The Biggest Scoop

by Gillian St. Kevern

  I smiled faintly. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Now, tell me about this boy who thinks he’s too good to date you.”

  I choked. “Mom!”

  “He’s the one behind this, isn’t he? I told the principal that he had to be the problem. There was no way that you would quit the newspaper otherwise.”

  There it was. The guilt. I swallowed, pushing my plate away. “Actually—”

  She took it well. As in, she stayed silent throughout my explanation, stroking my arm and listening carefully.

  “And not only am I a terrible human being,” I wound up. “But I’m a terrible writer, too!”

  “Milo Markopoulos,” my mom said seriously. “I ought to slap you. You are not going to give up on your dreams because some pretty boy with nice cheekbones tells you it’s no good.”

  “Mom! Taylor’s not just pretty—”

  “No, Milo. Listen to your mother.” She took my hand, squeezing it earnestly. “I would do anything for you, you know that. I moved you here from New York after your father died, because I wanted you to grow up somewhere safe, but I also wanted you to have the chance to grow up somewhere you could choose the life you wanted for yourself. You know I love your yaya, but she is traditional. When I wanted to go to medical school…” Mom shook her head. “It was as if I’d torn out my uterus and dumped it on the floor in front of her. Get a further education? High school was good enough for the rest of our family, why wasn’t it good enough for me? Did I think I was better than the rest of my family? How was I going to attract a nice man with an education?” Mom sighed. “And now look at your cousin, going to law school. Such a clever boy, has his grandfather’s brains. Not a word about the fact that Grandfather didn’t even finish high school!”

  I made a soothing noise.

  “And then I met your father. He had such pretty eyes, Milo. Yaya was delighted, of course. He was Greek! And Greek men want their wife at home. Stephen and I weren’t planning on starting a family until we’d graduated, but you wouldn’t wait…” Mom smiled fondly. “I have to admit, there were times when I regretted not finishing medical school. For all my big plans, there I was, a typical Greek housewife with a baby. But when Stephen died— you were my support, Milo. I could not have gone on without you.”

  “Mom.” I pushed back my chair to go to her.

  Mom accepted my hug placidly. “Which is why I will always support you in living the life you choose. And why I am not about to see you give up on your dreams. The newspaper doesn’t want you? Fine. You get that script of yours out, and you work on it no matter what that Taylor says.”

  It wasn’t worth pointing out that Taylor had encouraged me to do the same thing. “Thanks, Mom. You know, I think I will.”

  My script had been untouched at the base of my closet ever since Taylor had delivered it. Sitting on my bed, I carefully read the cover letter through. The rejection was not as final as I’d first thought and the criticisms not as damming.

  As I skimmed through my script, I could see they had a point. I’d favored what was conventionally funny over what was true. I grabbed my laptop, pulling up the file, and began to write.

  ****

  Chapter Nine

  Wednesday. I trudged down the hall toward my locker, avoiding eye contact with other students. If I could just survive today, I would be halfway through the week. Just think! Only two more days and then the weekend, ten more days until the end of the semester…

  I shuddered. Why hadn’t I said yes when Mom asked if I wanted to stay home? Maybe it was shock. Mom didn’t let me take time off for anything less than a severed limb, but this morning, she hadn’t even mentioned the thermometer.

  “Ah, Milo. Glad to see that you decided to join us today.” The principal rubbed his hands together, looking not at me but over my shoulder. “Your mother… Is she joining us today?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware.”

  The principal straightened up. “I see. Well, have a good day, Milo. And remember if you need anything, my office is open.” He walked back down the hall, hands in his pockets and… whistling?

  Great. I hadn’t even reached my locker and my day was already off to a weird start. I braced myself and continued down the hall. Knowing my luck, it would only get weirder.

  It did.

  At lunch, the drama club broke out into a sudden song. I looked up from my folder, confused. “Is that a Pointer Sisters and Van Halen mash-up?”

