The Biggest Scoop

by Gillian St. Kevern

  “How rude. It’s not like I forced you to trip over me. I didn’t even know you were behind me.” Taylor’s chin was as clean as it was going to get. I screwed the lid back on my water bottle, dropping the tissue into my bag. “There. All better.”

  Taylor eyed me dubiously and felt his chin. “Still.”

  “Still nothing. I didn’t ask you to come chasing after me! In fact, I’m pretty sure I told you to go away.” I nudged Taylor with my foot. “How is you not listening my fault?”

  “Because it’s all your fault! Since meeting you, I haven’t had a moment’s peace! If I’m not getting harassed in the hall, I’ve got someone crashing my study period or interrupting class to get my attention—”

  “Again, it’s not my fault you are handsome, likeable and single— and I tried to help you with one of those, so there.” I folded my arms. “Besides, if I’m so terrible, why are you running after me instead of away?”

  Taylor snorted. A hint of a smile played around his jaw. “I should be. You’d think by now I would know better, but here I am.”

  I stared down at him. Every word Taylor said was true. He had no reason to like me, and I had no reason to still like him, but my heart had started to beat in a way that had nothing to do with exertion from my mad run and everything to do with Taylor looking directly at me. “Why?”

  Taylor shook his head. “I can’t figure it out. Or more accurately, I can’t figure you out.” He patted the bench. “Sit down, Milo. I can’t think with you looking like you’re about to bolt again.”

  I was too surprised to argue. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “I don’t think I could catch you a second time. You’re surprisingly fast for someone so short.”

  “Cross-country,” I said smugly. “What did you expect?”

  “That’s it exactly.” Taylor leaned toward me. “How is it that someone who is so obvious in everything still manages to have so many hidden depths? That face you’re making now— you’re trying to work out if that’s an insult or not. It’s a statement of fact. Sorry, but it’s true.”

  I crossed my hands over my chest a second time. “I told you that I wasn’t good at secrets.”

  “Or subtlety. Or restraint. Or—”

  “Enough! I can still leave.”

  I didn’t mean the threat seriously, but Taylor caught my arm as if he thought I did. “It’s not a bad thing,” he assured me. “But it just means that I keep thinking I’ve got you figured out and then you catch me by surprise, and suddenly, I don’t know anymore.”

  That was not the way someone who hated me would talk. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, like— biology! I haven’t seen you do a single thing in that class that resembles work! Not the work that we’re meant to be doing. You write articles, you do your math homework, you read… and somehow you still know more about biology than I do.”

  “That’s not a secret.” I hesitated. Having found something I’d kept secret, even inadvertently, I was reluctant to share it. But with Taylor looking at me, sharing wasn’t exactly optional. “Last year, Mr. Saltberg retired. You’ve probably never heard of him, but he is the best English teacher in the entire state. The kids he taught have gone on to make movies, write novels— a letter of recommendation from Mr. Saltberg would get you into any film school in the country— no, the world!”

  “I should have figured films were involved.” Taylor shook his head. “So? What does an English teacher have to do with science class?”

  “In his final year, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. So he did an elective course on his passion— writing for film. Obviously, I had to take it. I mean, that’s the entire reason I came to Bernhardt, to be taught by him. But there was a schedule clash. The only way I could take the elective was if I took senior Biology—”

  “As a sophomore? How did the school even allow it?”

  “I had to prove I could do it first. I spent the entire summer studying, crammed two years’ worth of science into two months. The school made me do a mock exam on the condition that I could only take senior Biology if I passed. I did.”

  “You’re kidding. They seriously let you take two senior classes?”

  “Hey, Candice is taking a college course in journalism.” I shrugged. “If you get all the credits and can satisfy the school that the course is legit and you can handle it, they’ll let you do anything. All part of fostering a uniquely challenging learning environment.”

  Taylor frowned. “So if you’ve already passed senior biology, why are you even in class? Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be taking college courses too?”

