by Amy Spalding
Darcy’s already home when I arrive, which is almost unheard of on a Monday. In fact, there are a lot of suspicious things happening.
“Why are all these places set?” I ask, even though if the table leaf is in and places are set for seven, there’s generally only one answer to that question. But I cannot believe with everything going on that the Sheraton-Hayeses would be on their way over.
“Paige and Ryan and the kids,” Darcy says with her Come-on-Jules-this-is-obvious expression.
“I’m not even speaking to Sadie right now,” I say. “I told you guys that.”
The doorbell rings, and I know I won’t be allowed to disappear upstairs into my room, so I just sit down in my usual chair and pretend to be busy looking at my phone. There’s the usual amount of noise once everyone’s inside, but I continue looking down until someone sits down next to me.
“Sometimes,” Sadie says, “you’re a big baby. And you should have told me about Alex, no matter what’s going on with the Crest and with TALON. And the story about Chaos 4 All was… well, it was really mean. But I’m sorry. I don’t think I did anything wrong? But I knew it would hurt your feelings, so I guess I did think so.”
“Okay,” I say, but slowly and softly, because if I’m really controlled, I might manage not to cry. A couple of tears drip down my face, though, which means the path’s been officially cleared for as many tears feel like following. I’m pretty sure I’ve cried more in the past week than I did all of last year. Can that do permanent damage to your tear ducts?
“I need my own stuff too,” she says. “I’ve tried to tell you that so many times, and you never get it. I’m so sick of being Paige Sheraton’s Daughter.”
“What about your hair?” I ask, and she laughs.
“Seriously! That’s all I have. The hair’s just because if I can’t look perfect like Mom, I should at least look, like… intentional. I’m Paige Sheraton’s Daughter, and I’m the Girl with the Hair. It sucks.”
“What do you mean? You’re a million things more than that.”
“You’re my best friend. You don’t count.”
“I’m such a nerd compared to you,” I say, and she bursts into laughter.
“What are you talking about? You’re my freaking hero. I’m a goober.”
“You were good on camera,” I say.
“Oh no, what if it’s hereditary!” She laughs. “Can we just not fight anymore? You’re my person when I’m upset, so when I’m upset at you…”
“I know.”
I hear what can best be described as a collective Aw! and look up to see our parents craning their necks around the doorway.
“Are you guys spying on us?” Sadie asks.
“Just the last thirty seconds or so,” Darcy says.
“Forty-five, most,” Paige says.
“Can we eat in my room?” I ask.
“Please?” Sadie adds. “Nothing’s safe around you creepers.”
“Yes, go,” Mom says. “We’ll bring dinner up in a few.”
“But I object to creeper!” Ryan calls out.
Sadie and I are still talking in my room when Paige checks in on us, hours later. We quickly get her to agree to let Sadie spend the night, even though it’s a Monday.
“I’ll have to get up really early tomorrow,” Sadie says. “There’s no way I can wear any of your clothes to school. You have to drive me home so I can get dressed.”
“You can borrow whatever you want,” I say.
“No offense, Jules, but I can’t wear any of your skinny J.Crew prepster outfits. Even if I could fit into them.” Sadie raises an eyebrow. “So what are we doing about Alex?”
“What are we doing? This isn’t a group project. Could you just tell him that you fully believe that I thought the article would help him?”
“Of course,” Sadie says.
“It’s not so he’ll take me back,” I say. “I just don’t want him to think someone would do that to him maliciously. Especially someone he trusted. Okay?”
“Jules! I already agreed!”
Mom leans into the room. “I know that it’s late and I should tell you both to get some sleep, but you haven’t had dessert and there’s definitely leftover tiramisu downstairs.”
“Yes!” Sadie jumps to her feet. “Lisa, tell us the truth. Did you guys plan a dinner just so Jules and I would have to hang out tonight?”
“My lips are sealed,” Mom says, which sounds a lot like yes to me. “Anyway, it worked, didn’t it?”
“No one could keep me and Jules apart for long,” Sadie says. “Come on, Jules. Tiramisu!”
I follow her out of my room, but Mom grabs me by my shoulders as I walk by her. “What?”
“See? Everything’s going to be fine.”
“There’s a lot that’s still not fine,” I say. “But thank you. If that’s what you’re looking for.”
“That’s exactly what I was looking for.”
I hug her before joining Sadie downstairs in the kitchen.
Tuesday is easier, even though I’m still suspended from my duties on the Crest. Sitting back and listening as everyone else pitches ideas, I feel as if I’m seeing what I couldn’t before. If most of what we’re doing is just to retain readership and compete with TALON, it’s hard feeling like there’s much effort left to put out the best news and information in the school. We added a lunchtime poll and a guest column—which always needs to be heavily, heavily edited—but I can’t pretend those were really journalistic game changers.
The news does still matter, though, and I think it matters to the whole school even if they don’t realize it. As a new idea descends upon me, I don’t feel nervous and I don’t worry if it’s the right thing to do. I know it’s the right thing to do.
