the piece of charcoal he held. “That’s a compliment. You’re really confident. It’s a good thing.”

  Taylor put his charcoal down. “That makes me stand out?”

  I nodded. “In the best possible way, of course. Just wait. You are going to be—”

  “Milo Markopoulos, this is your third warning. I want you—”

  “To take myself to the office, Ms. Cox.” I shouldered my bag and stood. “You can give me back my sketchbook in Biology,” I told Taylor. “Save me a chair and I’ll share my notes.”

  He just stared.

  I stood at the front of the classroom while Ms. Cox filled out the misdemeanor slip. I saw Madison drop her eraser. Taylor reached down to pick it up. She smiled as she thanked him, tucking her black bobbed hair out of her face. When I left the classroom, it was with the knowledge that she’d inched her chair over to be next to his.

  It hurt, but gut instinct told me this story was worth suffering for.

  ****

  By the time I got to Biology, Taylor was the center of a crowd of kids. “I’m not sure what extracurricular,” he said. “I’ve fenced before but not seriously.”

  “Basketball.” Alexis sat on the edge of his desk. “You’ve got the height. And the girl’s team always cheers for the guys and vice versa, so I’d be there to help you settle in.”

  Logan leaned forward. “If you’re thinking about football next year, then it’s got to be wrestling. Most of the team takes it. You’d get to know everyone in no time.”

  I slid into a desk at the front of the classroom. Opening my binder, I placed a fresh piece of loose-leaf on my desk, ready to take notes. Even without turning to look, I was very conscious of Taylor, two rows behind me. If I wanted this story to remain an exclusive, I had to act fast.

  The bell rang for lunch. Most of the class ambled for the door.

  Ms. Drake glanced up. “Taylor, is it? Stay behind so I can give you the list of study materials.”

  A few girls looked inclined to linger, but as Alexis and Sarah Choi took up position either side of Taylor, they recognized defeat and drifted away. No one wanted to cross the Feministas.

  I shouldered my bag and followed. I could trip one of them, but was it worth the risk? I was already on the jocks’ shit list without annoying their girlfriends.

  I knelt to untie my shoelace, glancing back.

  I wasn’t the only loiterer. The man from AP English stood in the hall, appearing extremely interested in the poster calling for newspaper submissions.

  I frowned. No one was that interested in the poster. I knew, because since I’d made it we hadn’t had a single submission. Even my fellow reporters hadn’t mustered a tenth of the interest the guy was currently giving it. What was his name? Harper?

  He glanced at me, and I looked down, fumbling with my laces. The man’s eyes were hard as concrete. In that second’s glance, I got the impression he knew exactly what I was doing.

  Impossible. I took a deep breath, willing my fingers not to shake as I pulled my lace tight and then undid it. As far as he knew, I was an ordinary, unremarkable student with bad timing and an even worse case of OCD. All the same, as I heard the classroom door open and the clatter of feet coming toward me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being observed.

  And then I had a moment of brilliance.

  I stood just as the three of them reached me, falling into step between Alexis and Sarah Choi, forcing Taylor to fall behind. “Oh my god, Alexis. Do you know that guy?”

  Alexis rolled her eyes toward Sarah. “What guy? My life does not revolve around the members of
your sex, freak.”

  “Don’t turn around,” I told her. “But that man back there? Totally waiting for you to leave the classroom.”

  “There’s nothing weird about that,” Taylor said. “Mr. Harper’s here to observe high school life. He probably wanted to ask the teacher something.”

  Sarah Choi glanced over her shoulder. “He’s following us now.” She paused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s not as old as I thought. Kind of cute. For a member of the patriarchy.”

  “Bet he has his own car. And that’s a nice suit.” I sighed. “Man, Alexis. Some people have all the luck.”

  Alexis cast a look back down the corridor. “What makes you think he’s following me?”

  “He’s not following Sarah.” I held my breath.

  I needn’t have worried. Sarah’s shoulders stiffened, and she tossed her ponytail. “I don’t see why not. I’m a free woman.”

  Alexis and I shared a glance, our eyes dropping as one to the Friendship is Magic water bottle Sarah held and then back up to the buttoned-up collar of her dress shirt.

  “We’re not in middle school,” Alexis said, readjusting her blouse to better display her generous cleavage. “My Little Pony’s not cute. It’s childish.”

  “Men don’t go for kid stuff,” I agreed. “They’re all about the bass.”

  “Oh my god, Milo. Shut up.” What Sarah lacked in curves, she made up for in muscle. Being shoved aside by the school’s champion tennis player? Not fun. “You calling me treble?”

  Alexis smirked at her. “Why do you think you play piccolo, Saz?”

  “Shut. Up.” Sarah sucked in a deep breath and unbuttoned her collar. “Watch this.” She looked over her shoulder, flashing a lot of white teeth and sauntered down the hall, turning toward the art rooms.

  Alexis shook her head. “E for Effort. But this is how it’s done. You watching this, Milo?”

  “Avidly,” I assured her.

  Alexis swung down the hall heading directly to the cafeteria. She definitely had the edge over Sarah, aware of her appeal and unhurried. But we did not stay to watch the result of her studied saunter. I pushed Taylor down the corridor toward the gym. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to miss lunch,” I lied. “This is a shortcut.”

  “I’m pretty sure the cafeteria’s that way—”

  “And get between a Feminista and her prey? You’ll thank me later, after you’ve seen them devour their own.” The seniors had the first lunch period and were making their way to their afternoon classes, not paying us any attention. I had Taylor all to myself. Perfect. “Tell me everything about you.”