  “It’s really dumb, but I still need the extra science credit to graduate. I could have gone for chemistry, but Boomer took biology, so.” Please don’t comment on Boomer. “Mystery solved. Not so much of a secret, was it?”

  Taylor considered me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. “I disagree. That’s— writing’s that important to you.”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “Yeah.” It was really hard to look at Taylor, and I found myself dropping my gaze. “You didn’t think I joined the newspaper for the express purpose of making you miserable, did you?”

  “There were times I wasn’t sure,” Taylor said dryly. “I guess— I’ve met some reporters who weren’t as professional.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Taylor hesitated. “This is just between us, but my family— didn’t have a positive experience with the press. There are people who only care about the story and don’t think about the cost— the human cost, I mean— of running it. What was reported about my parents wasn’t true and it— it very nearly destroyed their marriage. Very nearly destroyed them. They got so much hate for something that was no one’s business but ours! As a kid, watching that happen and being unable to stop it…” Taylor shook his head. “You can’t imagine what that’s like.”

  I swallowed. Taylor was right. I’d run afoul of my peers plenty of times, but to be held up to the scorn of the wider reading public…? “But your parents— they’re okay now? They’re still together?”

  Taylor nodded. His mouth thinned out into a grim smile. “Yeah. They are. Mom says that because of the extra scrutiny, she was driven to be even better at what she does, prove the critics wrong, but there’s still people who believe the lies. Dad— he’s a really private person, so he coped by going inward, throwing himself into his work. He cut himself off from the wider world. He’s better now, but he’s still kind of reclusive.”

  “And you?”

  Again Taylor’s smile was a little too grim for my peace of mind. “I’m an elementary school dropout who started high school two and a half weeks ago and already lost the one friend I made—”

  “Hello? Class president? You’ve made a lot of friends! Alexis, Sarah—”

  “Um. Excuse me?”

  I was startled to see the tourists standing a few meters away from us. I’d entirely forgotten we weren’t alone in the park.

  The girls looked to be college students, but their accents were British. “Can we take a photo?” One tucked blonde hair behind her ear, looking at Taylor. “I mean—” She trailed off with an awkward giggle.

  Taylor was silent. I looked over and saw that his face was fixed in a grim expression. No wonder the girls felt awkward if that was what they had to contend with.

  Luckily, I was there to come to the rescue. “Sure.”

  The girls blinked as I took the iPhone from them. “Uh—”

  “With the monument in the back, right? Smile.” I took a few to be on the safe side. “Going to Philipsburg Manor next, right? Just follow Broadway past the high school. And if you’ve got time after Sunnyside and the Cemetery, you should check out the Christmas event at Lyndhurst. It’s always good.”

  “Thanks?”

  “Any time,” I told her. “Though if you want—”

  “Hey. Tour guide.” I looked up just in time to catch my bag as Taylor threw it to me. “We should go.”
>
  “Enjoy your stay!” Clutching my bag, I jogged after Taylor.

  Taylor walked at a fast pace out of the park. It took me effort to catch up with him, but I did, falling into place beside him as he strode down Broadway toward home.

  “Notice how I am walking to one side of you and not immediately behind you where you would have no idea I was there.” Taylor didn’t respond, so I glanced at his expression. “You’re not mad about a couple of tourists being tourists? Sleepy Hollow is only famous for one thing! Well, two if you count Caitlyn Jenner… But if you’re going to sulk every time someone asks you where to find the Headless Horseman, then you’re just going to be miserable.”

  Taylor took a deep breath. “Didn’t realize you were so knowledgeable on the subject.”

  “You live here for any amount of time and you have to be. Just wait until next October,” I told him. “You have read the story, right?”

  “The story? Not the film?” Taylor’s expression had relaxed enough to show amusement. “Or the TV show?”

