Front Page Face-Off

by Jo Whittemore

  In the center of that page was another picture of Ava, smiling this time, with a gold medal the size of a hubcap around her neck. Beneath the picture a caption read “Induction into Junior Global Journalists.”

  I jerked away from the computer, as if it had given me an electric shock. My dad had been inducted into the Junior Global Journalists when he was fourteen, and I hoped to be chosen when I was thirteen. Judging by the date on the photo, however, Ava had been inducted this year—at twelve.

  While it relieved me to know Ben had chosen her for a good reason, I now realized just how massive a threat Ava posed to the rest of my year. She would need to be neutralized, as Major had said, but just knowing this enemy wouldn’t be enough.

  The next morning at school, I tried to come up with story ideas that would amaze and astound. My biggest advantage was knowing everything about Brighton and its students. They didn’t care about crosswords and knitting; they cared about stuff that affected their daily lives. School, dating, normal hobbies … all these things could help me elbow out the competition if I chose the right topic.

  While my teachers droned on with lesson plans, I scribbled on my spiral notepad, snatching fresh ideas from nearby conversations.

  By the time journalism rolled around, I was armed with enough material to get me through the meeting and hopefully put Ava to shame.

  But when I reached the journalism room, my confidence wavered. Ava and Ben were already there, standing in the doorway. Or rather, he stood and she clung to him like some parasitic fashionista. She was wearing a shapeless purple dress that hung limply off her shoulders and a hefty silver bracelet that could knock someone unconscious if used as a weapon.

  Yet I could only focus on one thing when I saw them—the new, hot Ben.

  The new, hot Ben who had seen me throw up.

  He’d acted as if it were okay, but I had a feeling he and Ava had probably discussed embarrassing nicknames to call me afterward.

  I took a steadying breath and held my head high as I prepared to walk past them. My best bet was to act like throwing up in public was the norm and they were the strange ones for not doing it too. “Good morning.” I smiled indulgently at them and then stared ahead, not daring to look back until I heard my name.

  “Hey, Delilah.” Ben disentangled himself from Ava and followed me inside. “Are you feeling okay today?” He placed a hand on my back, and the skin there went numb from his touch. I needed to say something before my tongue did the same.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “In fact, I’m really, really sorry …”

  Ben moved his hand around to squeeze my arm. “Don’t be. I shouldn’t have sprung the whole thing on you like that. Not after you’d just eaten, anyway.” He grinned, and I ducked my head but returned his smile.

  “Listen, I better join Mrs. Bradford before class starts.” Ben nodded to our faculty advisor and left to sit with her at the front of the room.

  When I turned to watch Ava’s reaction, my eyebrows jumped an inch up my forehead.

  During newspaper meetings the editor sat at the end of the table, while the faculty advisor sat to the left and the lead reporter sat to the right. By chance or by choice, Ava had chosen the chair to Ben’s right.

  The seat being warmed by her bony posterior was supposed to be mine.

  She watched me with a defiant look in her eyes, but I merely settled into the chair beside Mrs. Bradford’s. “Hello, Ava,” I said. “Thrilled to see you again.”

  Ava smirked and tossed a plastic shopping bag at me. “I brought this for you. I don’t want you to get ‘thrilled’ all over the desk.”

  She seemed so amused at my discomfort, so pleased to be interfering in my life, that I couldn’t help myself.

  I smiled and shook the plastic bag open. “I thought this was your purse. Isn’t that the theme of your outfit? Recycling?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She gave her hair a dramatic, slow-motion toss, and I pointed to her dress.

  “The tablecloth you’re wearing. Did everyone finish eating before you grabbed it?”

  Ava’s upper lip curled with malice. “It is a sack dress. And if you knew anything about fashion, you would know they are the hottest thing this season.”

  I nodded. “I’ve heard it’s what all the tables are wearing.”