  Lily agreed with my dim view of the situation. “Just because the songs are called Jump doesn’t mean they should be combined.”

  Even so, we both watched as the song and dance routine came to its conclusion, and Declan held out a basketball to a laughing Boomer. Something was written on the ball— a promposal? From the way the surrounding students erupted in applause as Boomer ducked his head and took the ball, the answer was a “yes.”

  Lily snorted. “Now there’s a couple that’s not going to be together after the last song.”

  I smiled faintly. “Right. Declan’s got a boyfriend. If the school rules didn’t ban anyone over twenty-one from attending school events, he wouldn’t be asking Boomer at all.” Even so, it was really difficult to watch. I looked back to my folder, wondering if the weird feeling in my stomach was due to the triumphant smirk Declan had sent in my direction, or the fact that Taylor was among those congratulating them.

  I hadn’t had the chance to talk to Taylor all day. He’d entered AP English not just talking to Logan, but laughing with him. Whatever the joke was, it had to be a good one. Taylor was now instated at the school spirit table, with Victoria and Maria on one side and Logan on the other. My heart sank. To a casual outsider they looked like they’d been friends forever…

  “You still planning on skipping out on the formal?” I asked Lily quickly.

  “Actually, I changed my mind. After our talk, I decided I might as well practice crashing and burning now, so I’ve got it down for when no one wants to go to senior prom with me.”

  “I— don’t know whether to applaud your practicality or worry about your defeatist attitude.”

  Lily shrugged. “If you’re going to aim high, you need a parachute.”

  I smiled faintly. “Since we’re both going anyway, do you want to maybe go—”

  “Hey, Lily.” The table shook as a heavy book bag was dropped onto it. “Milo.”

  “Candice?” I blinked up at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not here to ask you to come back to the newspaper, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Candice rested her hands on her hips. “We barely notice that you’re gone. In fact, I don’t miss you at all.”

  I eyed her dubiously. “So you’re skipping class for the express purpose of letting me know how much you don’t miss me?”

  Candice snorted. “I came to let you know you’d been replaced, so it’s no good holding out hope that you’ll be welcomed back once you see the big mistake you made.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Lionel?” How was that news? “He was deputy editor before.”

  Candice smiled sweetly at me. “I’m not talking deputy editor. We got a new junior on the paper, taking over the winter formal and school politics side of things. Since he is heavily involved in both, he’s the perfect fit.”

  “Who?”

  Candice leaned in. “Taylor.”

  “What?” I jerked my head back to look across the cafeteria. Taylor was talking to Maria and Victoria. “There’s no way.”

  “Yes way. Caught me before school, told me he wanted to start immediately.”

  “But—” I bit my lip. What Taylor had told me in Patriot’s Park was private— too private to be shared. But knowing that, why on earth would he sign up for the newspaper? “It makes no sense.”

  “Face the facts, Milo. You are not the only person at this school capable of writing a decent article— so you might as well put away whatever it is you’re working on now.”

  I hastily closed my folder.
“I’m not writing for you.”

  “Keep quitting and you’re not writing for anyone.” Candice picked up her bag.

  “Candice, wait!” Lily stood. She took a deep breath, fidgeting as Candice turned to look at her. “So. Um. I had an idea for an article, if I could get your opinion on it.” She held out a piece of paper.

  I watched Candice take the paper with that feeling you get in dreams. When you know what you are watching cannot possibly be happening, but you go through the actions anyway. Only instead of flying away through the cafeteria windows, I was rooted to one spot, watching as Candice unfolded what was definitely not an article proposal.

  “Photographers and journalists,” Candice read. “They go together like peanut butter and jelly. Lois and Clark. Rizzoli and Isles. Formals and dates.” She looked across the table at Lily. “This what I think it is?”

