Sources Say

by Lori Goldstein

Josh peeled open his sandwich and let the slice of bread on either side fall to the floor, followed by the tomato and lettuce. He swung a piece of bacon with the end bitten off in front of his lower abdomen.

  “What are the odds Joshie knows the image he’s projecting?” Maxine said.

  Angeline smirked as Emmie pressed on. “Is there an issue with the preparation?”

  Josh trudged toward Emmie, the bacon pinched between two fingers. “Clueless on how it’s cooked. All’s I know is how it tastes. Hundred percent like ass.”

  Emmie’s lips screwed up, but Angeline’s widened into a grin. Perfect attendance, valedictorian, rule-follower Emmie being forced to choose between defending the lunchroom staff or appealing to her constituents. Nicely done, Baker. Angeline couldn’t have orchestrated something better.

  Well, totally, she could have, but still . . .

  Emmie smoothed down the front of her lace-fringed shirt that would make grandmas everywhere green with envy. “Well, maybe I can speak with—”

  “Less talking, more tasting.” Josh planted himself in front of her, still dangling the bacon. He leaned in, so close that his nose touched the bacon, and sniffed.

  Emmie visibly recoiled, probably calculating how it would look if she slathered hand sanitizer on the bacon before taking a bite. And then Emmie opened her mouth and clenched her teeth around it.

  What?

  Emmie chewed and grimaced. A bulge of a swallow followed.

  “Shocking, man, right?” Josh said. “It’s vegan. Vegan bacon? On our BLTs? Sacrilege. Don’t we have a say?”

  Murmurs spread through the crowd, and the number of students around Emmie multiplied.

  “What’s happening?” Angeline said.

  And then Emmie spoke. “We will have more than a say. We will have a choice. For those who want to eat”—she swallowed again—“that, they should be able to. Just as those of us—you, I mean—who want to eat traditional bacon should have the decision firmly in your hands.”

  Josh whooped and pumped his fist. “My girl, Emmie Hayes,” he cried, drawing out her name.

  “What’s happening”—Maxine crossed her arms in front of her chest—“is that she’s winning.”

  Angeline ground her teeth together. “Yeah? Well, bring it.” She yanked a chair to an open space and hopped up. She separated the straps of her tote and pulled out a fistful of small packets. “Hey, hey, there! Vegan. Cruelty-free. Organic. Whatever you need, I’ve got.”

  She lifted sample after sample in the air just as Leo appeared at the end of the pizza line, struggling to balance his tray with two slices of pepperoni and a chocolate milk—the combination that always turned Angeline’s stomach. At the cashier, he tried to steady the end of the tray on his hip and snake his good arm into his back pocket for his wallet. The tray started to tip, and a freshman girl, a doe-eyed blonde with sun-kissed white skin, rushed over. But not before a different freshman, a long-legged, brown-skinned girl with lush dark curls, beat her. Lush Curls cradled his tray while Doe Eyes tossed Leo’s backpack over her shoulder.

  With a sheepish grin and cheeks tinged pink, Leo extracted his wallet.

  “All right, all right. Who’s crying now? Milk it, Torres!” Tad Marcus strutted over and shot his arm up for a high-five. “And may the gods let me break something!”

  Tad’s hand hovered, waiting for Leo’s.

  Leo surveyed the room, eventually settling on Angeline. He held her gaze, and she could feel the entire cafeteria watching. Because they were running for student council against one another—Ask an Angel and Big Man on Campus Leo, former Acedia power couple whose breakup had been so very public, every step of the way. Angeline shook her head, gently, and Leo’s attention left her, focusing somewhere behind her.

  She turned to see Sammy in the cafeteria doorway. She was surprised to see him without the red plaid shirt tied around his waist. He looked smaller without it. Sammy had taken their breakup hard. She’d hurt and embarrassed the big brother he idolized.

  She hadn’t meant to. It just sort of happened. Partly because Leo used to help her. Not only with research, but also serving as her test subject on everything from beard softeners to best head angles for a first kiss.