  “We do not talk about the TV show.” I elbowed him. “Anyway. The story and the film are both cool in their own rights, but I have to admit I like the story if only because I remember opening the book and realizing it was about the place I lived. It gave me a really cool feeling. Like maybe, somewhere there was a book about me. I think I read every book in the school library in elementary looking for the book that had me in it and then when I complained to Ms. Van Cleef that I couldn’t find it, she told me I’d just have to write it myself.”

  Taylor smiled. “And that’s how it started.”

  “So now you know everything about me.” We’d slowed down to an actual walk, and I found myself dragging behind, as if I could stretch out the moments by walking slower. “You’ve got me figured out now.”

  “Not quite.” Taylor hesitated. “Why does someone who cares so much about writing quit the newspaper? I know you didn’t do that lightly.”

  I hesitated. “You really want to know?”

  Taylor stopped walking. He waited until I turned toward him. “Was it because of what I said?”

  “Not everything I do revolves around you.” I fought the urge to fidget, looking at the embroidered B on Taylor’s blazer. “But when you said I was good at manipulating opinion, I realized that you were right. I mean, everything else you said was wrong— completely and absolutely wrong, and I’m still mad about that— but I was using the truth for a reason, not presenting facts. I thought since I was doing it for a good reason that it was okay, and maybe it would have been if I were writing fiction, but a newspaper… A newspaper’s different. So I had to quit.”

  “What was your reason?”

  I sighed. “You’ll never believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “I don’t think I want to.”

  “Milo, please.” Taylor’s voice had a note in it that made me look at him. Instead of the scorn I was afraid of, he was studying me seriously. “When we talked after English, I was angry. I was annoyed at how the situation with Logan escalated so badly and that my sexuality had become a school talking point. I didn’t actually read your article about coming out till after, and that’s when I knew I’d made a big mistake.”

  My heart constricted weirdly. Was it possible to be happy and scared at the same time? “But this is really unbelievable. I was the only one there— besides Jordan and Matt, and like they’d admit to this— but I heard them talking in the park about how they were going to get revenge on you for what happened to Logan.”

  “Revenge?” Taylor raised his eyebrows. “They are aware we’re not in middle school?”

  “I told you! I don’t know what they’re planning, only that they realized they had to avoid getting reported. I figured if they thought that you were always surrounded by people—”

  “They’d give up.” Taylor frowned at me. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just go to a teacher?”

  “So I could be not believed by a staff member instead? Great plan.”

  “I mean it. If we approached the coach—”

  “You want to talk to Coach Burns; you are on your own. I am not going anywhere near him.”

  “No one’s got a more vested interest in the football team behaving themselves than him, right? Anyway, so far they haven’t tried anything. Maybe they got over it.”

  I eyed Taylor balefully. “You are so homeschooled it hurts.”

  “Shut up.” Taylor nudged me with his shoulder and started walking again. “Just because I choose to believe that our peers are capable of acting maturely—”

  I laughed.

  “Really—”

  “Not that. You just reminded me. When Fern swears, she gets really— Brady Bunch. She actually says ‘fudge.’ When you swear, you get all British.”

  Taylor tensed. “I do not.”

  “Bloody hell. If that’s not British—”

  “So, if you’ve quit the newspaper, are you going to work on your film script?”

  I groaned, dropping to the sidewalk. “Don’t talk to me about my film script!”

  Taylor scrambled to a halt. “More warning! Seriously Milo—” He caught sight of my face. “It’s not that bad. Every writer gets rejected to start with. When you look at authors like J.K. Rowling—”

  “You’re not helping! You don’t know how long I’ve been working on that script—”

  “How many people your age have even written a script, let alone sent it to anyone? You’ve just got to keep at it. Candice is right. Quitting won’t make you a better writer—”

  A dark car pulled up right beside us. “Taylor!” Naomi leaned across the vehicle to throw open the passenger side door. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Naomi,” Taylor said. “Sorry. I would have called—”

  “The school beat you to it. Seriously— your father is paying me to keep an eye on you, and you’re ditching classes to hang out with a delinquent!”

