Front Page Face-Off

by Jo Whittemore

  Jenner crouched beside me. “Which one told you to laugh like a crazy person and avoid blinking entirely?”

  I gave her a pained look. “The 411 on flirting.”

  Jenner sighed and patted the top of my head. “Poor, naive Delilah. Those articles are written by thirty-year-old women who share dinner conversation with their cats. They know nothing about romance.”

  “I’m not in a romance. I’ve definitely made sure of that.” My phone rang again and I stood to answer it. “Hello?”

  “What have you been doing?” Paige’s nasal voice pierced my eardrum. “You’re supposed to be working on your pledge task.”

  I rolled my eyes at Jenner and mouthed Paige’s name. “I am,” I said into the phone. “I’m at Twilight Surf looking for Hot Stuff right now.”

  “No, you’re not!” was Paige’s indignant reply. “You’re at Jenner’s Bay embarrassing yourself.”

  Chapter Eight

  I stared at the phone as if Paige were crawling through the earpiece. “How do you know that?”

  “I can see you,” said Paige. “And by the way, you’re a terrible flirt.”

  “You’re spying on me?” I asked in disbelief.

  I crouched down, pulling Jenner with me. A quick glance around the shop revealed not a single feather, sequin, or piece of glitter to give away Paige’s location. “Where are you?”

  “In the bungalows by the boardwalk.”

  I lifted my head to peek over the window ledge and saw Ava and Ben still cuddling on the patio. Beyond them, I could see the beach huts, including one with a girl holding a cell phone and pair of binoculars. “You look like a stalker.”

  “I’ve got to keep an eye on my interests.”

  “Do you do this to all the pledges?”

  “Just the ones I’ve placed bets on.”

  I brought my palm to my face and tried to massage away the irritation. “What are you talking about?”

  “One of my officers bet Juicy that you’d lose.”

  I shook my head in confusion. “Who’s Juicy?”

  Paige exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Let me rephrase for the fashion-impaired who have not bothered to read their fashion cards. One of my officers bet her Juicy Couture hoodie that you would lose.”

  “So, you’re spying on me to win someone’s used gym clothes.” I winked at Jenner. “That seems beneath you, Paige.”

  A loud banging issued from the other end of the receiver, and I could see Paige smacking her phone against the window sill. “Not funny, Delilah!”

  “Okay, okay! Quit abusing your cell.”

  Paige placed the phone back against her ear. “You should be thanking me instead of teasing me. I’ve already found Katie for you.”

  I snapped up straight. “Why didn’t you say so? Where is she?”

  “Maybe I won’t tell,” Paige said with a hint of a pout. “Maybe I’ll make you find her on your own.”

  I knew she wanted me to beg, but I wasn’t about to give in.

  “That’s fine,” I said. “Because if I don’t find her, you’ll lose your bet … and your pride.”

  Silence greeted me on the other end of the line, but I could hear Paige breathing into the phone. I glanced out the window, where I could see her watching me, arms crossed.

  “Fine,” she said flatly. “Katie’s down at the main bonfire.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And take someone else to the social on Saturday. Ben’s lame!”

  The line went dead, and Paige closed the curtains of her window with a vicious jerk.

  I returned the phone to my pocket and turned to Jenner, who just shook her head. “You know this whole situation is insane and so not worth it.”

  Her judgmental look had returned, soon to be followed by a talk about being true to myself. “Is it really any different than what you’re doing?” I gestured to the line of surfers. “I’m competing for a title, and you’re competing for a title. Which, by the way, is happening when?”

  It was the most obvious change of subject but the easiest way to drop the issue.

  Jenner hesitated and frowned before finally answering, “I’m going at six-thirty. You have half an hour.”

  I squeezed her shoulders and sprinted out of the shop, pushing past Ben and Ava as they stepped onto the beach. As I got closer to the bonfire, I slowed my pace and smoothed my clothes. So far nobody had commented on my lack of appropriate beach attire, but the entire group gathered there wore nothing more formal than bathing suits. Compared to them, I might as well have been wearing an evening gown.