  His appearances in her episodes were sparse. Yet super effective, as hooking Evelyn proved. But running for Congress had made Leo’s mom hyper image conscious, and she demanded Leo stop. He told Angeline she couldn’t run any of the recorded footage she had of him. A request she technically honored by live-streaming him instead.

  Unlike Angeline, Leo didn’t do things without fully thinking them through. Her spontaneity was something he lived vicariously. But now, Leo’s eyes traveled from Sammy to Angeline to the entire cafeteria to Tad’s twiddling fingers.

  Tad, who’d backed his truck into a telephone pole because he’d angled his rearview mirror to check out his abs while doing seated crunches behind the wheel.

  Leo pushed his wallet back into his pocket, lifted his hand, and smacked it against Tad’s.

  “All right, all right, that’s my man!” Tad said. “Feel good to not have that angel on your shoulder, Torres?”

  Fighting dirty wasn’t Leo’s thing.

  Yet he faced Tad and smiled until his stupidly cute dimple appeared. “Think you mean devil, don’t you?”

  A bunch of Tad’s friends hooted, and a few girls eyed Angeline, realizing Leo really was on the market for the first time in his high school career.

  Angeline’s on-camera training helped to keep her expression neutral. “Shea butter.” Her voice came out weaker than she’d like. She arched her back and projected, “Coconut oil, blemish blocker. And who’s into yoga?”

  Meanwhile her stomach churned, and all she wanted was to take everything back and for everything to be as it was, without Leo humiliated, without her standing on this chair fighting for something she didn’t even want, fighting him for something she didn’t even want. Something she was sure he didn’t want either.

  He hated politics—anything even remotely connected to it. They both loved this town, complete with its questionably poor taste (see the abundance of shark-eating-swimmer Labor Day floats) and high cornball factor (see lobster and crab stencils at every crosswalk). But he wouldn’t even vote in the “Mayor for a Day” contest that was part of the Saint Patrick’s Day parade. Politics had taken his mother from him. And opening up about how much that hurt was what had taken him from Angeline.

  She’d wished she could take it back the moment it happened—while it was happening. How could she have known she’d be so successful in delivering the promise of “How to Get Him to Open Up”? She hadn’t archived the video, and it was gone from her channel the same day. But not before thousands had seen and some had captured their own videos and screenshots.

  Now he was here with Doe Eyes clinging to one arm and Lush Curls on the other. Seemed like maybe he’d found his silver lining.

  Leo aimed for the table whose underside held their joined initials when he noticed Chelsea Anders. A junior, Chelsea had been in a wheelchair ever since a horseback-riding accident in eighth grade. Leo took his tray from Lush Curls, set it on the nearest table, and pulled out a chair to sit beside Chelsea.

  Angeline tore her eyes from Leo and worked to compose herself as a string of girls flowed toward her, including ones peeling off from Emmie.

  Natalie Goldberg led a group of the most popular junior girls. She styled herself like a walking Pinterest board, a different mood for every day. Today was boho chic with a loose, flowered skirt and gold scarf in her hair. “Are these, like, Ask an Angel certified?” she said.

  “Not all of them.” Pride swelled, confirming why Angeline had started her YouTube channel in the first place. Her viewers trusted her; they needed her. She was the big sister they never had—becoming what she never had herself. “But I could use volunteers to serve as a focus group.
”

  A dozen hands shot up, and Angeline swiveled her neck, wanting to ensure Emmie was witnessing Angeline’s reach. But Emmie was climbing down from her chair, helped by Ravi Tandon. Angeline’s eyes darted around the room, looking for Cat. Of course she wasn’t there. Her sister would be squirreled away, alone, in her newsroom, not here with her classmates, not here to see Angeline securing her position.

  “You’ve got that facial rejuvenator from ‘better’?” a girl with red hair and freckles said. “I’ve been dying to try it.”

  And die while trying it, you might.

  “Here, take two,” Angeline said.

  “You’ve got my vote,” the girl said.

  Angeline smiled, but all she heard in her head was Cat: “You really have no line.”

  7

  When Cat Struts Her Stuff

  24 DAYS TO THE ELECTION

  3 DAYS TO THE PRIMARY

  Cat perched herself on the edge of her chair in the center of the newsroom. With her pencil poised above her notebook, she asked, “Can you spell your name for me?”