I think about staying after our after-school meeting—it’s clearly understood by the entire staff that our after-after-school meetings are a thing of the past—but I’m not sure big ideas are allowed during my suspension. And there’s so much to get lined up; I can probably work faster and better without involving Mr. Wheeler.
I smile at that thought. Already I feel a lot like my old self again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
On Thursday morning I slip away from Sadie and Em while they’re discussing potential Friday-night plans. Natalie’s standing at her open locker, so I know I have at least a couple of seconds before she can run away.
“Hi,” I say.
“What?” she asks without turning around. I can tell from her tone that she’s well aware it’s me.
“Do you have a moment?” I look down at my phone and double-check the time. “We have twelve minutes before the bell rings.”
“Fine, Julia, I have a moment.”
“Can we go somewhere we can talk?”
She sighs but slams her locker door. “Come on.”
We start walking down the hallway together. I expect everyone to gape at us as we pass them, but it’s possible our rivalry isn’t as well known among the whole school as it is within our teams, even after the article.
We end up in the supply room. Considering that all the most recent times I’ve been in here were to make out with Alex, it seems an overly romantic spot for business negotiations.
“First I should say—regardless of how this goes—you’ll be happy to know that… after the Chaos 4 All article, I think the Crest is going to calm down a little. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to have less competition—”
“What are you talking about?” Natalie looks genuinely confused. “I never wanted less competition from you. I get more done because you’re around, and I figured you felt the same. Would Batman even be Batman if the Joker wasn’t running around screwing things up?”
“I’m not really familiar with the Batman canon,” I say. “So… I don’t know. Is that an accurate metaphor?”
“Not exactly, but you understand what I mean. I wasn’t trying to ruin the paper for you, or for anyone else. We couldn’t both be editor, and I assumed Mr. Wheeler would g
ive the job to you—”
“Because you knew I would have pushed my way into the position no matter what?”
Natalie doesn’t look as horrified at having her own words used again her as I would. If I had her poker face, I might actually be as capable of running the world as people tease me about.
“I was incredibly annoyed at you when I said that. You were trying to spy on us, and you did it in the most insultingly obvious way possible. It was offensive. No, that’s not why I thought it was a given that Mr. Wheeler would pick you.”
“Is it because we’re neighbors?”
“You’re neighbors?… Are you serious? You must have amazing stories.”
I laugh. “Maybe not amazing, but, yeah, stories. My moms invite him over for dinner all the time. It’s the worst.”
“I had no idea, and that’s—oh god. No, it’s just that you’re the one who can recite the history of the Crest off the top of your head, or explain to a freshman overall editorial voice and tone. You were a born editor. So I went off and made something else. That’s all.”
“It felt like you wanted to end us,” I say.
“Looking back, I probably should have just talked to you about it,” she says. “But we’re not friends. I assumed that you were busy with your own things. And I didn’t want to end you. TALON isn’t why print media is on its way out.”
“I still think the Crest is important,” I say.
“Julia, I know,” she says. “Everyone knows.”
“My name is Jules,” I say.
“Oh,” she says. “I thought that was for your friends. I was trying to be respectful.”
“Anyway, my point is that I think what we each do is important,” I say. It hurts my soul somewhere deep down to compliment TALON to Natalie’s face, but I can’t deny that it’s true. “Would you agree?”
Natalie shrugs. “Sure.”
“And we definitely each do things the other can’t,” I say, even though that’s also a little painful to say aloud.
“I miss the Crest sometimes,” Natalie says. “I miss writing, at least.”
“Yeah, TALON can’t do the long-form pieces we do,” I say. “But the visuals are great. And you’re good on camera.”
“Thanks,” she says. “Initially, I actually thought…”
“What?” I ask. “Oh. Are you having an idea right now? Because I had this idea last night.”
Natalie laughs. Today is literally the most I’ve seen her smile in all the years we’ve gone to school together. “Yes, Julia—Jules. We’re having the same idea.”
We manage to get Mr. Wheeler and Ms. Baugher, TALON’s faculty advisor, to meet with us after school that day. We each skip ASB to do so, but we decide that it’s worth it. Natalie and I had spent lunch in the library, working on our pitch, but we didn’t even get through our first bullet-point list when they agreed and said they’d figure out the details on how the combined teams would meet moving forward.
Natalie and I will have to both be in charge, which I suppose means neither of us is truly in charge, but this is the better choice for Eagle Vista, and for journalism, period. And, from the start, that’s what I’ve been protecting.
Or at least it’s what I should have been protecting.
“Jules, hang back, would you?” Mr. Wheeler asks as Natalie and Ms. Baugher leave his classroom.
I know that I still deserve to be reprimanded far beyond what’s already happened. But I’m not looking forward to it, no matter how fair it is.
“This was a great idea,” he says. “Good work.”
“It was half Natalie,” I say. “Only half me.”
“Good half work, then,” he says, and I manage a laugh with him because I know for Mr. Wheeler it’s not a bad joke. “Jules, look, I was pretty angry last week.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m really so, so sorry that—”
“Let me finish,” he says. “It was a rough week! I just lost my dad.”
“I know,” I say again. “I’m so sorry about that too.”