  Around the bonfire the cliques separated themselves with barriers of boys. I spotted Katie and several Hot Stuff girls wedged between a few jocks on one side and a few smotties on the other.

  “I’m just soooo busy with parties and new members and NFP,” I heard her saying. “My social calendar is full until November.”

  “Hi, Katie?” I lowered myself to the sand beside her. My rule of approaching divas was the same as my rule for approaching strange dogs—always stay at their eye level. Divas hated for anyone to tower above them.

  Katie half glanced in my direction, annoyed at the interruption. “Do I know you?”

  “Delilah James.” I held out my hand. “Lead reporter for the Brighton Bugle.”

  She didn’t so much as wag a pinky in my direction. “I thought Ava Piquet was the lead reporter.”

  My fists clenched involuntarily and I hid them behind my back. “We’re … sharing the position, actually.”

  Katie said nothing as she kicked sand onto the fire, which hissed and receded.

  “So,” I said, “I was hoping you might be interested in doing an interview for the school paper?”

  Katie glanced at the girl to her right. “What’s our current media coverage?”

  The girl made a thumbs-down. “Nonexistent.”

  From the way Katie jerked off her sunglasses, I knew it wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. “One of the new girls says her father works for Channel 5! Why are we not taking advantage of that?”

  “Um … it could have to do with the fact that his job at the station is to mop floors and clean toilets.”

  “Oooooh!” Katie squeezed handfuls of sand in her fist and threw them down. “Send her a note of dismissal tomorrow morning. Nobody tricks me and gets away with it.”

  I cleared my throat, both to remind Katie I was still there and to fight off a laugh. “If you’d like, I can interview Hot Stuff as a group.”

  Katie pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head like a makeshift headband and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re the girl who wrote the article bashing the Debutantes last year.”

  “Yeah, she is,” said someone in the group of jocks. A couple of them shifted over, and Marcus leaned toward us. “She also wrote a great article about me.” He smiled cruelly. “Didn’t you?”

  I groaned in exasperation. “Marcus! Isn’t your parole officer looking for you?”

  A chorus of “Oooh”s and laughter punctuated the crackling of the bonfire.

  Instead of getting angry, Marcus scooted closer. “You know, if anyone had one, it—”

  “I’m hungry,” Katie announced, getting to her feet. “I’m going to buy a hot dog, Dana. Come with me.”

  When she sauntered off alone, I realized she’d been talking to me. I stuck my tongue out at Marcus and hurried after Katie. “Listen—”

  “Don’t”—Katie held up a hand—“give me commands.”

  I took a steadying breath. “Okay. About that article—”

  “I hate the Debutantes,” she said. “So, hooray for you.”

  “Oh, good!”

  “That’s why I’m giving you from the time it takes for me to get to the stand and back to ask questions.”

  By those terms, I had about five minutes, but it was better than nothing. I slid a spiral notepad out of my back pocket.

  “I’d like to start by learning a little more about you
.”

  Katie froze, one foot on the boardwalk. “Me?” She turned in my direction. “Why me?”

  “Because … you’re the leader of Hot Stuff,” I said. “People are always interested in the person who makes a group tick.” I watched her face closely. Her eyebrows

  furrowed a bit and her cheeks appeared pinched, not to mention the sweat on her forehead. This was definitely a girl with something to hide.

  “Well, I’d rather not give you anything too personal about me,” she said, walking again. “Our group needs to maintain some anonymity.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Where did you go to school before this?”

  The question was fairly simple and straightforward, but Katie stumbled a bit on the smooth stone surface of the boardwalk.

  “Before this?” she repeated. “I went to … Fowler. Hot tonight, isn’t it?” She dabbed at her forehead but made no motion to roll up her sleeves.

  “Not if you wear a T-shirt,” I said casually. “What made you decide to change schools?”

