by Sarah Mello
“You don’t have to leak videos for people; you choose to,” Casey argued. “And you never should have released that one. It ruined a lot of people’s lives.”
I leaned forward. “How about this? If you give me the lowdown on Mrs. Penn, count it all water under the bridge,” I said.
“Count what for what?” Kyle descended quickly into the neighboring desk.
Buckets jumped. “Jesus, Winchester!”
“Sorry.” Kyle ran his hand through his dark hair, his bicep peeking out from his sleeve. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m trying to convince Buckets to give me some information,” I said. “That’s all.”
“Not about Cliff?” Kyle wrinkled his brow. “I told you, Sonny; he didn’t do it.”
“No, not about Cliff. And you don’t know that. Buckets is the only person who can tell us if Cliff handed the video of Lana over to him.”
We all glanced at Buckets.
He held up his hands. “Absolutely not. I don’t reveal my clients’ identities under any circumstance.”
“Well, I can assure you,” said Kyle, “that Cliff wasn’t responsible for the leak. As much as he hated Mr. Hill, he would never do that to Lana. He loved her.”
“Cliff loves himself,” Buckets said.
Kyle glared at him, his eyes eventually landing on Casey’s. “Hi,” he said with a smile.
Casey waved at Kyle from across the circle.
“If I tell you what I know about Mrs. Penn, you’ll let this Lana jumble go?” Buckets asked.
I held up my hand like I was swearing. “You have my word.”
“Mrs. Penn? The English teacher?” Kyle leaned forward in his seat.
“You know her?” I asked.
“No, but I heard she moved here from Florida to take Russell’s position.”
“And her son, Guy, is trying out for the wrestling team,” added Buckets. “Supposedly, he’s a pretty tough guy.”
“That explains all of the scars,” I mumbled under my breath as my mind flashed to the stranger in the hallway. “That must have been who I met outside of Mrs. Penn’s classroom this morning.” I rubbed my arms and shifted in my seat.
“Did he do something to you?” Kyle asked, reading my expression.
“Not exactly,” I replied. “He was just a little strange.”
“Like mother, like son,” Buckets said.
Kyle reached into his book bag and pulled out a thick binder. “I don’t know anything about Guy. But my dad told me Mrs. Penn came highly recommended. Oh, and also, she’s a total hard-ass.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ve gathered as much.”
Suddenly, Winston plopped down in the empty desk beside me.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“Culture Club meeting. I’m the founder, remember?” Winston stacked his books in front of him.
“Don’t you have to be an impressive human to be the founder of such a club?” Buckets asked. “Or at the very least, semi-cultured?”
“As it turns out, you can be an impressive human just by saying you’re cultured,” Winston replied.
Casey took her glasses off her face, breathing on the frames and wiping them against her shirt. “Innovative.”
“We still don’t know why Mr. Russell was allegedly fired,” Kyle said.
I rapped my knuckles against the desk to get everyone’s attention. “We have to go visit Mr. Russell. Today. We have to ask him what happened.”
I looked around the circle, waiting for a pushback. It came quicker than I thought.
“Hell no,” Buckets said.
“Come on, Buckets! Don’t you want to know what happened? How many times did he stay after school to help you edit your photos? Casey, Mr. Russell always gave you extra-credit opportunities, and extra time to finish them when you had to attend to your brothers. And Kyle? He always extended your deadlines after a long week of football practices. Winston, I’m sure he did some nice things for you.”
“Not really,” he replied, examining his fingernails. “I only knew him for a year.”
“Look, if it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t even be one of the Chosen Ten,” I said. “Mr. Russell inspired me to start writing.”
“All the more reason not to go on a scavenger hunt,” Kyle said. “You and I have a lot to lose if we get caught starting an inquisition at an ex-teacher’s house.” He spun his pointer finger in the air. “We all do.”
“Something tells me you have nothing to worry about, Winchester,” Winston said.
Kyle leaned in. “You might think my dad gives me special treatment, but he doesn’t, okay? We aren’t close. At all.” He looked around the circle, seemingly embarrassed by his distant relationship with his dad. “Don’t think for one second he wouldn’t write me up if he had to.”
I glanced at Kyle as he fell back into his chair, his eyes facing downward toward the top of his desk. Everyone always assumed he and his dad were close, but after his parents split when he was ten, his dad moved out and their relationship took a turn for the worse.
“You kids do what you want.” Winston flipped through his books. “I’d rather stick my head under the piano keys while Mike Chang plays another plagiarized composition than go visit Mr. Russell.”
“You’re going,” I said.
“Fine.” Winston closed his book and locked his hands. “My demands are simple. I want a 7-Eleven pit stop on the way there, not on the way back. And I get to sit in the front seat with full control, not partial, over the radio.”
“Ladies get the front seat in my car,” Kyle said, staring at Casey.
“You are shameless, you know that?” Winston asked him.
“Put your dukes down, children,” said Buckets. “We can’t go.”
We looked over at Buckets, who was looking down at his tablet lighting up like a Christmas tree.