  I’d opened my mouth to defend Taylor; now I closed it. I’d never been called a delinquent. I had to savor it.

  “Milo’s not—”

  “Shush,” I told Taylor. “Let me have this moment.”

  Naomi impatiently gestured to the seat beside her. “Get in the car. Harper’s looking everywhere for you! Your parents—”

  Taylor slid into the passenger seat. “You didn’t tell my parents?” Belatedly, he remembered me. “See you tomorrow, Milo. And seriously, stop sitting on the sidewalk!”

  “I’m a rebel!” I yelled after the car. “I do what I want!” I don’t think they heard me, but it felt good. I picked myself off the path, started off in the direction of home. I was a delinquent!

  But as I trudged through the village, a disquieting thought occurred to me. How did Naomi know Mr. Harper? And why was Mr. Harper looking for Taylor? This was clearly not the relationship of a normal student and a teacher at school for an observation.

  But what was the relationship?

  ****

  It was a relief to reach the steps to my apartment. Worrying about what possible relation Mr. Harper had to Taylor had opened the gates to other alarming thoughts. What if this went on my high school transcript? What if no college wanted me? What if no one ever wanted my film script?

  I closed the front door of the apartment behind me with a sigh. Finally, home!

  “Milo Markopoulos! What is the meaning of this?”

  I jumped, hitting my shoulder against the door. I was so used to coming home to an empty apartment that I’d entirely forgotten that Mom would be home. “Mom!”

  She stood in the kitchen doorway, her hands on her hips. “The school called. They said they sent you home for fighting with another student.”

  “That’s not—”

  Mom advanced on me. “What is wrong with them? Don’t they know how lucky they are to have you as a student?” Before I could protest, she crushed me against her in a hug. “Sending you home! How dare they?”

  Mom was shorter than me, but she
had surprising upper body strength. I couldn’t free my arms. All I could do was pat her side. “I was fighting with another student.”

  “What is that student doing, picking fights with my son? It is a disgrace! I’ve every mind to go and have a word with that principal of yours, tell him that we’re not standing for this!” Mom tightened her grip on me fiercely and then let go. “The nerve.” Her expression softened as she looked over me. “You poor thing— you must be starving! Come into the kitchen; I’ll take care of you.”

  My family expresses love through food and guilt trips. Escape was futile. I followed Mom into the kitchen. “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Nonsense. You look thin. Pale. Have you been getting enough sleep?” Mom put a plate in front of me and then smoothed my hair off my forehead to peer at my eyes. “My poor son. What have they been doing to you at that school?”

  The phone call from the school had set off a chain reaction of cookery if the counter was any indication. I took one look at the pile of dishes in the sink and knew I was in trouble. “It’s not a big deal! The football team is just being jerks—”

  “The same boys that were so nasty to you about the newspaper article? Why doesn’t the school discipline them?” Mom put a steaming slice of her Lenten moussaka in front of me.

  “They are getting disciplined. And so am I. Mom, you don’t understand! I hit Logan. Then I walked out of school—”

  “About time someone stood up to them.” Mom put a glass of water in front of me. “It’s like I told your principal. ‘My son is a good kid. He’s never hit another student, so he must have a very good reason to be hitting one now.’”

  It was hopeless. I started in on the moussaka, knowing that nothing I said could convince Mom that I was not the shining bastion of moral integrity she took me for. “I wasn’t exactly weighing the issue when I hit him.”

  “You see? You were goaded beyond endurance. Your principal agreed your actions were very unusual—”

  “Have I been suspended?”

  “Suspended? I would like to see them try to suspend you! After what I pay in school fees—”

  “But my transcript,” I said hastily. “Is this going on my transcript?”

  Mom sniffed. “I don’t think your principal knows what he’s doing! He said he wanted to know more about the situation before making a decision. What more is there to know? I put him straight in five minutes!” Mom stopped pacing the kitchen and pinched my cheek. “I don’t know what goes on at his school, but I know my son!”