  Lily might have been blushing, but it was impossible to tell under her layers of foundation. She looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. “I know you don’t really go for cheesy, so I thought, just maybe— I have a new lens for my camera and two tickets to the formal, so I thought—”

  Candice tucked the invite into her shirt. “You got yourself an article, Lily. By which I mean I would love to be your date.” She nudged me as she left. “Pick your chin up off the floor, Milo. You’ll trip someone.”

  ****

  The bell rang for the end of sixth period. I stood up with a sigh of relief. Nothing else crazy had happened!

  In retrospect, that should have been a warning, but Candice and Lily had thrown me for a loop. Candice… well, all the times she’d remarked that she relied on me to keep her up-to-date on which guys were attractive or not suddenly made a lot more sense. Lily, on the other hand, was a total dark horse. No one could have predicted that!

  I lingered, letting Emily, flanked by Maria and Victoria, leave the classroom before making my way down the hall. I was not even slightly interested in girls. So why did Lily and Candice going to the formal bother me so much?

  I leaned head first against my locker with a groan. All my friends had a date to the formal— except me. “Fine, world, I get it! I am an unlikeable human being who is going to the formal alone!” As I opened my locker, I saw a movement to one side. Jordan and Matt were standing behind me. “What now? Here to make fun of me?”

  “We did consider it.” Matt glanced to his friend. “But you sound like you’ve got that covered.”

  “Please.” Jordan folded his arms. “Don’t stop on our behalf.”

  I glared at them and threw my books into the locker. “I am so done with this school and everyone in it!”

  It wasn’t until I was halfway down the path to the gate that I realized I’d thrown my folder in with my books. Heaving a sigh, I turned around. My script was the only thing I had in my life right now that I even liked.

  Thankfully, the halls were empty, everyone having moved on to their after-school activities. I slid my folder into my bag and paused. “Hello?”

  The hallway was entirely empty. I hesitated, looking up and down. I could have sworn I’d heard my name—

  There it was again. A voice talking animatedly from behind the bathroom door. I took a deep breath and stepped toward it. I couldn’t imagine anyone talking about me with that much excitement meaning anything good. Very carefully I inched it open.

  Taylor had his back to me. He faced the mirror, waving his hands. “I’m a personable guy. No.” He readjusted his posture, one hand on his hip, the other raised in an exaggerated shrug. “I’m a personable guy,” he repeated, tilting his head as if talking to someone who wasn’t there.

  I swallowed noiselessly, feeling a clammy weight settle across my shoulders.

  Taylor paced the length of the bathroom, his hands flung up above his head. “Hello? Class president? You’ve made a lot of friends!” Just as quickly, his mood transformed again, slamming both fists down on the counter as he glared at the mirror. “It’s a newspaper— not a soapbox!”

  I couldn’t move.

  Taylor straightened up, folding his arms across his chest. “I bet Ghandi ran for—” He glanced toward the door.

  I watched his face fall. Was that how I looked?

  “Milo! I didn’t— this is not what it looks like!” Taylor took a step toward me and then stopped.

  “That’s good,” I said, my voice echoing weirdly in the bathroom. “Because it looks like you were impersonating me.”

  Taylor jerked his hand back to his chest. “Then it is what it looks like.”

  I gripped the bathroom door tightly. “Why? Are you mocking me?” Was that how Taylor had become friends with Logan?

  Taylor’s shoulders drooped. He seemed to have lost height, diminishing as his energy left him. “Nothing like that. I can’t explain this, but all I can say is that it’s not— I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

  “Okay.” I closed the bathroom door.

  After a moment, it occurred to me that I should probably be walking.

  “Milo! Wait!” There was a crash, and I looked back to see Taylor stumbling out the bathroom door, one foot caught in his bag. “Look— I know how that looked, and I can see how you’d be upset, but I promise you, it’s nothing like what you’re thinking.”

  I kept walking. “But you won’t tell me what it is.”

  Taylor fell into step beside me. “I can’t.”

  “It’s fine. It’s a free world. You can do whatever you like.”

