I leaned forward, interestedly. I’d never had the opportunity to see what girls put in their bags (Candice’s habit of carrying Moleskine notebooks and at least two different newspapers was not, I felt, typically feminine).
Fern studied herself in a fold-up mirror. “It could be worse.” She used concealer to patch up the puffy skin around her eyes and looked down at the implements on the table in front of her. “Do you know anything about makeup, Milo?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Maria and Victoria always do it for me. I’ve got such a problem with mascara. Whenever I try it myself, I stab myself in the eye and end up looking like a raccoon.”
“I don’t want to stab you in the eye!”
“You won’t. It’s a lot easier to put on someone else. Please, Milo?”
It was fascinating. I hadn’t even realized what a difference makeup made to anyone except Lily, but by the time I’d carefully applied the mascara and Fern had wiped away the last smudges, she looked as perfectly on top of everything as if she’d arrived at school only five minutes ago.
“Thanks, Milo. I really appreciate this.” As Fern stood, she impulsively stepped toward me, arms out.
I returned the hug. This really was the weirdest day ever.
****
Not even Candice was ambitious enough to want to put out another issue of the paper that day, and track and field practice was canceled. I walked out of the main entrance a free man. Or as close to free as a high school student ever got, i.e., with only a few hours homework.
I should have been thrilled. Instead, I was strangely dissatisfied. I had an entire evening to myself, and Netflix had just updated their new releases. The night was mine!
But somehow the thought of spending my night alone on the couch didn’t appeal.
“Milo! Over here!”
Fern stood behind two long tables set up on one side of the path leading to the school gates. Taylor was with her, along with the Feministas, a few members of the hockey team, Declan and, bizarrely, Carlos. A little farther down the path, keeping an eye on proceedings, was Mr. Harper. Also present but disappearing rapidly were a vast amount of cupcakes.
“What’s going on?”
“What election would be complete without rampant bribery?” Declan’s tone was superior, but he had frosting on his cheek.
Fern elbowed him composedly. “It’s not bribery if we’re both doing it. Show Milo the sign.”
It was propped against the table, half-hidden by milling students. It proclaimed in the gray and crimson school colors: “Don’t Vote on an Empty Stomach! Fern (and Taylor) for President! Vegan Cupcakes for You!” The “and Taylor!” had been added in sharpie.
“I was thinking how kind you were to help me this morning even though Taylor’s your candidate.” Fern handed me a napkin. “And I thought I’d return the favor by sharing my publicity drive with Taylor. Do you like vanilla or chocolate, Milo? What am I saying— you get one of each!”
I accepted the cupcakes in confusion. “I didn’t do that much.”
“It meant a lot to me— and Taylor.” Fern beamed at me. “He wasn’t going to accept my invitation, said it didn’t feel right when I’d worked so hard on the cupcakes, but when I told him what you’d done, he changed his mind.”
“Really?” I looked down the table to where Taylor was nodding in response to something a senior jock was saying. He looked perfectly natural talking to the older student.
“We have got to go out for coffee some time, Milo. I want to hear all about Taylor.”
That drew my attention back to Fern instantly. “You do?”
“Fern! Sorry we’re late— is there still a chance to help?”
“Victoria! Maria!” Fern’s face lit up. “You came after all?”
“What else are friends for?” Victoria looked up and down the table. “If it hadn’t been such short notice, I’d have come over last night to help you bake.”
“It’s all right,” Fern assured her. “You know I love baking.”
“No better stress relief, right?” Maria rested a single, perfectly manicured finger against the table. “I don’t know if I’d have made quite so much vanilla, personally… But I expect it’ll work out.”
Victoria looked away from the senior talking to Taylor and tugged her blazer straight. “You should have your sign somewhere more visible. You can hardly see it with everyone in front.”
“I didn’t think of that—”
“And that’s why we’re here.” Maria patted Fern on the shoulder. “Leave it to us. Though next time you run for president, let us know before you choose your slogan.”
I frowned, watching the two cheerleaders lift the sign. “I like the slogan.”
But Fern had turned aside to answer a question about her recipe. Maybe I’d imagined the note in Maria’s voice?
I drifted down the table. Taylor was still in conversation, chatting with members of the basketball team, but I caught his eye as I passed. “Good luck for tomorrow!”
He nodded, giving me a wave. “See you then, Milo.”
I ate the cupcakes slowly. Was there anything Fern couldn’t do? (besides mascara). Between her overachieving and Taylor’s natural perfection, the outcome of tomorrow’s vote was anyone’s guess. But it wasn’t the election that worried me.
I folded the cupcake wrappers up and slid them in the pocket of my blazer. Was I the only one who’d seen it? Taylor’s thoughtfulness and maturity, Fern’s drive and big heart. There was no better match in all of Bernhardt. No matter who won the election tomorrow, the two of them would be spending a lot of time together as president and vice president. It was, I decided, inevitable.
And when they found their happy ending?