  “I never wear T-shirts.” Katie fished around in her pocket for money. “And my dad got transferred.”

  I frowned. “But Fowler is only a few blocks from here. Why wouldn’t you just stay until you graduated?”

  She shrugged. “It was time for a change of scenery.”

  I lowered my notepad and fixed my eyes on hers. “But … don’t you miss your friends?”

  Katie snorted. “Please, they’re only a few blocks away. I see them all the time.”

  We stopped at the back of the line for the hot dog stand. “Were you in charge of a clique at your old school?” I asked.

  Katie tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Yeah. You could say that.”

  I drew several circles around the name of her school.

  “What activities are you involved in besides Hot Stuff? I heard you mentioning NFP. What’s that?”

  Again, Katie hesitated. “That’s just an awareness group I belong to. We … raise awareness.”

  I blinked at her and made a note to research NFP. “What makes you such a natural-born leader?” I returned to my questioning.

  “Well,” she chewed on her lip and squinted in concentration. “I refuse to give up until I get my way.”

  My pen paused on the page. That wasn’t a qualification for a leader; it was the qualification for Spoiled Brat of the Year. “Um … what else?”

  “Let’s see …” She placed her food order and drummed her fingers on the counter. “Oh! I’m compassionate.”

  A giggle escaped, but I turned it into a cough. “How so?”

  “I saved a sea turtle.”

  “Interesting.” I wrote some more. “How?”

  “Duh. By rescuing it.”

  I pressed my lips together. “From what?”

  “Danger.”

  My pen pressed a hole through the paper. “What kind of danger?”

  Katie looked as annoyed as I felt. “Life-threatening.”

  “Fine. Why the name Hot Stuff?”

  “Because we’re hot stuff.”

  I put down my pen and smiled at her. “These answers explain a lot and aren’t at all vague. Thank you.”

  Not surprisingly, she didn’t quite catch my sarcasm. “You’re welcome.”

  The vendor handed her a hot dog and I tried for another question. “How do you decide who gets to be Hot Stuff?”

  “Oh.” Katie hid her mouth behind her hand and talked while she chewed. “We avoid deviants or social outcasts. Only the best of the best.” She gripped my arm. “But we don’t discriminate against nerds, fat girls, or trailer trash.” She pointed at my notepad. “Make sure you put that. That’s important.”

  “Oh, definitely,” I said in a serious voice. “Everyone needs to know what humanitarians you are.”

  Katie paused in her chewing and looked thoughtful. “You know, I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. We’re like Mother Teresa—only younger and cuter.”

  She started walking toward the beach again, and I rolled my eyes behind her back. I asked her a few more general questions to keep her from getting suspicious, and when she reached the bonfire again, she turned to me and extended a hand.

  “Dana, it was nice talking to you. Why don’t we discuss the article some more tomorrow at school?”

  I couldn’t resist a genuine smile. The leader of Hot Stuff felt comfortable enough around me for a second round of interview questions. Eventually, if I wheedled and flattered enough, she’d let down her guard, and I’d get all the information I needed. “Thanks, Katie. That would be great.”

  I shook her hand, the watch on my wrist reminding me that I only had a few minutes before Jenner’s turn at the tide.

  Bidding Katie a quick farewell, I hurried down the beach and jumped several sand castles and people to reach the shore just as Jenner was paddling out to catch her first wave. Her dad stood by the judge’s table, so I joined him and dropped to the sand to catch my breath.

  “How’s the competition?”

  He scratched his beard. “It’s tough. Jenner decided to go against the older group, where the surfers are much fiercer.”

  We watched Jenner jump to her feet and catch an impressive wave into shore, only wobbling a bit on the dismount. I cheered, and her father whistled through his teeth.

  “She might have a fighting chance,” he said.

  I looked up at him to agree, but a broad-shouldered figure caught my eye. Marcus was slogging toward me, taking the exact path I’d run to the shore.

