The Biggest Scoop

by Gillian St. Kevern

  “It’s not everyone who can hold up under the enormous internal and external forces that being the editor of something as polarizing as a newspaper entails,” he told her. “What you’ve accomplished here is commendable, not just in terms of organization and hard work, but personal integrity. One of the most important traits any writer can possess, fiction or nonfiction. You can write well, you can polish your work until it shines, and you can research trends and target audiences, but if your work isn’t genuine, you’re not going to connect with your audience. Candice, you don’t inspire your staff by preaching journalism, you inspire them by living it.”

  Candice glowed. “Can I take that as a direct quote?”

  Sir Alan laughed. “With pleasure. And finally, Mr. Markopoulos.”

  I started. “Me?”

  “Indeed. I’ve heard a lot about you, but I have to say it is your work that I am most interested in.” Sir Alan patted the pile of papers beside him.

  It took me a moment to recognize them, but then the last time I’d seen my script it had been in the process of being flushed down the toilet. The front pages were missing, and it was definitely crumpled, but in addition to my notes and corrections were other notes, added in a big, bold hand that favored navy ink. “But my script sucks.”

  Sir Alan smiled. “There are some shortcomings,” he admitted. “But the structure is good and the premise solid. If you have the time, I’d like to give you some feedback now.”

  Sir Alan Carmichael had given feedback on my script.

  There was the crunch of gravel underfoot as Taylor fell into step on the footpath beside me. “You can thank me any time, you know. Or has my entire existence been blanked out by the presence of Sir Alan Carmichael?”

  “He read my script. I can’t believe— he read my script!” I danced ahead a couple of steps. “You showed it to him?”

  “After you left, I rescued it from the bathroom.” Taylor smirked at me. “He was curious, so I let him read it. It was then he came up with the idea of visiting the school.”

  Sir Alan Carmichael had visited Bernhardt to talk to me.

  That thought led to another one. I shot Taylor a frown. “Just how long have you been Jet Carmichael?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Shortly after I was born?”

  “You know what I mean! You— I cannot believe that you’ve been keeping this a secret the entire time!”

  “It wasn’t completely a secret,” Taylor said. “We just didn’t tell anyone.”

  “How is that not a secret?”

  Taylor shrugged as we turned down the byroad toward the apartment block. “Taylor’s my middle name, what my parents and family calls me. I used it on my school application and all the paperwork.”

  Family and the entire student body of Bernhardt wasn’t exactly a select group, but that still gave me a happy glow. “But the principal knows?”

  “All the staff do, and the board. It was part of getting permission for Mr. Harper.”

  “And he’s your bodyguard?” I was so, so glad I’d never run the story speculating why exactly the teacher was always around when Taylor needed him. “To protect you from other students?”

  “More for rogue reporters or general weirdoes,” Taylor said. “My parents being so famous, there’s kind of a lot of them. Harper’s job also included keeping an eye on me and reporting back to Mom and Dad.” Taylor glanced at me. “I told you about my family getting a lot of abuse from the press. You probably know why now, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I was a kid when it happened, so I didn’t exactly pay attention, but Sir Alan— I mean. Your dad’s my favorite director. So I’ve read a lot about his career and— stuff.”

  Taylor’s mouth twitched. “Stuff?”

  “Well, I don’t know what really happened! I just have the press account, and according to you, they got it wrong!”

  Taylor nodded. “Yeah. My parents have their flaws but neglecting me was never one of them. But all that pressure and scrutiny of the press on top of the child services investigation and working on the film… I got overloaded. It made me sick. There was about a year, maybe a year and a half, when I was just recovering. I stopped going to school, so my parents hired tutors. The tutors knew that if I complained, they’d get fired, so they didn’t try too hard to make me do anything I didn’t want to, so I… didn’t. And then, I got a tutor who was actually decent, got me thinking about my future. I realized I wanted to act, but my parents were afraid that I couldn’t handle the pressure and would relapse. So we came up with a plan. If I could keep my grades up, I was allowed to audition for a role. If I completed the film, I’d be allowed to attend school. If I handled school okay, I’d be allowed to apply for college.”