  “It’s not fine.” Taylor’s voice was low and the hand he placed on my arm gentle. “It’s obvious you’re upset.”

  My body immediately turned traitor, inclining toward him completely independently of me. I kept my gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at him. “I’m not upset.”

  “Milo—” Taylor stepped into my line of vision.

  I turned my head away. “You said it yourself. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Therefore, I am not hurt. Therefore, you should let go of my arm. Now.”

  Taylor did not let go of my arm. “That is crap, and we both know it.” He placed his free hand on my shoulder. “Look at me. Please.”

  Unwillingly, but unable to do otherwise, I raised my face to his. In my chest, my heart lurched, stalling as it shifted gears, beating with the awareness of Taylor’s proximity.

  His eyes scanned my face with an attention to detail that was a little alarming and a lot electrifying. It was entirely too personal, and if I’d been able to move, I’d have stepped back, but my body had definite ideas on that front. Somehow, my hand had slipped between Taylor’s blazer to clutch his shirt, just like his hand had traveled independently to the small of my back.

  And Taylor still continued to look.

  What on earth did he see? What was he searching for? His eyes were serious, with an intensity I couldn’t decipher. In pure self-defense, I looked at his mouth instead.

  That was a mistake. Taylor’s mouth opened, a hint of teeth showing as his lips drew back in a smile.

  I licked my top lip, feeling unaccountably nervous as Taylor leaned toward me—

  “Hey, Taylor! Does the formal master doc contain the—”

  I tried to jerk away from Taylor, just as his hand reflexively tightened around my arm.

  I heard Alexis’s footsteps slow to a halt. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Yes—”

  “No!” I spoke loudly to drown Taylor out. “I was just leaving.”

  “Are you sure? Because I really don’t mind waiting—”

  “I’m positive!” I used my free hand to pry Taylor’s hand off my shoulder. “The formal committee needs you, President. You can’t keep them waiting.”

  Taylor slowly picked up his bag. “You’re sure?”

  “Totally.”

  “And you’re—”

  “Fine. We covered this.” Seeing my opportunity, I took it. I was down the steps before Taylor could think of another question. But any elation I felt at my escape was overshadowed im
mediately by the knowledge that this was temporary. There were two more days until the weekend.

  ****

  “There is something definitely wrong with that boy, Milo.” Mom shook her head, putting a second plate of toast in front of me. “I wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”

  “Easier said than done,” I grumbled. Not that I had room to speak. Mom was feeding me faster than I could keep up.

  She sat down, leaning across the table to smooth down my hair. “Why would anyone not want to go to the formal with you? No, there is definitely something not right there at all.”

  I smiled faintly. Mom was too biased to be a factual source, but she did make me feel better. She’d gotten up early just to make me breakfast. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You go to school today and you show him what a mistake he’s made. There is only one Milo Markopoulos. And tell that principal of yours that, too.” Mom frowned, brushing some fluff off my blazer. “I’ve half a mind to call him myself.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “Nonsense. They’ve been taking you for granted far too long. It’s time they knew how lucky they are to have you there.”

  ****

  The morning was uneventful. Mom did not make good on her threat to call the principal and I managed to avoid Taylor entirely. After I climbed out the window of the Drawing class so he couldn’t talk to me after class, he took the hint and started avoiding me too. I sat with Lily at lunch, trying to ignore the lingering guilt I felt whenever Taylor looked my way (which was often). He was being the jerk here, not me.

  And his first article was on the front page.

  I could have been chewing cardboard for how little I noticed my lunch, reading Taylor’s article for the second time. It was good. Polished, well reasoned with a strong message calling for the student body to set aside its differences. Taylor had a headline, a hook and a compelling argument that led to a strong conclusion. It was like reading a checklist on how to construct a solid article.

  That was it— it was like reading a checklist. Mechanically, the article was good. Taylor had not needed my help studying for AP English, if this was any indication of his essay writing ability. But the spark that should have been there wasn’t.