by Gwen Hayes
Ms. Maple stood. “This isn’t a democracy. This is a high school. You’d best remember that if you want to keep your club on school grounds.”
I fished out my recorder. Luckily, I had one that didn’t double as my cell phone. “I’d like to make sure I understood you correctly, Ms. Maple. Is it okay if I record the rest of our conversation so that I can relay accurate information back to the other members of my little club?”
She glared at me. You’ll have to take my word for it because it won’t show up on the audio. I sat back down and turned my weapon on. If she wasn’t going to say no, I was going to assume she meant yes.
“Ms. Maple, is it true that you do not want the newspaper to cover the story regarding the recent student cell phone mandates because you feel the issue is too heated? Therefore, in your opinion, stifling an honest exchange of information will be better for the school board than full disclosure?”
“That is not what I said.”
“I see. So you don’t intend to shut down the Follower if we pursue our first-amendment right to free speech?”
She pursed her lips like a constipated fish. “If the newspaper club follows all the school rules regarding campus groups, then of course it is free to remain a school activity.”
I sent her my perky smile. The one that gives Foster hives. “Perhaps you’d like to give me an exclusive. Tell me—”
I was interrupted by her cell phone ringing. People would pay good money for this kind of irony.
“Do you need to get that?” I asked. “It’s okay if you do. We still have six weeks until November first.” She knit her brow in confusion. “I’m assuming that since the regulations came down because cellular devices were detracting from children’s education, that means all teachers and staff members will also have to abide by the rule, right?”
“I think you better get back to class, Ms. Logan.”
“Okey dokey.” I bounced off my seat and to the door. “Thanks for all your help with the story.”
For the rest of the day, I was distracted by the secret memo incident. She really didn’t want me to see that note, so of course I had to find a way get the goods.
After school, I skipped out of our newspaper meeting a little early. As I used my “cartoon classic-sneaky-walk”—you know, the one Shaggy and Scooby use when they are trying to hide from a ghost—I got almost all the way to Ms. Maple’s desk when I felt the hand on my shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I’ll admit, I also performed the “cartoon I-am-a-statue” move for a second. Then I realized it was Foster.
I pivoted toward him and shushed him. “I’m investigating if you must know,” I whispered.
“Investigating what? How did you get in here? Bobby pin or credit card?”
I held up a key. “I have friends in very low places.” He rolled his eyes, but I know he had to be impressed. I’d bet another date at the rink he only wished he had keys to the administrators’ offices.
The undeniable clip-clop of heels sounded in the hall, and my whole high school career flashed before my eyes. I’d gotten into a few scrapes over the years, but getting caught breaking and entering into the vice-principal’s office was going to be a little deeper of a cut. My panicked brain started me toward her desk, but Foster grabbed me and hauled me into her closet with him. The closet was good. Better than the behind-the-desk I was shooting for. Unless, of course, Ms. Maple had come back for her coat.
The pitch black of the closet didn’t exactly make me happy. I’m not claustrophobic or afraid of the dark, but I was actually glad I wasn’t alone, even if it was Foster with me.
We’d pointedly ignored each other most of the day, not wanting rehash the whole couples’-skate fiasco. We shared one brief moment during lunch when we caught each other wincing as we sat down in the newsroom, reminding us of our mutual roller-skating injuries. I offered to track down a doughnut pillow for him to sit on, and he offered me a box of tissue to stuff my bra with.
So things were pretty much back to normal.
Except for the fact that we were hiding in a dark closet. There were boxes or something on the floor to our right, so we had to mush together with me in front and both of us facing the same direction. We could hear Ms. Maple ratting around in her desk drawer for something while she talked on her cell.
“Oh there it is!” she exclaimed. She jabbered on, her voice getting closer and closer to our hiding spot. Foster and I both pushed back farther. We heard her hand on the door handle, so I squinted my eyes closed and turned my face into his chest.
We were so busted. And what the hell was that pushing into my backside?
My eyes popped open and I gasped. Foster covered my mouth with his hand. Just then, Ms. Maple said to her phone, “If my head weren’t attached I’d have left it here too. You are not going to believe what I just did. I almost looked in my closet for the coat I’m already wearing.” She laughed, and then her voice got quieter and the office door closed behind her.
The lock clicked and we both let out our breath. We spilled out of the closet and I swung around to confront him.
He flashed me the universal don’t-say-it hand sign. “Not a word.”
“I can’t believe you. You had a…a…a stiffy!”
He blushed furiously, reminding me he really was redheaded. “Look, I’m a guy. Your ass was touching my groin. Of course I’m going to pop a boner. It’s a natural reaction.”
“Yeah, but…” But what? He was right. I just assumed he’d be immune to that sort of reaction when it came to me.
“Can we just finish this secret mission now?” he asked. “Why are we here?”
“We are here because you were spying on me again. I am here because Ms. Maple was acting very suspicious during our meeting today. She is hiding something.” Striding to her desk, I plucked her memo pad from its hiding spot, vindicated that it was still there. “She didn’t want me to see whatever she had written on this pad.”
