Sources Say
Page 8
“A woman of singular interest.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Guess it’s a bit boring.”
“Only in the way Yao Ming or Serena Williams or Stan Lee are boring. No shame in dedication. They say it takes doing something for ten thousand hours before you begin to perfect it. You’re on your way.”
“And you? Are you making a comic book?”
Ravi groaned. “Graphic novel.”
“Ooh, sorry, is that like calling a newspaper a tabloid?”
“No, comic books are rad in their own right. It’s just they’re different.”
“How?”
Ravi flopped into a purple beanbag chair and slid a few comics off the bottom shelf. Cat felt silly towering above him, so she sat down on the lumpy beanbag beside him.
“Okay, so first, comics are shorter,” Ravi said. “Tons of issues. Graphic novels are longer, more complex, and usually wrap up in one book, maybe two.”
“Is yours one or two?”
“One. Sequels are never as good as the original. A series of movie marathons with my friends prove the exceptions are Empire Strikes Back and Terminator 2.”
“Don’t forget Toy Story 2.”
“Classic,” he said.
“Angeline and I were obsessed. She switched from being Buzz Lightyear to being Jessie the minute it started. Wore a cowboy hat to bed for, like, three months.”
“And you?”
“I was Woody.”
“The responsible one.”
Another word for “boring.” A bean dug into Cat’s left butt cheek, and she shifted. “What’s yours about?”
“Fat Indian American kid at summer camp who discovers he’s a shape-shifting rakshasa who ultimately uses his powers to save the asshole campers who made fun of him from an evil counselor who’s descended from Lizzie Borden. Your basic autobiography.”
Cat hesitated.
“Don’t tell me,” he joked. “You’ve read one just like it.”
“No, you’re good there.” Cat smiled, but softly. Thanks to Angeline, she could relate. “But I am sorry if it’s even a bit autobiographical.”
“Well, I’m channeling it for good.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is it evil?” He gave an exaggerated villain laugh. “Anyway, got a tight group of friends now. Concentrating on it means you keep living it instead of learning from it. At least, according to our self-help section. Fully stocked, spread the word.”
Now Cat let herself laugh. “Noted. But tell me, what’s a rakshasa?”
“Like a demon with magical powers. Comes from Hindu mythology. Some are good, some eat the flesh of men. Let’s just say my mom’s bedtime stories forced us to go to bed with the lights on.”
“Is your mom into books too?”
“Can’t own a bookstore and not be into—”
“What did you say?”
“Oops.” Ravi smiled sheepishly.
“Your parents own the store? This store?”
“Sorta why I figured the ad was a done deal.”
Cat leapt to her feet. “You tricked me.”
Ravi crinkled his brow. “How did I trick you?”
“You said you could get the bookstore owners to run an ad in exchange for me running your editorial cartoons.”
“I’m fulfilling my end of the bargain. Come on, I’ll show you.”
“But . . .” Cat struggled for why Ravi’s omission stung. Technically he was doing what he said he’d do. Yet anything with a whiff of manipulation reminded her of her sister.
She trailed Ravi back through the store to the gargoyle desk, where he handed her a check made out to The Red and Blue. The amount would cover the next two issues, easy. “This is too much. It’s more than a half-page ad.”
“Thank preorders for the final installment of A Thorny Kingdom and consider it my apology for bringing you here under false pretenses.”
“That’s not . . .” Cat felt bad about her reaction. Ravi wasn’t Angeline. Not even close. “I didn’t really mind.”
“You didn’t?”
“It’s a short walk from our apartment.”
Something flickered in Ravi’s eyes that Cat couldn’t make out, and an uncomfortable silence followed. Her gaze fell to the desk, where a sketchbook lay open, one side weighed down by an oblong green wish rock from the beach. Cat wanted to pick it up, something she never got the chance to do around Angeline.
When they were little, Angeline would search the beach for wish rocks, snatching up each and every one. She’d trace the white line around the circumference of the rock with her little finger, making a wish with her tongue sticking out between her lips, then drop it back into the sand. “One rock, one wish,” she’d tell Cat, so Cat couldn’t pick up the same one and make a wish. Angeline had an eagle eye for finding wish rocks. Cat could scarcely remember nabbing one first. Maybe that was why all of Angeline’s wishes seemed to come true. She’d had so many chances to will them into being.
The one time Angeline had given Cat a wish rock, she’d flushed it down the toilet.
Cat left the wish rock in place and studied Ravi’s drawing. A tall being that looked like a cross between a human, a tiger, and an octopus waved a gilded sword at a bunch of cowering twelve-year-olds in Lake Lookey Loo Camp T-shirts.
Cat was in awe of all the detail, from the texture on the rakshasa’s skin to the large whites on the eyes of the terrified campers. “You really are talented. I’m so glad I came today.”
“Me too.”
“I wasn’t convinced before, but I think your editorial cartoons are going to be a great addition to the paper. The Fit to Print judges will be impressed, I know it.”
She smiled, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. Was she not complimentary enough?
“Really,” she said, “we’re going to be a great team on the paper this year.”
Squawk!