  “Wait. So when you said you were at Bernhardt to study—”

  “I meant it! You’re only getting that now? Seriously?”

  “I don’t know anyone who has come to school to study!” I protested. “And I’ve been to a lot more school than you have!”

  “But now you get it.” Taylor shook his head. “Meeting you has been like a crash course in high school— I think you managed to fit an entire education’s worth of social anxiety into one month.”

  Taylor did not actually sound annoyed. “Which you handled.”

  “Yeah.” Taylor shook his head. “Somehow.” He hesitated. “My parents couldn’t believe the reports they were getting from Harper. Me, running for class president. Making friends. Taking on responsibilities. Making formal plans. I had a hard time keeping them from showing up at the school sooner.”

  “I have that effect on people, I guess.” I still could not believe it. Sir Alan Carmichael had wanted to meet me!

  “You have something.” Taylor sounded doubtful. “Well, now you know everything.”

  “Not quite. You grew up in the U.K., right? How come you don’t sound British?”

  “I’m an actor… with an American mom.”

  “She taught you?”

  “I taught myself. Believe it or not, they wanted me to have a normal childhood, but when they overheard me practicing her accent they realized that acting was in my blood. That’s how my career started.”

  “All those days you were absent or away from school, that was movie stuff?”

  “Press conferences and interviews. They’re done in advance and released closer to when the film’s released. Which is end of next week.”

  “Next week.” I glanced at Taylor worriedly. “It’s one thing to be Taylor when no one knows what Jet looks like. But once the film comes out—”

  Taylor nodded. “As long as I make it to the end of the term, it’s fine.”

  “It is not fine! It’s Monday! We still have— seven days of term left, not counting the weekend!” The thought was terrifying. “I’ll never make it!”

  “Not make what?”

  “Not telling anyone! Taylor— how could you do this to me?” I slapped him on the arm. “This is the worst!”

  “Ow!” Taylor dodged out of my reach. “How is this the worst? You don’t have to do anything— just don’t say anything!”

  “Exactly! Secrets! I’m terrible at them— and this!” I moaned again. “This is the single biggest story I have ever uncovered— and I can’t tell anyone without making it so that you can’t go to school! Taylor, I’m going to explode!”

  Taylor must have been getting used to me. He stopped when I collapsed, so the foot that nudged me was entirely on purpose. “People don’t explode. Not without help in the form of incendiary devices.”

  “Watch me!”

  Taylor laughed. “You’ll be fine.”

  I let him tug me to my feet. “You won’t be laughing when I accidentally blurt out your identity in front of Alexis and Sarah,” I told him balefully. “Or Candice. Or our entire year group. Or anyone with ears!”

  “You won’t do that,” Taylor said composedly, placing his arm around my shoulders.

  How could he be so calm? “You don’t know that!” />
  “I know you.” Taylor’s response was immediate and sent a fluttery feeling of warmth to my chest, even as my gut twisted in despair. “I trust you, Milo.”

  I eyed him sourly, letting him propel me toward home. How was that not cruel?

  “So, I was thinking,” Taylor continued. “We never did watch Casablanca. I’ve got promo stuff Saturday and Sunday, but maybe if you wanted— What now?” A black car came toward us down the street. Taylor detached his hand from my shoulder and stepped toward the road, waiting as it pulled up.

  Naomi rolled down the window. “Taylor! Get in. We’ve got a flight from Teterboro in only a few hours.”

  “But we’re flying out tomorrow—”

  “Plans changed. There’s no time to lose.”

  “Flying?” I asked as Taylor pulled out his phone.

  “Back to L.A. for a second round of interviews. Can I have your number?”

  “My number?”

  “Please? It’ll be really boring, but if I have someone to talk to…”

  “You’ll be talking to the interviewers.” But I gave him my number anyway.