  “Hey, Delilah!” Jenner dropped into the seat on my other side and gave me a squeeze. “Are you feeling better? I tried to call your house, but Major said you weren’t available.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I was busy working on ideas for the paper.” I fanned the stack of notepad pages at Jenner, making sure Ava could see them too.

  “You might have a hundred ideas,” said Ava with a wave of her hand, “but if none of them are good, you might as well have nothing.”

  “Oh, Delilah’s ideas are always great.” Jenner fished in her pocket and pulled out a candy necklace. “She’s won a bunch of awards, and she’ll be a Junior Global Journalist soon.” She smiled at me encouragingly, but I blushed and concentrated on my notes.

  “She’ll be one soon?” Ava purred. “Interesting. You know—”

  “It really doesn’t matter what awards we’ve won,” I blurted. “What matters is what the readers think. It’s all about giving them the news they want and need to hear.”

  “Very inspirational.” Ava rolled her eyes. “I can see why they let you play reporter.”

  I wondered how much of her ego-swollen head would fit into the plastic bag. “I don’t play reporter. It’s not a game.”

  “Then you wouldn’t mind a little friendly competition.” Ava raised an eyebrow. “Would you?”

  Chapter Four

  At that moment, I would have preferred to sit as far from Ava as the edge of the continent would allow, but I wasn’t ready to just give up the lead reporter spot. Especially not with my editor/potential boyfriend trapped in her claws.

  The room buzzed with conversation as students compared summer vacations and plans for the new school year, until Ben motioned for quiet.

  “To anyone who was here last year, welcome back. And to anyone who just joined the Brighton Bugle …” He paused and grinned. “What took you so long?”

  Several people laughed.

  Ben turned to a dry erase board and began writing newspaper sections, with names of the staffers who handled them. “Since a lot of our writers graduated last year, we have some people moving up. Headline news will be handled by Delilah James and Ava Piquet.”

  “Delilah and who?” yelled someone in the back.

  With a fierce hair toss Ava rose and faced the rest of the table. “Ava Piquet, Junior Global Journalist.”

  Jenner snorted, but when Ava whirled to look at her, she smiled up innocently, candy necklace stuffed in her mouth.

  “Ava is an exchange student from France, and she reported for her own paper back home,” said Ben.

  “Does she even know how to write in English?” someone else asked.

  “Of course I do!” Ava shot back. “I have studied your language since I was little, and I am also fluent in Latin.”

  “That’ll be handy—two thousand years ago,” I said.

  Ava’s eyes frosted over as they fixed on mine. “They say Latin is a mystery to stupid people. I guess they are right.”

  Mrs. Bradford cleared her throat. “Let’s focus, ladies. We only have forty-five minutes.”

  Ben continued introducing the other new staffers and returned to the board when he was done. “We’ll start with the headline news.” He looked at me and smiled. “Delilah, what’s your debut piece?”

  I was about to answer but thought better of it. If I let Ava go first, she would no doubt suggest some lame article, like “Ten Reasons I Wish I’d Stayed in France.” Nobody would care, and it would show Mrs. Bradford and Ben that she didn’t have her finger on the pulse of the school. Then I could follow up her idea with something that would be of interest to everyone … like X-ray machines for frogs.

  I point
ed to Ava. “Why don’t we let the new student go first? I’d love to hear from the mind of a Junior Global Journalist.”

  Ava was clever enough to regard me with some suspicion, but she leaned forward and addressed the crowd. “I wanted to write my first article on an issue that is affecting more and more young people.” She lifted her chin and sniffed imperiously. “In this country, anyway.”

  I tilted back in my chair and stifled a yawn. “We already covered the obesity topic last year. We even did a focus on stealth junk foods because some people thought Sno Balls were healthy.” I stared pointedly at Jenner, who stuck out her tongue.

  “On top of being delicious, they’re covered with coconut,” she said. “And what’s the first thing people search for when they’re stranded on a desert island?”

  Ava smacked her palm on the table and Jenner jumped. “I am not talking about obesity. I am talking about something much bigger that has happened to someone at this school.” She paused for emphasis, and the room fell silent. “Juvenile detention … for shoplifting!”

