Front Page Face-Off

by Jo Whittemore

  “With the projects his team handles, they probably could build me a time machine,” I said. “Then at least I’d know what was coming.”

  The candy ring popped out of Jenner’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you actually believe Paige.”

  I pointed to a group of squealing girls ahead of us, one of whom was clutching a familiar red envelope. “They all want to be Little Debbies, and if they think it’ll help their chances, they’ll give up any secret they know.”

  “But about you?” Jenner cast me a dubious look. “No offense, but you’re not that interesting.”

  I shoved her playfully. “It doesn’t have to be about me, dummy. It just has to affect me.”

  Jenner sucked on her ring and looked thoughtful. “Something with the newspaper?”

  I nodded. “Paige knows it’s the only thing at school I care about.”

  “Well, she’s crazy if she thinks that’ll go wrong.” Jenner smiled around her emerald-colored candy. “Not while the editor’s smooching your sneakers, anyway.”

  I gave a modest shrug, but I knew she was right.

  Ben Hines, the student editor, had been crushing on me since I’d saved him from the Swirlie Bandit in sixth grade. He was the shortest kid in our class and let his mom wipe his face with saliva-soaked Kleenex. Naturally that made him a prime target for attack.

  At the time, I’d been trying to unmask the Swirlie Bandit, but nobody in the boy’s bathroom would say anything to me except “Get out!” When I finally managed to sneak in, the Swirlie Bandit showed up to dunk Ben, and I exposed him in person and in the paper. The boy had been smart enough to hide his face … but not his jersey with the name “Marcus” on it. Nowadays he was probably serving time in juvie with kids named Knuckles and the Impaler.

  “I should try and find Marcus for a follow-up article,” I said.

  Jenner snorted. “Somehow I doubt he’d talk to you.” She tugged my hair. “Weren’t his last words ‘I hate you, crazy redhead’?”

  “Yes, but the Little Debbies hate me too,” I reminded her, “and look how that turned out.”

  Jenner shuddered. “Geez, what a freaky cult. I’m so glad you didn’t join.”

  “Having their info would have rocked,” I admitted, “but I can come up with stories on my own.”

  “Exactly.” Jenner nodded. “Because you are a future Junior Global Journalist.”

  “Speaking of which”—I rubbed my hands together—“it’s time for the debut edition of the paper! Which article is more award-worthy? X-ray machines for frogs or desperate dating behavior?”

  “X-rays, definitely.” Jenner held up a hand. “Unless the desperate dating involves sending someone a severed thumb.”

  “No, but almost as gross.” I stepped closer to whisper. “Two weeks ago at the mall, I saw Renee Mercer wearing dark sunglasses and a wig.”

  Jenner’s eyebrows furrowed. “Okay …”

  “She was hiding behind this big pillar in the food court, watching her ex-boyfriend eat an ice-cream cone. He couldn’t finish it, so he threw it away. As soon as he left, Renee ran over to the waste bin and pulled out the ice-cream cone.”

  Jenner’s jaw dropped. “She didn’t—”

  I nodded. “She ate it.”

  Jenner flinched. “That’s an entirely different kind of creepy.”

  I pulled a spiral notepad from my back pocket and read aloud. “Gobbling his garbage? It’s time to move on.”

  “Uh … no.” Jenner took my notepad and ripped off the top page. “You’re not writing an article about people who can’t let go. Especially Renee. She’ll pound you into oblivion!”

  “She wouldn’t be the focus of the article,” I explained. “Just an example.”

  Jenner raised an eyebrow.

  “An anonymous example.”

  Jenner refused to blink, and I groaned. “Come on! People care more about dating than frogs.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good quote for your tombstone,” she said. “We should order now so it’ll be ready when Renee’s done ripping your head off.”

  “Fine. Why don’t we stop by Ben’s house and ask him which he thinks is better?”

  Jenner smirked at me. “You just want a chance to hear him say you’re the lead reporter again.”

  “Well, I didn’t see him all summer,” I said. “He went to France for the first half and then Major made us go to Yosemite for most of the second.”

