Sources Say

by Lori Goldstein

Angeline nodded. “I told you I was doing well. I could be doing better. For all of us.”

  Cat snorted, and Angeline bugged her eyes at her sister. How does she think she’ll pay for her precious Northwestern, exactly? Not Dad and Botox Wife, that’s for damn sure.

  Conflicting feelings of pride and embarrassment shone in her mom’s eyes even though she worked her ass off at that law firm. It wasn’t her fault money was tight. Her dad should have helped more, but why would he now when he barely did then?

  “And you won’t miss any classes?” her mom asked.

  “Holiday break. She knows a lot of us are still in school.”

  “Uh-huh. So preying on the young?”

  “Mom—”

  “All right, you can go—”

  Angeline pumped her fist.

  “On one condition.” Her mom trained the hazel eyes they all shared on Angeline.

  “Anything!”

  “You’re still applying to college, so you need to get an extracurricular—”

  “Done, I can go back to cheer—”

  “No. One with more of an academic bent.” Her mom’s eyes spanned from Angeline to Cat and back again. “Maybe Cat could use some help—”

  “No!” Angeline and Cat cried in unison—well, almost in unison. Cat’s preceded Angeline’s by just enough for them all to notice. “Now, Cat . . .” her mom started.

  “It’s just that the student council election’s coming up. Ms. Lute thinks it’ll be a big one, and the paper’s reporting will require total focus.”

  And of course, Angeline, who pumped out three videos a week, didn’t have focus.

  Whatever.

  She ran through the options in her head for something respectable but that wouldn’t take too much time away from Ask an Angel. She was on the verge of moving up to the next level of influencer, which was why she’d given up all her extracurriculars last year—cheerleading and drama club and swim team.

  But wait, what had Cat said? StuCo? Big? Student council was one of the most ignored activities in school. Angeline had never voted in any of the elections. Not once. Did it even meet?

  All the reading, watching, and talking about this year’s tight presidential race with Gramps and their mom had made Cat delusional.

  And yet . . . her mom was riveted.

  “Student council, huh?” Angeline said. “My video on best apps for note-taking couldn’t be more on point.” She twirled her hand above her head. “Meet StuCo’s newest secretary.”

  Her popularity meant she’d totally win, and if the council actually held any meetings, she’d pop in via video once or twice, then transition out. Done and done.

  Her mom smiled. “Excellent. I like how you’re broadening your horizons. But don’t underestimate yourself, hon. You are presidential material.”

  What?

  “Her? President?” Cat cried. “But I’ve got all this election coverage planned! I’ll have to . . . to, like, interview her.”

  “Even better,” her mom said. “Give you two a chance to spend some time together. Everything will be different next year.”

  “Thankfully,” Cat said.

  Angeline’s jaw clenched. “Finally something we agree on.” She spun around to head for her room when she realized their deal lacked one key element. “What if I don’t win?”

  “Only way you don’t win is by trying not to. Which means . . .” Her mom winked at Cat. “I need an inside woman.”

  Cat flipped back the bangs that Angeline would have cautioned against since they only accentuated the roundness of her face. But Cat hadn’t asked her advice.

  “I don’t really have time to spy,” Cat said.

  “Not spy, keep tabs,” their mom said. “You’ll be covering it for the paper anyway, so you let me know if your sister’s not hitting that campaign trail as hard as she might.”

  “Way to enlist an impartial judge,” Angeline grumbled, to which Cat gave a smug smile, to which Angeline offered a “bite me” face. She then marched down the hall to her bedroom.

  President.

  Seriously?

  Leo would never let her live this down.

  Except Leo wasn’t speaking to her.

  Just outside her bedroom, Angeline unlocked her phone. Still on the screen was her last text to Leo:

  Miss you.

  It hung there without a response, not a like or a thumbs-up or even a thumbs-down. Just . . . nothing. Like it hadn’t been seen. Like it didn’t even exist. She closed her messages and opened her inbox. The email from Evelyn’s Epic Everyday flowed in, and even though she’d already read it on her computer, seeing it a second time only added to her excitement.

  President.

  Okay then.

  Let’s do this.

  Because if she did this, if she killed it, she might be the next Evelyn.

  “Please let me kill it,” Angeline whispered.

  AskAnAngel

  AskAnAngel Hey, hey, Angels! Ready to make a difference?

  Start local. I’m tossing in my hat (a perfectly chic gray wool beret from Paris in Your Pocket, retail $49.99, but 20% off today only with the “AskAnAngel” code!).

  Student council prez. Here I come.

  Remember.

  You’re not standing unless you’re standing out.

  Flutter your wings, my Angels!

  View comments

  BakedBaker24/7 Something’s fluttering, but it ain’t my wings.

  MaxineChenontheCliffs Go Ang! Oh, and suck it, Baker.

  5

  When Cat Becomes a Cartoon

  28 DAYS TO THE ELECTION

  Acedia Student Council Election Sign-Ups

  DUE MONDAY! NO EXCEPTIONS!