  Angeline rolled her eyes. “We squatted in the same womb.”

  “I’m a professional.” Cat tilted her head toward Grady, sitting in the back, jotting down his own notes, just as she’d instructed. “I take my job seriously.”

  “Meaning I don’t.”

  “I didn’t say anything about you.”

  Angeline fidgeted in the hard wooden chair. “Why are we doing this here? Now? During lunch? With this stupid primary, Maxine and I need to use every free period to reach voters.”

  Grady cleared his throat. “Don’t you mean bribe?”

  Angeline sprang to her feet. “You little twerp. What are you even doing here?”

  “Learning.” Cat gestured for Angeline to sit and directed a warning glance at her new mentee. Grady had been more persistent than a seagull going after a bag of chips. He had a sixth sense for when Cat crossed the threshold into the newsroom, because about three minutes later, he’d appear, asking about number of sources, which layout program to use, The Red and Blue’s social media accounts, of which there were none. He’d been texting her four times a day, and she didn’t even know how he’d gotten her number (something he pointed out as evidence of his investigative skills). He plain wore her down. The fresh scones he brought her every morning didn’t hurt. But the two had come up with rules. Cat couldn’t be slowed down by him, and she’d never risk her paper publishing anything less than her high standards.

  “And,” Cat said, “as someone who’s learning, he’s simply observing. Otherwise—”

  Grady mimed zipping his mouth shut but pouted.

  Cat had never felt her extra year of age so much.

  “Now.” She turned back to her sister. “Where were we?”

  The arrangement of four chairs that Cat had set up, with her own in front, trapped Angeline. Exactly the claustrophobic feel Cat had wanted to create.

  “This is a total fire hazard.” Angeline tried to wriggle her way out of the semicircle. “Can’t we do this at home?”

  “Not unless you want Emmie Hayes, Jay Choi, and Leo in our living room tonight.”

  “But why do you have to interview us together?”

  “Deadlines.” True, though the real reason Cat had scheduled all the interviews at the same time was to encourage debate that would lead to the most authentic story she could get. And . . . maybe the tiniest part of her had scheduled them all together to show Angeline that she could, that she was in charge here.

  Angeline freed one leg, then the other, and strolled the newsroom. She skimmed her fingers along the table with the finicky printer, and it was like she was drumming Cat’s spine. She nudged the stack of last year’s newspapers with the toe of her sandal, but it was Cat’s body that felt rocked. Angeline sat her butt right on top, and the weight nearly crushed Cat.

  As Angeline leaned over the old iMac and set her iridescent painted fingernail on Ravi’s drawing of Cat, she rethought the decision to bring her sister here.

  And then footsteps resounded in the hall.

  “Welcome to The Red and Blue,” Ravi said, ushering Jay Choi, Emmie, and Leo into the newsroom. “This here’s our editor in chief, Cat. Though, careful, because she’s a real shark when it comes to getting at the truth.”

  Leo looked at Angeline, whose lips ticked up into a hesitant smile.

  “I’m so not doing this,” Leo said.

  Cat watched her sister’s face pale, and something prickled beneath her skin. “But you agreed. It won’t take long, I promise.”

  “No offense, Cat, but Quinns don’t exactly have the most trustworthy track record.”

  Leo’s words were like a slap. No matter the reason why. She waited for her sister to fling a gibe back, to save face in front of everyone in the room, but she remained quiet and simply claimed a seat on the end.

  It was Ravi who spoke up, his eyes bright and friendly as always, but his tone expressing exactly what he thought of Leo. “Embrace it, I say. The ladies are looking for a man who’s in touch with his feelings.”

  Across from Leo, Cat held the notebook he’d given her face out. Leo’s eyes softened, and he took the only free seat, right beside Angeline.

  8

  When Angeline Watches Cat Strut Her Stuff

  24 DAYS TO THE ELECTION

  3 DAYS TO THE PRIMARY

  Angeline’s hands were clammy. She didn’t sweat. She’d trained herself out of it after having to refilm a segment where everything was on point . . . except for the rings under her armpits.