Foster joined me at the desk with a keychain flashlight, and I pulled a pencil from my pocket. Just like Nancy Drew, I rubbed the lead over the paper to reveal traces of the note left behind.
“B-i-k,” Foster read aloud. “I can’t make it out. What does that say?”
As the words revealed themselves, I dropped the pencil like it was hot. Ms. Maple wasn’t being blackmailed into enforcing the stupid phone rule. She wasn’t hiding the location of a secret treasure or dead body either. She was getting a bikini wax on Wednesday at four.
Personally, I could have gone my whole life without knowing Mrs. Garrett’s evil twin waxes.
“My stiffy is gone.”
I snorted when I laughed. “Do you suppose she gets a landing strip or the Elmer Fudd?”
“Could you never ask me that again?” He rubbed his face. “Are we done now?”
“Yeah. I think I have all the information I need.”
Since I knew Foster was coming anyway, I accepted his offer of a ride to my date. We did not speak of bikini lines or woodies on the way to Abby’s Diner. Though we did have an interesting conversation about fonts and typefaces. Well, it was interesting to us anyway.
Mr. May revealed himself to be Steven J. Morten—at least that was how he introduced himself to me as we met across the diner table. His handshake was firm, but his skin felt on the clammy side to me.
Other than that, his appearance was unremarkable. Not quite matured yet, he carried himself like a freshman maybe. His face still had that baby-soft look to it, and behind his glasses, his eyes seemed boyish. A nice change from the last date, who thought he was more man than he really was.
Abby’s Diner was a retro 50’s joint and famous for their pies. Steven and I both ordered peach ala mode which gave us a great conversation starter.
I offered, “Peach is my favorite.”
He replied, “I just got it because you did.”
Cue uncomfortable silence.
“Do you have a favorite pie?” I asked.
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
Again, this really wasn’t working. I looked to the surroundings for a kick-start. Nothing about Formica and chrome screamed “good conversation.” The jukebox kicked out “Teenager in Love” and the night wasn’t getting any younger.
“So Steven, what school clubs do you participate in?”
“Just the Spanish Club.” I thought that was all he was going to say, but then he added, “But I’m really into art.”
“Oh?”
He picked up a portfolio on the bench next to him. “I brought a few of my favorites. Would you like to see them?”
I had just taken a big bite of pie, so I nodded and he pushed the portfolio across the table. Upon opening to the first page, the pie in my stomach offered a repeat performance.
“Um. Wow,” I mumbled. He turned the page. “These are really…” Disgusting. “Intense.”
He turned the page again and I tried not to wince.
“They are very…” Vulgar. Vile. I reached for a nonthreatening word. “Vivid?”
Because the mind of Steven J. Morten was apparently a very scary place.
Each drawing was indeed intense and vivid. And the stuff of nightmares. Naked teenage girls that I recognized as cheerleaders sprawled in painful poses while being eviscerated or beheaded by demonic, hulking beasts. Page after page of death, violence, and destruction amid burning urban landscapes. I looked at Steven again, thinking I misjudged his appearance, but no, he still had that guileless young boy vibe despite the fact that his mind vomited up such detailed ugliness.
“So your favorite medium is pencil?” I asked while texting SOS by Braille to a demon sometimes scarier than the ones on the paper in front of me.
He nodded. “But I did do a painted mural on my bedroom wall. Hey, do you want to come to my house and see it?”
Blinking away visions of the chains and torture devices he might have awaiting for me in his bedroom, I declined. “I’m not allowed to take this date out of the restaurant. Sorry.”
Steven shrugged. “Maybe some other time.” His gaze shifted to something behind me. “Hey, what is Jimmy Foster doing here?”
Oh, thank God. Lucifer was going to save me. I was afraid he wasn’t going to take my text seriously.
Foster stopped at our table. “Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh hi, Foster. What a surprise seeing you here.” I smiled brightly at him even though he obviously questioned the distress call. I’m sure that by all appearances, my date with Mr. May seemed pretty tame. “Steven was just showing me his drawings. Can I show them to Foster, Steven?”
Steven pushed his glasses up further on the bridge of his nose. “Sure, I guess.”
I tilted the book so Foster could get the full effect of the carnage. “Whoa.” I seldom got the chance to see Foster discombobulated. If I weren’t ready to retch, it would have been more enjoyable. “That is really….”
I offered, “Vivid?”
“Yeah, vivid. So sorry to cut your date short, guys, but we are having an emergency at the paper and I need Layney right now.”
“An emergency? Oh no.” I pushed myself out of the booth. “I’m so sorry, Steven, but I really have to go.”
Foster patted Steven on the shoulder. “Good luck with your art, man. Stay and finish your pie.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.
I went gladly and without complaint. Sometimes, the devil you know really is safer.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mr. June
A FEW days later I was dreading the newsroom because it was date night again and I wasn’t sure if I was up to it anymore. The last two had taken their toll. The thought of seven more chilled my marrow.
I like people, kind of. I even like boys, mostly. But I was beginning to feel like that stewardess who smiles at you when you get off the plane. Behind the smile you know she really wishes she could trip someone.