  (But if you can’t make Monday, please see Ms. Lute in Room 116 ☺)

  Name

  Position Sought

  Grade

  Angeline Quinn

  President

  Senior

  Jay Choi

  President

  Rocking Frosh

  Emmarie Hayes

  President

  Senior

  Leo Torres

  President

  The Big 1-2

  Andreas Costa

  Treasurer

  Junior

  Dipti Patel

  Vice President

  Junior

  “She did it,” Cat whispered to herself, staring at the bulletin board outside Ms. Lute’s classroom.

  She actually did it.

  And Angeline would get what she wanted by taking away the same from Cat.

  Because this election would now be nothing more than fodder for gossip about the breakup of the beloved “Angeo” or “Leoline” or whatever ridiculousness they were called. Cat could say good-bye to covering a real race that would impress the Fit to Print judges.

  Reluctantly, she began to copy down the names just as a hand with perfectly polished coral fingernails appeared over her shoulder and ripped off the sheet.

  “Hey, I was reading that!” Cat spun around to see . . .

  Angeline.

  “No freaking way!” Angeline cried. “I mean, how petty can he be! He can’t do—”

  “Breathe, just breathe,” came the calm, soothing voice of Sonya Robins, one of her sister’s best friends. Sonya had dark brown s
kin, natural brown curls that floated past her shoulders, and soft, caring eyes that encouraged Angeline to follow her lead as she added, “From the diaphragm,” and then inhaled deeply, like she was sitting cross-legged on a mountaintop, breathing in the crisp scent of pine instead of lemon-infused bleach.

  A giggle, followed by, “Diaphragm.”

  Sonya tilted her head at Riley Donovan. “Again?”

  “I can’t help it, Sonya!” Riley, tall and thin and just as pale as a razor clam shell, stifled another giggle. “I swear, every yoga class you drag me to, even when my arms are shaking from a full two minutes in my handstand, I can’t help but picture a cervix every time Amber says, Breathe from your diaphragm.”

  Sonya rolled her eyes.

  Angeline crinkled the sign-up sheet.

  And Cat was outta there.

  She nearly ran into Maxine, whose arrival completed the quartet that had been together since seventh grade, when they’d all started at the charter school. Of the four, Maxine was the one Cat could relate to most. Her drive was just as strong as Angeline’s but for something real. While Angeline counted hearts and smiley faces, Maxine spent her time coding them.

  Sonya’s focus on “mindfulness” made Cat uncomfortable, like she was being judged for actually planning for her future instead of meditating on how a future could exist if everything was transitory. Her dedication to mastering thyself stood in sharp contrast to Riley’s dedication to mastering the selfie.

  Fingers splayed on jutted hip, center-parted blonde hair smooth as glass, a dozen different micro smiles at the ready, Riley existed in perpetual model mode. While she offended as easily as she was offended, her friends were secure enough in themselves to allow Riley to be the one thing she craved most: the center of attention.

  Despite sharing a grade—and Angeline—Angeline’s friends had never been Cat’s friends. They were never meant to be. Eleven months older than Angeline, Cat should have graduated along with Stavros and Jen, but she’d been held back in fourth grade, infusing her with a drive that had helped her maintain a 4.0 GPA and a long-harbored resentment of her sister.

  “All hail the queen of the humblebrag!” Maxine said, flicking Riley’s ponytail. “And since when are you an expert on cervixes?”

  “One of my best friends happens to have an informative YouTube channel celebrating the female body,” Riley said.

  “Thanks for the reminder.” Maxine’s response was heavy with sarcasm.

  Riley nodded condescendingly. “The price I pay for being such a supportive friend.”

  Cat could literally feel her brain cells dying.

  Angeline faced her friends, putting her back to her sister. “Seriously, how can you be talking about anything else . . .” She pushed the sign-up sheet into Maxine’s chest. “When this is happening?”

  “First, my mom read some ‘news’”—Maxine used air quotes—“online that said coffee’s the road to female hair loss, and she flushed every last bean in the house. The morning after I was up all night debugging the code in the polling app you asked for. Which, by the way, also made me miss the best waves in weeks. So you need to take it down, like, a dozen notches.” While Sonya was closer to Cat’s height—a solid three inches shorter than Angeline—Maxine and her sister were near equals. Maxine met Angeline’s eyes, flattened the crumpled sheet, and read. “Well, well, well, it’s only fourth period, and you might actually have some competition.”

  “Emmie,” Cat said reflexively. “She’s really smart. And she’s been on the council before.”

  Sonya perched on tiptoes to read over Maxine’s shoulder. “I think she means Leo. Or maybe that Jay Choi . . . I’m getting a strong aura from the curves of his lettering.”

  “Leo, she means Leo.” Angeline tore the paper from Maxine’s hand and let it float to the floor. “Who’s only doing this to get back at me. But thanks for the vote of confidence, sis.”

  Angeline looped her arm through Riley’s and led them down the hall.

  “Absurd as ever,” Cat muttered under her breath, and yet she stood where she was, watching, until they disappeared into the girls’ bathroom. Together.