  But all her hard work vanished the moment she was in Cat’s newsroom by Leo’s side, looking at him in that lime-green sweatshirt, taking in the buzzed sides of his dark hair, the sweep of long locks across the top, the slight sunburn on the tops of his ears . . . His arm had brushed hers. Twice. By accident? Maybe the first time. But the second . . .

  Was it remotely possible he missed her too?

  While Angeline stole glances at Leo, Emmie droned on like a robot. “Eligible voters . . . twenty percent . . . unregistered . . . voting . . . ingrained . . . microcosm . . . supporting Ms. Lute . . . preregistering initiative.”

  Angeline zoned in and out until, finally, the buzzing in her ear stopped, and she realized Emmie had finished speaking.

  Cat nodded politely. “That’s all very interesting, Ms. Hayes, but this is Acedia.”

  Emmie tilted her head ever so slightly. “I’m aware.”

  “Acedia,” Cat repeated. “Where for the past three years student council hasn’t actually completed a single fundraiser.”

  “Well.” Emmie laced her fingers together in her lap. “That’s why I’m running. I intend to follow through with every initiative I plan.”

  Another nod from Cat. “That’s a commendable goal, Miss Hayes, but it’s not that the student councils haven’t planned a fundraiser, as you would know, having served as secretary. The failure has been in the participation by the student body. The sharing of the photo of Principal Schwartz’s doppelgänger outnumbered actual ballots cast in last year’s StuCo election by a factor of ten. And the Show Your Support Day you proposed last year led not to students engaging with one another but to thrift store bras being hung throughout the school. No one was held accountable, not even by their peers. A few girls challenged with ‘slap on the wrist’ emojis, but the outrage that should have been simply wasn’t. How do you intend to combat the apathy that is Acedia?”

  Angeline’s eyes widened. Who knew her sister had this in her? She tried to catch Leo’s eye, but he aimed his gaze straight ahead.

  Emmie pursed her lips. “Like I said yesterday in the cafeteria, my platform centers on students having a voice in what happens here—all students, not just the ones on the student council.”

  Angeline leaned forward. “If students have a voice, what
do they need us for?”

  That was when freshman nobody Jay Choi piped up. “I’m thinking free shit. Like that one did but better.” He pointed to Angeline, and the snort that came out of Leo jarred her. “Skins for Minecraft, bagels in homeroom . . . oh, and highlighters. Like, in every classroom. Always losing my highlighters.”

  Cat turned to Jay. “But student council doesn’t have that kind of money or authority.”

  Jay snorted. “Off the record? Sheep don’t know that.” He tore open a bag of fried onion skins from the vending machine whose greasy scent made Angeline queasy. “All’s they know is what I’m promising. So make sure you print all those as my campaign pledges. Frosh rule!”

  Angeline and Leo burst out laughing. Looked at each other. And stopped. Him first.

  Emmie recrossed her ankles, but otherwise remained stoic.

  “Anyone else?” Cat asked.

  Leo fanned himself with a back issue of The Red and Blue. “Straws. That’s my thing.”

  “Excuse me?” Cat said. “Did you say ‘straws’? Like drinking straws?”

  “One and the same. The school yanked them last year. Have you tried to share a chocolate milk since?”

  Leo’s fingers cradling Angeline’s, hers curled around a plastic straw. She sipped. He sipped. Under the lunch table, thighs touching, legs snaked together, unable to tell whose feet were whose.

  Yesterday the tray Lush Curls carried had held a chocolate milk—the closest Leo got to eating sweets.

  “Impossible,” Leo said as an ache spread across Angeline’s chest. “School needs to stop telling us what to do.”

  Emmie turned to face Leo. “So you hate fish? And birds? And coral reefs? Five hundred million straws are thrown away every day. We’re not five-year-olds. To think I’d looked forward to seeing what the son of Eliza Torres would do.” Emmie reset her heart-shaped jaw. “Well then, while you push straws, and he pushes highlighters, and she . . .” Emmie cocked her head at Angeline. “Skin care, is that about the sum of it?”