  “Fine.” Jenner sighed. “I have time to kill.”

  “Great! Let me just drop off my stuff and tell Major.” Mom was out of the country on business for two weeks, and she’d invited Major over to “bond” with me. … A nice way of saying she’d found a free babysitter.

  We reached my house, and Jenner followed me into the hallway. “Major?” I called.

  “In the kitchen!” bellowed a gravelly voice. “Come tell me what you want for dinner.”

  Jenner poked me. “He cooks? When it’s just me and my dad, he never cooks.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be impressed. Everything he makes comes from a box with ‘Just add water!’ on the outside.”

  “Yeah, but …” Jenner sniffed the air. “At least he makes cake.”

  When I walked into the kitchen, Major had an assortment of boxes and bags lined up on the counter. It was a little weird to see him wearing an apron over his military fatigues, but Major liked to stay professional at all times. Even his pajamas were government issue.

  “Girls, hello!” he boomed. “How was school?”

  “Are you baking cake?” Jenner asked.

  Major grinned and pointed to a fluffy white monster with brown crust. “Angel food cake. Would you like a slice?”

  Jenner’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please.”

  Major grabbed a plate for her. “How about you, Delilah?”

  “Just a small one,” I said. “We’re heading back out in a minute.”

  Major put down the plate and pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, studying it for a moment before glancing up at me. “Do you have any homework?”

  “Not on the first day of school.” I unzipped my backpack so he could see inside, and Major wrinkled his nose.

  “What is that smell?”

  I took a whiff of Paige’s signature scent, which was starting to overwhelm the aroma of baked cake. “Oh, just perfume.” I held out my hands for a plate of spongy goodness, but Major kept it just out of reach.

  “You know how your mother feels about perfume, Delilah.” He referred to his paper again. “Not until … you’re in high school.”

  “It’s not mine!” I whipped the Little Debbie invite out of my bag. “It’s from this.”

  Major took the invite from me, his lips moving as he read until they eventually curved into a smile. “Well, this is great, Delilah!”

  “Yeah, but I’m not going to join,” I said.

  Major clucked his tongue and passed me a slice of cake. “That’s too bad. The social skills you develop now will shape your future.” He sounded as if he’d memorized the words out of a parenting manual.

  “My future is journalism, Major.” I ripped off a chunk of cake and popped it into my mouth. “And being part of a snob society won’t help.”

  Major leaned against the counter. “I hate to break this to you, Delilah, but the ‘snob society’ is very influential in the news world. Who do you think owns all the magazines?”

  “It is all about who you know,” agreed Jenner. “The student editor has a crush on Delilah and now she’s the lead—” She shrank back under my glare of indignation. “Sorry, but he has cake!”

  “A crush?” Major frowned and left the room, returning a moment later with a blue binder. “Who is this guy, Delilah?”

  “His name’s Ben Hines, and Jenner and I are going to his house right now to talk about the paper.” I crammed the rest of the cake into my mouth and shot Jenner a pointed look.

  “Just a moment.” Major held up one hand while he flipped through the binder. “Hines, you sa
id?”

  “Yeah. Why?” I craned my neck and saw a page full of guy’s faces and names, all bordered by green, yellow, or red marker.

  I let out a horrified gasp. “Major! You cut up my yearbook?”

  “At ease, Delilah. They’re just photocopied from your yearbook,” he said. “I don’t know your classmates as well as your mother, so I had her fill me in, and I made a few judgment calls of my own.” He tapped Ben’s picture. “Luckily, he’s in the green. I approve.”

  I just stared at the pages in disbelief. Only Major would categorize my peers by threat level. I was surprised every guy wasn’t outlined in red.

  “What happens if they’re yellow?” Jenner pointed to a picture of a kid I’d seen maybe a dozen times at school.

  “Delilah’s allowed to spend a maximum of two hours in their company, provided there’s an adult chaperone.”

  I made a face. “You’re so weird, Major. We’re gonna go meet Ben now.”

  “What about dinner?” he asked.

  “Pizza!” I pulled Jenner out the door, cake still in her hand.