Cat flinched.
The door opened, and in came Natalie Goldberg in leggings and a gauzy sweater, like she’d just stepped out of a yoga class.
“Hey, Ravi,” she said. “Kate.”
“It’s Cat.”
“Oh, of course. You’re Angeline’s sister?”
Cat nodded, her finger automatically striking the side of her thigh.
“Would you mind . . . could you let her know if she has any more ‘bigger is better’ samples, I’m up for the challenge. And she’s locked up my vote.”
Cat gave a polite tilt of her head. She turned to thank Ravi, but his eyes were squarely focused on Natalie.
Their business was done. Cat had gotten exactly what she’d come for. The paper—her paper—was no longer on life support. She tucked the check in her pocket, her mind focused on planning the spread announcing the primary winners.
Kate.
Really?
Well, most of her mind.
Cat headed for the door, but a yelp from Natalie made her turn back around. Natalie’s phone was vibrating, and Ravi’s was dinging, and the same look of confusion wrinkled their faces.
“Oh my God,” Natalie squealed. “That’s my right leg! But those so aren’t my lips. Are you seeing this?”
“Uh, yeah, but what exactly am I seeing?” Ravi glanced at Cat. “Any ideas?”
“Me?” She checked her phone. “I didn’t get any emails.”
“Not an email,” Natalie said. “One of our friends sent a link. Look!” She held up her phone, but before Cat could see, it erupted with another vibration, and Natalie snatched it back. “No! It’s being retweeted! Kate, quick, check if it’s on Insta yet.”
Cat’s shoulders rounded. “I’m not on Instagram. Or Twitter.”
“What kind of photo is this anyway?” Ravi held out his screen, and this time, Cat wrapped her hand around it. An image of a girl with her legs, arms, hands, feet
, eyes, lips, breasts, a dozen female body parts, all labeled.
She pointed to the caption. “The Acedia Perfect Tens. What does that mean?”
Natalie’s jaw clenched. “It means our classmates have finally done it. Gone too far. Way, way too far.”
Jon Bernwick @JonnybBad73 • 15m
What am I hearing about Frankengirls @AcediaCHSMA?
Reply 6 Retweet 2 Like 12
Show this thread
Tad Marcus @TadIsRad • 11m
Replying to @JonnybBad73
THIS. @AcediaCHSMA
<
BakedBaker24/7 @Josh Baker • 9m
Replying to @JonnybBad73
Total BS, man! Show me my ladies! @AcediaCHSMA
Dipti P. @drp98 • 6m
Replying to @JonnybBad73
These are actual WOMEN, you pervs! @AcediaCHSMA
BrosAndBros @brosandbros • 5m
Replying to @JonnybBad73
**Perfect** women. See? @AcediaCHSMA
Acedia Charter School @AcediaCHSMA • 4m
Replying to @JonnybBad73
Please refrain from tagging the school, thank you.
Nat @NatGberg • 2m
Replying to @JonnybBad73
Why is there nothing about this in The Red and Blue?
Cat: Did you see—
Grady: Replying now . . .
Cat: No, don’t! That’s not professional.
Grady: But we look scooped.
Cat: Those are people on Twitter. An actual news outlet has to be reporting it for us to be scooped.
Cat: And I’m writing the article now. We’ll have to use the website. Have it to you to post in an hour.
Grady: I can interview—
Cat: On it. Just waiting for Schwartz quote. Can you get visuals?
Grady: Social media blocking most. But I can try, Chief.
Cat: If you do, ask Ravi to mask faces.
Grady: But that’s—
Cat: Professional. We’re not Playboy.
10
When Angeline Stands Up and Out
22 DAYS TO THE ELECTION
1 DAY TO THE PRIMARY
Crackle . . . static . . . muffled voices . . . throat clearing . . . tap, tap, tap . . .
“Attention Acedia students. This is Principal Schwartz. By now you are all aware that our school has experienced an unfortunate incident. We appreciate your understanding and discretion as the events of this morning remain under active investigation. Acedia Charter School maintains a strict sexual harassment policy.”
“Pro or con?” Maxine shouted beside Angeline from their table in the center of the cafeteria.
“What we have witnessed is not only disturbing but shocking to myself and all of Acedia’s dedicated teachers.”
“You want shocking? Step inside any boys’ bathroom any day of the week,” Maxine bellowed.
Angeline swatted her arm. “You’re making a scene.”
“I’m well aware. Those photos plastered all over the school are real.”
“I know.”
“Taken at my party over the summer.”
“I know.”
“So the question isn’t why I’m making a scene, but why aren’t you?”
“The perpetrator or perpetrators behind these so-called Frankengirls do a disservice to what we know is a decent and upstanding majority of our student body.”
“Again, boys’—” Maxine started.
Angeline elbowed her. “We can’t take sides.”
“This isn’t choosing blue or green eye shadow.”
“Never wearing blue eye shadow’s a total myth. It’s really quite flattering. So long as you keep the rest of your makeup palette subtle, you can—”
“You can’t be serious right now.”
“What? The primary’s tomorrow. I can’t risk offending voters.”