  “Marcus, are you following me?” Despite my irritation, I couldn’t help feeling a little flattered. Most reporters didn’t get their own personal stalkers until they’d reached the national news circuit.

  Jenner’s dad glanced over at us, frowning. “Everything okay, Delilah?”

  “Yes,” I said, “just some guy from school.”

  “We’re working on a project together,” Marcus told Jenner’s dad.

  “I see.” He nodded at Marcus but didn’t take his eyes off him.

  I grabbed Marcus’s arm and jerked him down to my level. “I thought I was done dealing with you!” My whisper was harsh enough to cause Jenner’s dad to look down.

  Marcus nodded and smiled for his benefit. “I just came to offer what we both know you want.”

  I snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “You have nothing I want.”

  “Not even a follow-up article to”—he leaned forward—“the Swirlie Bandit?”

  My eyes widened, but I tried to keep my cool. “Maybe …”

  Marcus smirked and settled back on his elbows. “I realize you’ll never give me an outright apology, so instead, I want you to give me an interview … a chance to tell my side of the story.”

  I studied his face to see if he was serious. “You realize since I’m writing the article, you can’t make up things that didn’t happen. I’d just leave them out.”

  He nodded. “I also know you’re obsessed with the truth, and even if it makes me look better, you’ll still tell it.”

  When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “Look, there’s no catch to any of this. I just want a chance for people to see me not as this jerk you invented.”

  “But you are a jerk,” I countered.

  He shrugged. “If you don’t want the article, I can think of another person who’ll take it and completely debunk the article you wrote about me.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Ava.” Somehow she always managed to force her French fanny into my life.

  “Yep,” said Marcus. “Personally I think I’m being generous, coming to you first with the offer.”

  I almost objected again, but a sneaky plan had started to formulate in my mind. “Okay,” I said slowly. “I will interview you.”

  “Good.”

  “Saturday night.”

  “Fine.”

  “At the Debutante social.”

  Marcus leaned forward, looking far less smug. “Huh?”

  “I need a
date,” I said simply. “And you’re available.”

  He laughed but didn’t sound amused. More like … incredulous. “We”—he gestured emphatically between me and himself—“don’t get along. Why would I possibly agree to that?”

  “Some of the most influential kids in school will be there, and if you want to improve your reputation …” I let the idea dangle in front of him.

  Of course, I was mostly lying. His bad-boy reputation would always precede him, even if he showed up at the country club in a tuxedo and top hat. The real reason I wanted to bring him was to horrify the Little Debbies with his presence. If I was stuck pledging, I might as well have fun messing with them.

  I watched Marcus and could almost hear the rusty gears struggling to turn in his brain. The way he squinted at me, I knew he didn’t believe everything I’d said, but the fact that he was still quiet meant he thought I had a point.

  After a moment of listening to the waves and cheering crowd, he finally nodded. “All right. I’ll let you interview me at the social. But it’s strictly professional. We’re not holding hands and you’re not going to call me your date or your boyfriend or anything sweet.”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry. I can think of plenty of things to call you that aren’t sweet at all.”

  “Just give me the details.”

  I did, but I left out the dress code. I was curious to see what he’d come up with on his own.

  When I finished, he jumped to his feet, brushing off his shorts and deliberately flicking sand at me. “I’ll pick you up at seven, then.” He ran off before I could shout, “It’s a date!”

  Jenner and her dad were standing near the judge’s table waiting for her results, so I got up to join them, only to find Ava barring my path.

  “Ava.” I pasted on my biggest, fakest smile. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

  “That was exactly what I thought,” she said with a sneer, “when I saw you throwing yourself at Benjamin.”

  “Throwing?” My eyebrows rose, knocking some of Marcus’s discarded sand into my eyes. “He called and invited me to join him.”

  Ava’s constant look of supremacy faltered, but a second later, her face was a stone wall. “He must have felt sorry for you, wandering on the beach, dressed like that.” She gestured scornfully at my outfit. “But I did not come to point out the obvious. I came to give you a warning.”