  The front legs of my chair slammed into the floor. “What!”

  Ava’s mouth curved into a smile, but she didn’t answer. With the commotion that followed, nobody would have heard her, anyway.

  “It’s Gina Mueller! I know it! Nobody who brings a sack lunch could afford shoes like that.”

  “It’s Abbey Houston. I saw her shopping for an orange prison jumpsuit.”

  “They don’t wear those in juvie.”

  “Ohhh. Then she has really bad taste.”

  Even Jenner had her own ideas (“An evil twin!”), but I sat quietly, staring at Ava. If nobody else had recognized the mystery student yet, I found it hard to believe that Ava, an outsider, had. And somehow I doubted any preteen purse thief would confide in a stranger with such a charming personality.

  The only person who could have possibly shared this information with Ava was the same person who had shared it with me.

  While Ava basked in the glory of all her attention, I casually knocked my pen off the table and bent to retrieve it. After a glance around to make sure nobody was watching, I ducked under the table and leaned toward Ava’s book bag. A familiar perfume filled the air, and the corner of a red envelope peeked out of the side pocket.

  “Paige … that double-crosser!” I whispered.

  “Delilah?” Mrs. Bradford’s head appeared under the table. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh! Yes!” I tried to straighten up, still under the table, and whacked the back of my skull. “I was just … getting my pen.” My eyes watered as I shifted backward, rubbing my scalp. “So, who’s the shoplifter?”

  “Ava doesn’t want to name names.” Ben gazed admiringly at his girlfriend, Saint Pompous. “She’ll be quoting the student anonymously out of respect.”

  “Or because she doesn’t know who it is yet,” I said under my breath.

  “Okay, Delilah. You’re up!” Ben held his marker at the ready. “What’s the scoop?”

  All eyes were on me, but my eyes were on Ava’s headline on the board: “Middle School Misfits.” As much as I hated to admit it, her piece was going to get a lot of attention … way more than frog dissection.

  “Mine … also has to deal with student issues,” I said.

  Jenner knew where I was headed and cleared her throat loudly, giving a cough that sounded like “Don’t!”

  I ignored her and continued to look at Ben. “I decided to do a piece on desperate dating behavior.”

  Jenner coughed even louder and slapped the table.

  “Beatrice, this is why I don’t like you chewing those candy necklaces!” said Mrs. Bradford. “Does anyone know the Heimlich?”

  “I’m fine!” Jenner protested. “Delilah, go ahead with your funeral … uh … idea.”

  I knew I was about to make her head explode, but I had no other choice. “Well, this summer I saw Renee Mercer eating out of a trash can—”

  “Bwa-ha-ha!”

  The first raucous laugh came from somewhere in the back of the room. Several other people joined in.

  It wasn’t the initial response I’d hoped for, but at least I’d gotten some attention.

  “That’s not the whole story,” I said. “See, it was an ice-cream cone that belonged to her ex-boyfriend, and she was stalking him at the mall.”

  Now everyone was chattering, even more so than about the shoplifting teen. I’d attached a face and name to the situation, something Ava hadn’t done, making my story seem raw and real. With the buzz I was already building, the article was sure to explode once it reached the student body, lifting me to Junior Global Journalist acclaim.

  And then I heard a voice at the end of the table say five dooming words: “Wait until Renee hears this.”

  A girl from the sports section, who I now recognized as one of Renee’s lacrosse teammates, whipped her cell phone out of her purse.

  Beside me, I heard the smack of palm against forehead as Jenner sang, “I toooold you.”

  Other kids caught on to Lacrosse Girl’s idea, and soon thumbs started to fly across keypads, as the story of Renee’s summer adventure was texted to other classrooms … and of course, to Renee herself.

  “Wait! Whoa!” I leaned across the table, though Lacrosse Girl was still several arm lengths from me. “This conversation doesn’t need to leave the room yet. It’s just an idea!”

  “A bad idea!” chimed in Jenner.