  I watched the black car pull away, taking Taylor— no, Jet— with it. In one entire day, I seemed to have experienced the entire emotional scale, right down to the feeling of loss as the car disappeared around the corner.

  “I could write about it… but no one would ever believe me.” I bit my lip as the enormity of the secret I was keeping crept over me again. “No one would ever believe me.”

  Was that what Taylor was counting on?

  ****

  Chapter Eleven

  I took the stairs at a run, slammed the door behind me and took a deep breath. “Taylor is really Jet Carmichael! He’s been attending our school, pretending to be a normal teenager to catch up on the schooling he missed! And nobody knows!” I panted.

  The living room was unmoved. The only sound was that of the traffic in the distance, but after a moment’s thought, I locked the door. I couldn’t be too careful. This— I’d never had a secret like this before.

  With a groan, I flopped face-first onto the sofa. I hit the remote, the television flaring to life. “And rounding out the evening’s news, reclusive director Sir Alan Carmichael has made an unusual visit to a New York school. Our reporter, Avani Malakar, has more.”

  “Thank you, Jake. I am standing outside Bernhardt Academy, a private school with a strong academic focus in the town of Sleepy Hollow—”

  “Tarrytown!” I pulled the cushion over my head. I had to focus, figure out what I was going to do.

  “According to these Bernhardt students, Sir Alan’s visit was a complete surprise. No one had any idea he was coming—”

  “Yeah,” I said. “No one but Taylor, the principal and the entire staff!”

  “—until Sir Alan made an appearance at a special assembly. He then spent the rest of the school day visiting classes and clubs.”

  “Club, singular!” I sat up to glare at the TV.

  “These students actually spoke to Sir Alan.” The reporter thrust her microphone at a pair of students standing on the sidewalk beside her. “What was it like?”

  Stacey giggled. “It was so weird. I’ve never met a celebrity, so to have one visit our school was really cool!”

  Trust the drama club to be present when a camera showed up! I smirked. If they only knew that a celebrity had been attending our school for over a month now…

  “Do you know why Sir Alan came to your school?”

  Declan preened. “Bernhardt’s always had a strong reputation for the performing arts. Mr. Saltberg’s classes on drama get a lot of acclaim—”

  “Film! His classes on film!”

  “And the school’s even named for a famous actress.”

  “No, it is not!” I stood up, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “The Bernhardt family were some of the original settlers! They had no connection to Sarah Bernhardt at all! And it’s not the drama club Sir Alan was interested in— What am I doing?”

  I dropped the phone onto the sofa as if I’d been stung. Halfway through calling the local news station. What was I, mad?

  “They’ll ask for my sources. And then what do I tell them? Sir Alan Carmichael’s son told me?” I groaned. This was going to be a nightmare.

  “Back to the studio.”

  “Thank you, Avani.” The anchor leaned forward across his desk. “Sir Alan hasn’t always been on the side of youth. The director has garnered criticism for the behavior of his son, Jet, who is said to be a regular of the party circuit in London.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Jet is reportedly in America now ahead of his first film as an adult, Boston 1770, and it is possible that Sir Alan is in the States to keep an eye on his wayward son.”

  “Again, what?”

  “And now, the weather—”

  “Augh!” I ran into my bedroom and opened up my laptop. What did he mean, wayward son? “Taylor’s the most mature person I know! There’s no way he has fun!”

  The Internet said differently. Browsing the Oh No They Didn’t archives, I discovered a string of articles about how Jet Carmichael had made a habit of being seen falling out of famous London nightclubs at early hours of the morning, in the company of other celebrity wild childs. “Wild childs? Not wild children?” But it wasn’t the quality of the writing bothering me, it was the facts. And the facts put Taylor on a downward slope of excessive partying.