  “Remember,” Major called after us, “he may be green, but he’s still a teen!”

  “You know, Ben doesn’t really look like his picture anymore,” Jenner said as we walked up the Hines’ driveway.

  I paused on the bottom step to their porch. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s taller now, and I saw him at the beach when he got back from France. He’s pretty tan.”

  I tried to picture Ben soaking up rays on the beach, but all I could imagine was his mom hovering over him with an umbrella and yelling at him to put on sunscreen. “I still don’t think Major needs to worry.”

  I knocked on the front door and waited a few moments before pushing it open.

  “Ben?”

  Something thumped on the second floor, followed by a rolling thunder of footsteps across the landing and down the stairs.

  “Delilah?” His eyes peeped around the edge of the staircase, and then his entire head appeared. “Hey! What’s up?”

  He bounded toward me, grinning, but I couldn’t respond. My jaw had reached the floor, and my tongue threatened to flop out.

  Either my standards had lowered, or Ben had gotten cuter over the summer.

  The tips of his hair were frosted, and his skin was a gorgeous bronze. His clothes—jeans and a polo shirt—were casual and, for once, didn’t look as if his mom had picked them out.

  “Ben! You … you look awesome!” I sputtered.

  He laughed, and I noticed his voice had dropped an octave. “So do you. How was your summer?” He hugged me, smelling of hot guy and potential boyfriend.

  “How was your summer?” I stepped back and gestured to him. “You look so different!”

  He chuckled again and blushed, the pink barely visible against his skin. “I had some help. My hair was starting to get out of control, so I had to tame it … and I spent a lot of time outdoors.”

  “Wow. All I spent my time doing was …” Suddenly I realized how boring my summer had been. “Um … wrestling alligators.”

  Jenner pinched me, but to Ben’s credit, he merely smiled. “Hey, wait right here. I’ve got a surprise for you!”

  “Okay.” I smiled and put an arm around Jenner’s shoulders. The second Ben disappeared, my fingers pulled at the latest candy necklace around her throat, letting it snap back in place.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “You told me Ben grew!” I hissed. “You didn’t say he grew hotter !”

  Jenner rubbed her neck. “Why do you care? You’re waist-deep in imaginary alligators!”

  “I … well, I don’t care.” Someone must have turned up the thermostat. The room suddenly felt ten degrees warmer.

  “Aww. Kodak moment.” Jenner held up an invisible camera and clicked the shutter, taking shots from various angles. “Delilah’s first crush on something other than journalism.”

  I sighed. “He is a smottie, isn’t he?”

  “Smottie” was a Jenner term for a guy who was smart and a hottie.

  Jenner tilted her hand from side to side. “Semi-smottie. You can do better.”

  Ben poked his head around the stairwell again, smiling. “Are you ready for my surprise? It’s a good one.”

  “Yes! Yes!” Jenner and I clapped and whistled, and Ben cleared his throat ceremoniously.

  “May I present to you … Ms. Ava Piquet!” He gestured to the top of the staircase, and a pair of long, slender legs in Roman sandals emerged.

  I stopped clapping, and Jenner let her cheering trail off with a dying “Whooo … hoo.”

  The leggy sandals at the top of the stairs stepped down to reveal a strapless red sundress, boasting a model-thin figure.

  “Please, let her have a horse face,” I whispered under my breath. “Or a unibrow.”

  But as the rest of Ava Piquet strolled into view, I saw a beautiful girl with raven-colored hair and ivory skin. Her lips, which refused to smile, were the exact color of her dress.

  “Ava, these are my friends Delilah and Jenner,” said Ben.

  She acknowledged both of us with the slightest nod and coiled one of her arms through Ben’s. “How do you do,” she said in a thick French accent.

  “Nice to meet you.” Jenner looked at Ben. “So, is this your … cousin?”

  “Please.” Ava’s perfectly sculpted shoulders quivered with amusement. “I am Benjamin’s girlfriend.”

  Ben grinned at us some more. “I met her when I was in France, and I convinced her to try a foreign exchange program.”