  I glared at her and she shrugged. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “I wasn’t going to use Renee’s name in the article,” I insisted. “My sources were going to be anonymous … like Ava’s!” I pointed at her, hoping to spread a little of my impending doom.

  Jenner had been right. It was one thing to take on the Little Debbies, girls I could beat down with a wet noodle; Renee Mercer was an entirely different beast. She was going to make me the school’s first obituary listing.

  “Cell phones away before I take them away!” shouted Mrs. Bradford. “We’ve obviously got some great articles for our next issue, but Delilah”—she turned to me—“you will need to keep your sources anonymous when you write your piece.”

  I flopped back into my seat and groaned. “If I live to write it.”

  As the meeting continued, I became aware of a strange chain reaction at the opposite end of the table. It started with the girl who’d texted Renee.

  I watched her check her phone, then clap a hand to her mouth and giggle. The boy to her right leaned close, and she showed him the message. His eyes widened, and the boy to his right leaned over so the first boy could whisper to him. The second boy passed the message to the girl beside him, and she tapped Jenner on the shoulder.

  I tried to read the girl’s lips, though I knew the message couldn’t hold anything promising. A moment later, my suspicions were confirmed. Jenner cringed, scribbled on a piece of paper, and passed it to me.

  Renee is going to tie you to the tetherball pole and bat you around.

  I raised an eyebrow and Jenner scribbled on the paper some more.

  She’s going to the gym right now to tape up her hands.

  I frowned in confusion, and Jenner mimed a few boxing punches.

  Just then, my sense of self-preservation kicked in.

  I grabbed my book bag and stood up. “Mrs. Bradford, I want to talk to the headmaster about my idea. May I go now?”

  Mrs. Bradford checked her watch. “I think that should be okay. Did you have any more input for the meeting?”

  “Oh … I’m sure I’ve said enough.” I glanced at Jenner, who crossed her fingers and smiled hopefully.

  My attention drifted from her to Ava, who was also smiling … but with a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.

  “See you later, Delilah.” Ben walked me to the door. “And sorry again about the lead reporter thing,” he whispered.

  Despite my situation, I was still very aware of this new Ben. He had leaned in close to talk, and I could smell his cologne. His arms seemed more
muscular than they had that morning, as if he’d been lifting weights instead of dry erase markers.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered back, trying to inhale his scent at the same time. “I’m just glad you’re in charge.”

  Ben turned a pleased pink as he stepped away. “Try and stay out of Renee’s sight, okay? I don’t think she’ll be too happy with you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please. Renee Mercer’s nothing. I stood up to the Swirlie Bandit. You don’t think I can stand up to her?”

  Ben grinned. “Just be careful.”

  I laughed and waved him off, but the second he closed the door, I sprinted down the hall in the direction of the headmaster’s office. I wasn’t sure of the school’s official policy, but I was pretty sure students couldn’t assault one another there. Plus, it was the opposite direction from the gym, where Renee was probably loading her pockets with shotputs to hurl at me.

  I paused to catch my breath and survey my surroundings. With the exception of a wandering sixth grader, the hallway was empty.

  Someone tapped me hard on the shoulder, and I screamed.

  “Looking for me?” asked a male voice.

  I stopped screaming and turned to find a dark-haired guy frowning down at me. His eyes sparked like bits of black flint, and he crossed his arms over a chest broad enough to double as a movie screen.

  My mouth opened just enough to allow one word to escape. “Marcus!”

  Chapter Five

  I bet you never thought you’d see me again.” Marcus, the Swirlie Bandit, smirked and fixed me with a hard stare.

  I smiled at him weakly. “Actually, with the kind of day I’m having, I should have expected it.”

  Marcus took a step toward me and stretched his shoulders back, tilting his head to both sides so that his neck cracked ominously. “Well, you and I need to have a little talk.”

  “Oh! Heh. That would be great.” I glanced around him, looking for the wandering sixth grader or someone else who could bear witness to my demise.