  Taylor was usually just an “also there” in the text, but sometimes there was a grainy picture of a thin youth with long bleached hair, in a state that clearly said he had not been up late studying. The last article dated a year earlier. Had he given it up, turned his life around? Or—

  I closed my laptop, sliding to the floor. “Why is liking people so hard? At least when I was a social outcast, things were simple!”

  ****

  “You weren’t seriously planning on staying home to avoid saying anything people might hear.” Taylor walked beside me as we made our way through the hall. “That’s ridiculous, even for you.”

  “Shows what you know,” I grumbled. Taylor was not treating my dilemma with the appropriateness it deserved.

  “I think you’re just bad at mornings and trying to hide it.” Taylor leaned against the locker next to mine. “Up too late watching movies?”

  I gave him an injured look. “Unlike some people in this conversation, I spent the weekend doing my homework.”

  “You make it sound like I was having fun.”

  I bit my lip before I could say “weren’t you?” Jet’s reputation for partying had been on my mind since the TV report Friday, but somehow, even when Taylor had texted me from L.A., I’d been unable to ask him the questions I’d wanted to.

  Taylor misinterpreted my hesitation. “You really are that afraid of slipping up? I’m surprised you didn’t pack duct tape for your mouth.”

  In the act of pulling the roll of tape out of my bag, I froze. “What if I had?”

  “Give me that!” After a brief tug of war, Taylor got the tape away from me. “Sometimes, Milo, I really wonder about you.”

  “That makes two of us!” I shut my books in the locker. “Still, it is your high school career at risk here, not mine!”

  The bell ended further discussion, though not my torment. Many of my classmates had been interviewed over the weekend, though none could top Declan’s television performance. Every time the subject of Sir Alan came up, I had to physically cover my mouth. I was in agony.

  Taylor just smirked.

  “What’s with the smug grin?” Alexis asked him during lunch. “You look way too pleased with yourself for someone who doesn’t have a formal date.”

  Taylor blinked. “I do?”

  “You’re right.” Sarah Choi joined in the close consideration of Taylor. “I thought he was weirdly happy to be in AP English on a Monday.”

  Lily leaned in. “He’s not the only one. Look at Fern’s expression.”

  Fern, in
the process of eating a vegetable sushi roll, froze. “What about my expression?”

  I smirked. Finally, someone else shared my pain!

  Declan leaned back in his chair. “Now that you mention it… She has been in a very good mood today.”

  “How would you tell?” I ask. “Fern’s always in a good mood.”

  “This is an especially good mood,” Declan continued. “Something happened. Something involving Taylor and Fern.”

  The same thought occurred to all of us at once. My stomach lurched in an entirely new type of horror.

  “Oh my god,” Alexis said. “You two are—”

  “I knew it!” Declan said. “The two of you are perfect together—”

  “What? No!” Fern choked on her sushi. “It’s not that!”

  Taylor passed her his water bottle. “Much as we hate to disappoint, Fern and I are not going to the formal together. At least, not as a couple. “

  “But it is formal related.” Ability to breathe restored, Fern set down the water bottle. “I was waiting to make the announcement at the committee meeting today, but now, I don’t think I can.” She smoothed her hair out of her face. “We’ve sold enough tickets that we’ve covered the costs of renting the venue, DJ and catering, and we’ve still got a week to go! From now on, every ticket we sell goes directly to the shelter— isn’t that brilliant?”

  “That’s great news!” I clapped, the others at the table following my example.

  “Maybe now you’ll let yourself get some rest,” Declan started.

  At the exact moment, Fern said, “Of course, we can’t relax now—”

  “Typical vice president,” Taylor said after the laughter that followed. “But Fern’s right. We still have a lot of work to do with the decorations, snacks and setting up on the day.”

  With the conversation turned away from the dangerous topic of Sir Alan, I should have been able to relax. Yet, the sudden surprising thought that Taylor and Fern might be attending together had set off a chain reaction of panic through my body. I took a deep breath, trying to look casual as Declan and Taylor talked lighting. Did this mean Taylor didn’t have a date to the formal?