  “Neat,” I said in a tight voice. “So, when is she going back?” Jenner elbowed me. “I mean, how long is she here?”

  “For the entire school year!” Ben drew Ava close. “But that’s not the best part of it!” He gazed admiringly at her. “Delilah …” He paused for effect. “Ava’s going to share the lead reporter position with you!”

  For a moment, silence enveloped the room as everyone watched me expectantly.

  “Wow.” I swallowed hard. “I’m so excited … I could just … throw up.”

  And I did.

  Chapter Three

  China rattled in the cabinets, and pictures nearly flew off the walls as I stormed back into my house.

  “Argggh! Un-freaking-believable!”

  Major glanced up from where he was reading the paper, not looking nearly concerned enough. “What happened?”

  I pointed out the front door with a shaking finger. “The French … are invading!”

  “What?” Major regarded me with wonderment. “What’s all over the front of your sweater?”

  “Puke!” I jerked my sweater off and threw it on the floor. “I threw up on a French girl.”

  “Why?” Again, Major seemed bewildered but not particularly alarmed about my random regurgitation.

  “She … just … ruined my life,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Ah. Well …” Major reached for the slip of paper in his pocket again, and I snatched it from him.

  “Would you stop looking at the cheat sheet and start caring a little more?!”

  That outburst was enough to get a stronger reaction out of Major … but not the one I wanted. He folded his newspaper with a hard crease and slapped it on the coffee table, then turned to shrivel me with a stern gaze. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Sorry,” I said quickly, putting the cheat sheet back into one of his hands. “But this is a big deal to me, especially with the huge embarrassment factor involved.”

  Major stared at me for a moment, then steered me toward my bedroom, pointing at the bed. “Sit.”

  He settled himself into my desk chair and studied me solemnly for a moment before speaking. “Your mother left me several parenting manuals, but none of them explain how to deal with a vomit-covered girl shouting about a French invasion.”

  I blushed and stared at my lap.

  “Why don’t we start from the moment you left for Ben’s?” said Major. �
�I have a feeling he’s somehow involved in this too.”

  Pulling my legs as close to my chest as possible, I told Major what had happened, leaving out the details of Ben’s sudden hotness lest his picture earn a red outline in Major’s book.

  “So, out of the blue, she becomes his favorite reporter and just swoops in to take the spot that I worked so hard for.” I pounded my fist into the mattress. “It’s not fair.”

  Major scratched his chin. “Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t have selected this girl if she weren’t qualified. Has she received any accolades?”

  “I don’t know!” I couldn’t help my irritation that he hadn’t taken my side … again. Clearly, I’d have to make a few corrections to the parenting manual.

  “Is she as interested in journalism as you are?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Is it possible she was lead reporter for her own school paper?”

  “I … don’t … know!” I flopped back on my bed and covered my face with a pillow.

  Major got to his feet and paced the carpet in front of me. “Do you know one of the first things they teach you in military intelligence?”

  “A hundred ways to kill a man with your pinky.” My voice was muffled through the down pillow.

  “Know … your … adversary.” He tapped my leg to emphasize each word. “If you think this girl is a threat, you need to learn everything you can about her. Neutralize the threat. I’m sure you’ve done it before.”

  I propped myself on my elbows. He was right. When I’d written the article about the Little Debbies, I’d studied them for months. And now they were coming to me with offers to join them. I squeezed past him to my computer and pulled up a search engine, punching in Ava’s name.

  Major patted me on the back. “I’ll leave you to work and bring your dinner in later.” I barely heard him leave.

  The moment Ava’s name hit the Web, a flurry of results came back, most in French, some in English—to my chagrin, all referring to a twelve-year-old journalist.

  The very first listing was Ava’s own website, with her unsmiling mug surrounded by links written in French that turned to English with the skim of a mouse. Her bio read like an eighty-year-old’s, describing her love of crosswords and knitting, but she must have updated it regularly, because it mentioned her involvement in the foreign exchange program. Overall I wasn’t impressed with Mademoiselle Piquet … until I clicked the link labeled “Awards.”