“And I’m not saying that what you did was okay,” he says. “But you’ve done a lot of great work for the Crest this year. You’re one of the hardest-working editors we’ve had.”
“Thank you.”
“And…” He chuckles. “Well, I know how it is to want to get back at an ex.”
“That isn’t what happened!” I say. “I know that I should have asked you, and I know that we probably shouldn’t have tied it into TALON. And, anyway, when it went to press… well, he wasn’t my ex right then.”
Oh my god, why am I telling Mr. Wheeler about my relationship status?
“Hang in there,” Mr. Wheeler says as if nothing I said verged on awkward. “Anyway, go home, play with your dogs, tell your moms I said hi.”
“Mr. Wheeler,” I say. “Your letter of recommendation…”
“I wouldn’t change any of it,” he says. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I say. “I’m really sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Now, I mean it! Get out of here. Go home.”
I actually head down to ASB and sit next to Em, who’s inexplicably been put in charge of taking notes while I was missing. I look over her shoulder to make sure there are more words than drawings in her notebook.
(There aren’t.)
“I can take over,” I tell her, switching on my phone to record.
“Thank god. Are you okay?”
I nod. “Are you doing anything after this? We can get coffee, or we can do something cooler, but you’ll have to be in charge of whatever the something cooler is.”
“Coffee is plenty cool, Jules,” she says with a smile.
I doubt that, but it feels like the right thing to just pretend I agree. And after ASB, I hang out with Em, even though I have a pile of homework waiting for me in my backpack.
The next day in fourth period, Mr. Wheeler leads us from his classroom to the TALON production room. Everyone finds a seat, and I try to act as if my far distance from Alex isn’t planned.
“Some of you may have been filled in on this already,” Mr. Wheeler says. “But I thought I’d have your two leaders give you the whole scoop. Jules and Natalie?”
We walk up at the same time, and I realize I’m actually happy to see all these faces who’d been part of the Crest up until this year. Right now they seem less like traitors and just like people.
Also, wait.
“Mr. Wheeler,” I whisper. “What about my suspension?”
“I think you made up for it,” he says. “More than made up. Go ahead.”
I take my place next to Natalie at the front of the room. Finally, we’ll get to use more of the speech we wrote yesterday for our advisors.
“Ultimately, TALON and the Crest have the same goals,” Natalie says.
“Sharing timely and interesting information to the Eagle Vista Academy student body,” I say.
“Everyone in leadership roles,” Natalie says, looking to me before glancing back at Ms. Baugher and Mr. Wheeler, “has decided that the best way to do this is to combine forces.”
“TALON can tackle everything that’s really visual, or that makes more sense to report on a Friday versus waiting until Monday,” I say.
“The Crest can write longer articles, including some of the stories we do on TALON that can’t go into as much depth as we’d like,” Natalie says.
“Everyone on both teams is eligible to suggest ideas for anything,” I say. “Though I’m never going on camera.”
“We’ll see about that, Jules!” Mr. Wheeler calls for some weird reason. I’m so relieved he’s not mad anymore that I laugh.
The Crest team already pitched ideas this week, and of course TALON just aired their latest show this morning, so we won’t fully work together until next week. Natalie says that we should film an intro, so all of a sudden there are video cameras pointed at the desks, and we’re told to just look natural because they’ll run voice-over on top of the footage later. I have no
idea how to look natural in front of video cameras—I can barely take successful selfies—but I like the look of this room. There are a lot of people who care in here.
When the bell rings, I end up walking out of the room at the same time as Alex. Our elbows crash as we aim for the doorway simultaneously.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Hey, we’re in hurries,” he says. “You’ve got a salad calling your name in the cafeteria.”
I smile at him. “Are you okay with… all of this? Should I have warned you?”
“Natalie warned me,” he says.
“Oh,” I say. It’s not the first time I wonder if Alex might like Natalie, but it’s the first time it feels like it’s fair for him to. If I were a more generous person, I might even want him to.
Alex grins at me. It’s good he can’t read minds. “And, yeah. I’m okay with it.”
“I miss you,” I say, and it’s basically out of my mouth before it hits me that I said it and didn’t just think it. It’s hilarious I thought Alex not being telepathic would mean he wouldn’t know what I was thinking. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Jules,” he says, and I’m waiting for him to say, I miss you too. “It’s okay.”
Right now that feels good enough. Almost, at least. Actually, no! It doesn’t at all. But it’s nice he’s grinning again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Now that the Crest and TALON are one, I thought the only thing I’d fixate on would be my impending news from Brown, but Alex is still taking up a lot of brain space. We’ve had real conversations every school day since the merge. None have been romantic—one was about how I overheard Mr. Wheeler on the phone saying that he rocked out at a Belle and Sebastian concert downtown, two were about cafeteria food, and several have been about Topics in Economics—but I still hope they each mean we’re slowly finding our ways back.
Even if we’re not, it’s good not feeling like he hates me. I don’t know if he’ll ever believe that my intentions were 100 percent pure—and considering TALON was involved, I guess they really weren’t—but maybe that doesn’t matter as much now. It’s strange what a big deal the story was and then how quickly it’s blown away, just like Em said it would.