“Why not?” I asked.
Buckets held up the bright screen toward our faces, shining the darkest of news.
There’s not always an explanation when tragedy strikes, because how could there be? Sometimes, things just happen. And the most tragic thing of all is that you rarely ever see it coming.
5
Secrets
Secrets. We all have them; we all tell them. Some tell secrets to protect others; others tell secrets to protect themselves. My mother once told me there’s nothing worse than being someone’s secret. My father tells me there’s nothing harder than keeping one. I happen to think the worst of all is knowing a secret is being kept from you.
News of Mr. Russell’s suicide took the entire town of Westcott by shock. Principal Winchester closed school for the rest of the week so the students and staff had time to “process and reflect.”
Coming back to WH the following Monday was a bit of a drab to say the least. Rumors were flying around the halls at rapid speed. Most of them were centered on Mr. Russell’s undeniable depression and stress caused by the loss of his beloved job at Westcott.
I held my locker open, staring blankly inside. Suddenly, the smell of musty cedar wood overwhelmed me.
“I’m really sorry to hear about Mr. Russell. I heard you two were close.” A male body leaned against the neighboring lockers.
I slowly tilted my head back in fear and glanced to the right. “Oh. It’s you.”
“Expecting someone else?” Jacob asked.
“Hoping it wasn’t a certain someone.”
“Anyone I’d know?”
“Guy Penn?” I yawned.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” he said. “Why were you hoping not to run into him?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I had a strange encounter with him. And his mom.” My suggestive eyes were hopefully communicating what I couldn’t say regarding my feelings toward Mrs. Penn.
“What did he say to you?” Jacob asked.
I yawned again as I closed my locker. “It’s not important.”
Jacob placed his hand on my left shoulder. “Are you
okay?”
His touch was strong. Or maybe I was weak.
“I’m just tired.” I rubbed the back of my neck, which felt tight as a knotted rope. “I haven’t slept since I heard the news. I’m also trying to work on the most important paper of my life.”
“So things are going smoothly, then?”
“Very,” I said, digging my fingertips into my skin.
“The Westcott Awards. That’s a big deal here, right?” Jacob propped his arm up on the lockers and leaned into our conversation.
“The biggest,” I replied, my eyes roaming his chest.
“Maybe I can help. What do you want your paper to be about?”
I paused, giving thought to his question. “I think I want to write a memoir. A ‘pocumentary’ of sorts.”
Jacob smirked. “What the hell is that?”
“A documentary but in paper form. A pocumentary.”
“What is it with kids at this school and their abbreviations?” he asked. “I heard someone say ‘brock’ earlier. A bro—”
“And a jock.” I nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”
“What about me?” he asked, gesturing to himself.
I looked down, tracing the floral pattern on my shirt with my eyes. “What about you?”
“I’ve got a good story,” he said.
I shook my head aggressively, unsure of whether I thought his suggestion was ridiculous or if I was just extremely agitated. “I have to write something impactful.”
“Are you saying I’m incapable of making an impact?”
“You’re sixteen,” I replied. “How deep could your story possibly be?”
“You know, if I were like most guys, I’d tell you about the time I saved a damsel in distress from a burning building, while on crutches, which resulted in two hundred thirty-six scars on my body.”
“Man.” My eyes left the light blue flowers on my blouse and locked in with his. “That’s incredibly cringy.”
“Really? I thought you’d be impressed.”
“You’re just one scar shy.” I attempted to smile through my weakened state.
Jacob held up his hands. “Whoa, hold on. Is that a smile?”
“I think the correct term is half smile.” I slung my backpack onto my other shoulder.
“Are you sure?” He studied my face with exaggerated focus. “It looked a whole lot like a full smile.”
“Or—it could just be a slightly delirious grin caused by the result of sheer exhaustion.”
“I can work with that,” he said.
My eyes widened. “High standards.”
“You know, you’re right. I don’t know if you could write an entire paper on me.” He coughed. “You could on my dad.”
“Yeah? And why’s that?”
Just then, a commotion from the other end of the hall caught my eye. JC was engulfed in what appeared to be an intense conversation with Mrs. Penn. I watched as the two went back and forth with one another.
“He’s a pretty famous lawyer back in Long Beach.”
I returned my full attention back to Jacob. “Wait a minute. Harrison. Is your dad Ron Harrison?”
“My dad is Ron Harrison,” Jacob answered.
“He was the lead criminal defense lawyer on the Farrah Klein case.” I straightened up, bouncing on the toes of my Converses. “The girl who was wrongly convicted of murdering her sorority sisters, only to be found innocent two years later. Your dad helped set her free. I followed that case from start to finish. It was one of the biggest turnaround convictions in history.”
“That’s him.” Jacob crossed his arms in front of his chest. “But he’s since retired.”
“What does he do now?” I asked.
Jacob looked down and flicked his thumbnail against his middle finger. “Mostly just PI work.”
“Do you think your dad would let me interview him for my paper?” I stared at him with begging eyes.