“You’re offending me right now. I’m in those pictures. So are you.”
“Rest assured, these ‘Frankengirls’ will not be seen again. We have reported this . . . transgression to the appropriate social media outlets, and seeing as how some of the . . . body parts labeled belong to female students under the age of eighteen, any and all images and moving pictures will be taken down immediately. We would request that if you have posted an image of these ‘Frankengirls’ . . .”
“Did he just use that word twice?” Maxine jolted out of her seat, her wave necklace bouncing against her chest.
Several other girls followed Maxine’s lead, a few raising middle fingers toward the speaker in the ceiling.
“. . . on your social media accounts that you remove it yourself. We will not tolerate such a brazen disregard for the rules that govern this institution.”
“For the rules?” Maxine cried. “That’s what you’re talking about? Rules? Broken rules? To cover your own asses? What about the girls?”
“It’s a joke!” Josh Baker shouted.
“Oh yeah?” Maxine said. “Then you won’t mind stripping to your grubby tighty-whities and letting me take a pic?”
“Chill,” Tad said. “It was a freakin’ pool party. You all chose to be half naked. And hey, Maxine, you should be liking it as much as the next guy.”
High fives at his table, and Angeline rested her hand on Maxine’s and squeezed.
“Misogynistic assholes!” one girl cried.
“Homophobes!” another said.
Boos and yeses erupted throughout the room.
Maxine squeezed Angeline’s hand back. “I’m fine. But you want to defend my honor, then get in the game. This is it, A. This goes beyond hanging bras in doorways and writing ‘cupcake’ on the backs of girls’ shirts. You want to stand out, stand the eff up and do what you’re always saying: Bring it.”
Angeline’s heart beat in her throat. She had yet to prepare her primary speech. But everyone was here, listening, today.
But what should she say? Would being in the photos make people more or less likely to vote for her? She twirled her ring around her finger. Social media had taught her that backlash came like whiplash. And was just as unpredictable.
She scanned the room, lingering on Sammy, who stood under the football team’s questionable SLOTHS GIVE A SLOW DEATH banner, and then on Cat, frantically scribbling in her notebook a couple of tables over. Angeline’s eyes floated to the end of her own table, where Leo sat. Where she used to sit with him.
His expression was neutral, but the tightness of his jaw sent Angeline’s mind spinning. Was he upset? About the Frankengirls? Generally or specifically? Specifically related to her . . . her parts . . . being a part of it? The former meant he was the boy she knew he was, the one she loved. The latter meant he might still love her back.
Angeline inhaled a breath and propelled herself out of her chair. “Frankengirls.” Here, unlike at home, she had only one take. One.
“Frankengirls,” she said louder. “The name’s almost as demeaning as the images themselves, isn’t it?”
Murmurs of assent spilled from most of the female students, encouraging Angeline. “This morning, the walls of our bathrooms and locker rooms were plastered with photocopied images of female students in our school. Or should I say versions of female students in our school. Three of them. Someone took the liberty of designing their perfect physical specimen. They pilfered photos—real photos—off social media and Photoshopped them together like they were creating an avatar. A little of this, a little of that, and voilà! A composite picture. A composite girl.”
Her phone buzzed with a notification. Someone had tagged her on Instagram. She made a show of shaking her head, masking her quick unlock and swipe. It w
as a pic of her, from right then with a single #femaleempowerment as the caption, posted by Natalie, whose Pinterest look for today was Parisian girl with her nautical-striped shirt, perfectly tied scarf, and red beret. The comments were coming fast.
Angeline lifted her head. “Some of these girls—us, some of us, because I’m there too—wearing nothing but bikinis at a private party. Maybe we could live with that. Not like it, but live with it. But what did this person do? They labeled us. Like we were meat. Shank, ribs, center cut, except it was torso Maxine Chen and right leg Natalie Goldberg and boobs Angeline Quinn.” Maxine rapped on the tabletop. The adrenaline racing through Angeline’s veins spurred her, and she climbed up.
Emmie stepped forward. But every pair of eyes was focused on Angeline.
And their phones.
Notifications were popping up on all of Angeline’s social media accounts.
Screw the election, this will totally bump up Ask an Angel subscribers, she thought.
She projected, using the authoritative tone she’d honed from her YouTube channel. “‘Vote for your Perfect Ten,’ this sicko wrote on the bottom of those images. ‘A multiple choice you can’t get wrong,’ this perv said. And what is our school doing about it? Filing a complaint with social media so the reposts of the pictures are taken offline? So it won’t, what? Get sued? While we’re objectified?”
With purpose but not haste, Emmie strode toward Angeline. She situated herself directly across from her, but Angeline literally and figuratively towered over her.
Emmie raised her palms in the air. “It’s only been a few hours. I’m sure the administration is doing everything it can to identify the culprit.”
“It’s him!” shouted the redheaded girl with the freckles who had taken two of Angeline’s samples. “String him up by his balls!” She thrust her finger at Josh.
“We can’t rush to judgment,” Emmie said calmly. “We need to let the investigative process proceed until it can determine fault.”