  * * *

  Cat leaned against the bulletin board, trying to pry loose the end of a roll of tape. The sauna that was her newsroom had dried it out to within an inch of its sticky life.

  Angeline.

  She cursed her sister as she attempted to spend her lunch period taping back together the sign-up sheet.

  “Schwartz, nine o’clock,” a girl’s voice said.

  Cat jerked her head up and looked in the wrong direction.

  “The other way,” Emmie Hayes said.

  “Oh, right.” Numbers had always tripped Cat up. As did instant recognition of spatial issues like left and right. It was a thing, a real thing; she’d googled it a couple of years ago. She couldn’t read a clock with hands until she was twelve—and still now preferred her digital. Gramps had tutored her by understanding she thought about things differently. He’d not only helped ensure she wouldn’t be held back again but had been the one to recognize writing might be a good fit.

  Cat rotated her head and saw Principal Schwartz in a suit two sizes too big eyeing them from down the hall.

  “Let me.” Emmie slid the sheet out from under Cat’s arm and pressed it against the bulletin board, matching up the two halves. “Look contemplative,” she whispered.

  “Got it.” But Cat’s finger traveled on its own and bounced against the side of her leg.

  Northwestern wouldn’t look kindly on a record that included her destroying school property. She wouldn’t have risked being here now if it weren’t for Ms. Lute stepping in as adviser to The Red and Blue as well as student council when no other teacher would. It certainly had nothing to do with protecting Angeline. She knew from experience that her sister wouldn’t protect her if the situation were reversed—unless there was something in it for her.

  Emmie bugged her eyes at Cat. “Contemplative, not constipated.”

  Cat scrunched her brows together, only relaxing them when a wide smile overtook Emmie’s petite face. She was shorter than Cat, with reddish-blonde hair that skirted her shoulders, a plain, business-y blouse, and ironed pants. Perfectly groomed like she’d followed every rule in the textbook given to female politicians, except for the red, white, and blue friendship bracelet on her wrist that had seen better days.

  “So, why president?” Cat said casually as Principal Schwartz’s shiny dress shoes clicked against the tiles.

  Emmie’s blue eyes brightened. “Change requires a top-down mandate, and so if one’s desire is to effect change, there’s no other option.”

  “And you want to do that here? No easy task.”

  “Neither was being so far ahead that I’ve all but secured valedictorian and hence early decision to Harvard. I’m prepared for difficulties. I also believe in the people. But you have to believe in yourself before you can expect others to follow suit.”

  Principal Schwartz slowed to listen.

  “Lunch,” Cat said to explain them being in the halls. His eyebrow lifted, and she realized he probably thought they were sneaking out to grab a slice from Frank’s Pizza across the street. The “no off-campus lunch” rule had been instituted a couple of years ago. She pulled a pen out of her back pocket and handed it to Emmie. “Make sure you fill in your grade.”

  “Certainly,” Emmie said, though she cringed as she accepted the pen.

  Principal Schwartz nodded his balding head at them as he continued down the hall.

  “Where was I?” Emmie gave the pen back to Cat and squeezed hand sanitizer out of the container clipped to her backpack.

  Cat tried not to take offense, but it was a pen, not elephant dung.

  “Oh, yes, the people,” Emmie said. “I believe informed voters make the right decision. If there is fault, it lies with the
candidates for not crafting their message in a way that engenders understanding.”

  “Nice work, but he’s gone. You can stop now.” Cat once again turned her attention to the tape. “Thanks for covering by making up that speech.”

  “I wasn’t making anything up.”

  “So you actually . . . care?” A flicker of hope quickened Cat’s pulse. This was exactly the type of candidate who’d make a real story. The opposite of Angeline and Leo.

  “Why else would I sign up?”

  As they put the sheet back together, Cat wondered if Emmie stood a chance. Honors classes, track, debate team—Emmie wasn’t unliked, but she also wasn’t particularly liked either. She was a bit of a loner.

  Like Cat would be this year without Stavros and Jen.

  “Thanks again,” Cat said. “I’ll try to keep my sister’s claws off this for the rest of the week.”

  “Can I count on your vote?” Emmie said.

  Cat eyed her sister’s perfect cursive, signing the sheet like it were an autograph.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, sis.”

  “I should probably stay nonpartisan. Since I’m reporting on it,” Cat said. “Speaking of, are you up for an interview?”

  * * *

  The iMac wheezed its last breath, and the screen went black.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Cat cried to herself in the newsroom after school.

  She slammed her hand on the table. Miraculously, the screen lit back up.

  “Whatever your superpower is, I want it.” Ravi Tandon strolled into the newsroom, messenger bag slung across his chest, wearing the shorts he only traded for jeans when it snowed. And even that required a two-inch minimum.

  “Ravi! I didn’t know you were coming.” Her relief almost matched that of seeing the iMac come back to life. “Did I miss your text back?”

  “Nah, gave yours a like.”

  “Oh, sure, right.” But a “like” to a yes-or-no question conveyed nothing. Was two more taps for a “yes” and one more for an identifiable “no” too much to ask?