Jacob stared into my eyes, smiling with his, then dropped his head—and his smile. “I think I could pull some strings. You have to do something for me, though.”
I suddenly had a more willing attitude. “Anything.”
“Is there any chance you could introduce me to Norah Soros?” he asked.
And then, just like that, my willing attitude took a nosedive. I gave him a blank stare as my face began to burn. It was at that moment I realized the flirtation between Jacob and me must have existed only in my head—and how incredibly wrong you could be about a person, regardless of how right it felt.
“I heard you know each other pretty well.”
“Who the heck told you that?” I asked.
He pointed his thumb behind his shoulder. “Winston. The kid who wears the scarves.”
“I see you don’t pick up on sarcasm as well as I thought.”
“So you don’t know her?”
“Sort of,” I replied, wrinkling my nose. “But why do you need my help with that?”
“Well, I heard she’s dating someone. I figured it’d be less creepy if someone else casually introduced us.”
I clenched the straps of my book bag so tightly that my fingers hurt. “You do know it’s slightly unbecoming to hit on someone who has a boyfriend, right?”
“I’m not going to hit on her. I just figured she’d remember me if they were to break up. I heard they were on-again, off-again.”
“Why are you so sure you want Norah to remember you? Because believe me, that doesn’t always work out in your favor. Besides, you don’t even know her.”
“Actually, I do,” he replied. “Well, sort of. I saw her over the summer.”
“Where?” I asked.
“At a house party some guy in my neighborhood was throwing. She looked so beautiful. She was wearing this red dress. I’ll never forget that dress.”
I rolled my eyes at the thought of a simple red dress having such power.
“I was sure she had to be some years older than me, but when I saw her here at Westcott—I don’t know—I thought it was fate.” He paused. “I just figured she’d save my number in the event she becomes single any time soon. That’s all.”
“That’s quite presumptuous,” I said.
Jacob exhaled slightly. “So, will you introduce me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on!”
I placed my hand in between us. “If you want a go at Norah for reasons I can’t understand, you’ll have to get in line and fend for yourself like any good Violet would do.”
“That’s too bad,” Jacob said. “By the looks of it, you might be trailing behind most of the Chosen Ten.”
“More like the chosen four,” I mumbled under my breath. “And how would you know that?”
“Because there’s some serious competition this year. I’m sure a one-on-one, in-depth, exclusive interview with a famous criminal defense lawyer would put you a step above the rest. I can even get you that interview as early as Saturday morning.”
“Saturday?” I asked, considering the trade-off.
Jacob nodded. “But if you’re not interested . . . ,” he said, luring me in.
Although I wanted to say no, nothing meant more to me than writing a good piece for the awards. Not even keeping what was left of my dignity. “Fine.” I relaxed my shoulders. “I’ll introduce you. But that’s it.”
He put his hands up in front of him. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“Excuse me for a minute,” I said, slowly brushing by him.
“See you Saturday?” he shouted as I walked down the hallway.
I reached the opposite end of the hall and cautiously approached JC, who was leaning up against the wall near the faculty break room—an unlikely place for a guy like him to hang out.
“You in trouble with Penn?” I asked him.
He rolled his head against the brick wall, his orange headphones hanging from his back pocket. “What’s it to you? And are you sure you want to be caught speaking to me?”
“You do know my sister is Lana
Carter, right? I’m no newcomer to scandals.”
“What do you want, Sonny?”
“I wanted to welcome you back,” I said.
“I’m not welcome,” he replied. “And I don’t need you to pretend like I am.”
“Look, I just want to know what you and Mrs. Penn were talking about.”
“Why do you care?” JC asked.
“Because I care about you,” I replied. “We’re friends.”
“Oh, right. I must have missed your friendly texts and calls all summer.”
“JC . . .”
“Save it, Sonny.”
“Look, I may have kept my distance until things cooled down, but I never stopped caring about you. None of us did.”
“You just can’t speak to me, right?”
I paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. At Westcott, aligning yourself with the right people could make or break you. So, when a fellow classmate went under, it was expected that everyone would scurry like cockroaches at the sight of a scandal. And when JC’s incident occurred—everyone did exactly that.
“I’m speaking to you now,” I said. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
He sized me up for a solid minute, clearly unsure of whether or not he could trust me. “Look, I can’t talk about this. Not here. Meet me at the country club after school.” He shifted on his feet as his eyes scanned the hallways.
“Okay,” I replied. “I’ll be there.”
The Westcott Country Club. Home to self-proclaimed professional golfers, tennis stars, and one of the hardest working waitresses on the planet—my mother, Darcy Carter. When I was a kid, her name had a special kind of ring to it. But when I got older, it was hard to believe how dull it started sounding.
“You two let me know if you need anything else, okay?” Mom placed our drinks down on the table.
“We will,” I said as we watched her walk back into the kitchen.
“Your mom works here?” JC asked.
I studied him. “Yeah. They let women work now.” I grabbed my green tea and pulled it toward me. “It’s sort of a thing that caught on.”