Plus, I’d been having strange dreams. Not the kind where you remember the oddness—more like the kind that leave their dregs of uneasiness behind long after you wake up. Tyler told me to keep a journal next to my bed and write them down as soon as I woke up. Like I didn’t keep a journal under my pillow already. Please, I am a writer. I could start an office supply store out of my car on any given day.
But the dreams vanished as soon as I opened my eyes, never staying long enough for me to catch them with my wily pen and parchment.
It was only the vague disquiet that stayed behind.
I thought about staying home sick, but Tyler was bringing my mug from our date to school. And buying me lunch. I wanted both, so I toughed it out.
As I meandered slowly across campus, I spied Micah rolling toward me. What a beautiful, beautiful boy. Rays of sun backlit him like an angel, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he had two cups of coffee in a to-go tray in his hand.
He smiled and did some fancy footwork to stop rolling once he got to me. “Hey, Layney.”
“Hey, Micah. Nice to see you at school for a change.”
“Does that mean you miss me when I’m not here?” He passed me a coffee. “I have this extra coffee here, and it’s a good thing you happened by or I would have to throw it away or something.”
“This is cheating.”
“No, this is coffee.
“We are supposed to be contact free.”
“I had no idea I would run into you. Harmless, coincidental caffeine.” Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of his tongue piercing when he spoke, and it made my tummy flutter a little. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a mocha.”
I smiled graciously. I’ve never actually had more than a sip of a mocha, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “What girl doesn’t like chocolate?”
I just didn’t like mine with my coffee.
That must have been a good answer, because he looked pleased with himself as he smiled and puffed out his chest. “Are you going to be online after your date tonight?”
Okay. Small confession. I’d been cyberflirting with Micah since he texted me from Toronto. Nothing serious. Just a few minutes here and there and a couple winking smilies from time to time.
“I don’t know. I have a calculus test tomorrow. I might have to be in full-on study mode.” I checked my watch. “Speaking of my date tonight, I better go retrieve my mission from the newsroom. Thanks for the coffee.”
Micah’s grin turned the blood in my veins to a molten hot wax. He could melt me from the inside out, he was that hot. It’s like he wafted in an air of wickedness—just a smidge, but enough to trigger all the right hormonal responses. Too bad he was only a sophomore. If I was going to break my boyfriend fast this year, he’d be my number one candidate.
But I wasn’t going to, was I?
As I pondered the thought across campus and into the newsroom, it occurred to me that this dating nonsense might be poking at the soft, fleshy parts of my heart that I thought I had protected several years ago. My choice to abstain from high school relationships was deliberate and wise. It’s not like my future would include anyone I dated as a teenager, so why go through the messy detour? Better to focus on the road that went directly to my career.
Then again, boys were sometimes cute. And funny. And nice. Like Micah…
“You’re deep in thought,” Foster said, though I hadn’t even been aware of his presence in the room. “Are you brainstorming your future Pulitzer? Let me guess—All Men Are Evil by renowned überfeminist Layney Logan.”
I shucked my bag and jacket. “I’ll be sure to give you credit for the title. Why are there so many folding chairs by the window?”
Foster snatched the coffee out of my hand. “Excellent. I needed a pick-me-up.” He took the lid off while he continued. “The chairs apparently live in the newsroom now because Ms. Maple said they got some nicer ones from the school that closed. Also, I’ve lost control of the staff. They won’t tell me what tonight’s date is, only that I have to be here when you get
your assignment.” He took a swig. “What the hell is this?”
As he wiped the back of his hand across his lips, I answered, “It’s a mocha.”
“Since when do you drink that crap?”
Since never. “I just thought I would try something new. I’m all about stretching my comfort zone now, remember?” Grabbing the cup back from his hands, a little lukewarm java sloshed onto my hand. “There isn’t anything wrong with sweet once in a while, right?”
His face screwed up into a look of confusion, but then he shrugged. “I guess not.”
“I mean, I still like regular coffee, but a change from bitterness now and again is okay too, right?” My voice sounded unsure to my own ears.
“You’re absolutely right, Logan. But I know you—you’ll always go back to regular roast because sweet will bore you.” He scrutinized me carefully. “You like a little bite.”
“Sweet doesn’t bore me.”
“Whatever. It’s coffee. It’s not like you have to marry it.”
I dared another sip, determined to give it a chance. I mean, why couldn’t I like it? Just because I wasn’t used to it didn’t mean it wasn’t good. I love chocolate. I’m obsessed with coffee. The color and foam were visually appealing and it smelled really good. On paper, we were a great match, café mochas and I.
Yet Foster laughed at my grimace as the cloying liquid went down the hatch.
I had two choices: persist and make myself miserable or admit that Foster was right. I hated giving him that little bit of satisfaction. What’s worse, the fact that he had a foothold on my psyche appalled me.
I set the cup down and readied for battle.
“Ah. There goes the chin,” Foster remarked. “Save the energy, Logan. We really don’t need to pick this one apart. It’s just coffee. If it makes you feel better, tomorrow I’ll try a hazelnut latte or something.”
Maryanne and Chelsea marched in looking apprehensive. Foster and I exchanged glances. The children were up to something. The silence thickened with tension and the girls nudged each other, hoping one would step up so the other wouldn’t have to.