I bit my lip. I could already hear Candice. “Happily ever after isn’t news, Milo.” Once Taylor and Fern realized their overwhelming compatibility…
“What happens when he’s no longer your story?”
“So, I’ll go onto the next story.” But I knew that no story would compete with Taylor. How could it? What sporting victory, student achievement, or generous donation from previous graduates could even approach Taylor’s near universal appeal? Other students were good-looking, talented or both. Taylor simply possessed an innate quality that gave everything he did significance. “Taylor could drop a pencil and create a story—”
I gasped. A horrible thought had occurred to me. What if this was it? The peak of my career as a journalist? I swallowed, thinking of the script stashed at the back of my closet. Taylor and Fern’s blossoming romance was the death knell of my writing career, period—
A horn blared. “Oi, kid! Get out of the road!”
I glared at the driver as I finished crossing the road. “You wouldn’t beep at Sir Alan Carmichael!”
Then again, it was hard to imagine someone who’d won as many Academy Awards as Sir Alan Carmichael having a life crisis that necessitated him stopping in the middle of the road to be beeped at. Although—
I bit my lip. Not much was known about the early career of Sir Alan, but he’d grown up on a council estate in England, working several ignominious dead-end jobs to keep a roof over his head as he worked on the script that later made him famous. The way he’d deliberately juxtaposed his heroes’ physical insignificance against the obstacles they faced in his films and the emphasis he’d placed on the development of his characters suggested that Sir Alan was a man who knew struggle.
“So what would Sir Alan Carmichael do?”
In one of his rare interviews, he’d spoken of the fact that the film in which he’d faced the greatest difficulties had been his most successful because of those difficulties. With studios unwilling to invest large sums in an unknown filmmaker, Sir Alan had foregone special effects in favor of wringing all the characterization he could from his actors, with the result that the film had been nominated for best actor, actress, supporting actor, supporting actress and cast.
Candice was about as immovable as
a Hollywood film executive. So how would I wring my victory from her?
I took my usual shortcut through the parking lot, thinking hard. Full of the success of our election issues, maybe Candice would reconsider her stance against film reviews?
Unlikely. But Taylor was proof that many things I’d considered impossible could happen. I’d have to find the right movie, I decided. Something with an educational slant to get past the teachers but still appeal to our peers. With an angle sharp enough to make even Candice flinch but new enough that it wouldn’t already have been dissected by the entertainment news.
I smirked, remembering an article I’d seen just that morning. I had the perfect movie.
****
“Milo, what is this?”
I’d sent the article a mere fifteen minutes ago. Was the fact that Candice had called me immediately good or bad? “I thought maybe we should take advantage of our increased audience by broadening our horizons—”
“We’re a school newspaper. Not Entertainment Weekly.”
“And many students at our school have an interest in film! Particularly in films like Boston 1770!”
Candice did not sound impressed. “We get enough history in class.”
“It’s not just about the educational aspects of the film! Look at the cast! It’s starring Jet Carmichael, who is nineteen— barely a year older than you! He’s our age, and he’s facing overwhelming pressure already. Filming’s barely finished and already he’s pulled out of interviews in the UK, producing speculation that he’s facing a breakdown—”
“We don’t print speculation, Milo!”
“Other people are speculating!” I said, stung. “I’d stick to the facts. Like that Jet was the youngest person ever to win an Oscar for best actor, which he did at just nine— but which also led to allegations of overwork and neglect against his parents. He had a breakdown on the set of his next film and hasn’t made any public appearances since he was ten. Even the film’s publicity department doesn’t have a photo of him! His role in the film’s been a secret up until now, but now that it’s out and he is once again the subject of public scrutiny, it is anyone’s guess what will happen.” I talked quickly, not giving Candice the chance to interrupt. “Plus he has his parents’ reputations working against him. His mother is an A-lister, widely considered the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. His father is a famous movie director. One teenager with everything to prove against a world that’s already judging him— tell me that won’t resonate with our peers.”
“Let me put it to you like this. ‘Jock misses football practice.’ Would you read that article, Milo?”
“No…”
“It’s the same thing. Face it. If he wasn’t Sir Alan Carmichael’s son, you wouldn’t be interested in him either.”
“That has nothing to do with it! I just saw Sir Alan’s name and read up about the film. Look, no one else is following the British film industry. It’s a fresh new story—”
“That you can put on your blog. But not my paper.” Candice’s tone softened. “Look, Milo. Next year, you can do whatever you like with the paper. Fill the entire thing with film reviews; it’s entirely up to you as editor. But right now, the paper’s mine. And I say the only reviews are of student productions.”
I took a deep breath. “Entirely up to me as editor— do you mean that?”
“Of course, I do. Who do you think is going to be editor?”
I let out my breath in an uneven laugh. “I guess I just assumed— I mean, you’re so much the editor that—”
“What, you thought I’d repeat a year just to make sure you kept your deadlines?” I could hear Candice shake her head. “Not even for you, Milo. Though on the subject of student productions, we got an art exhibition in the works. Want it?”
I nodded, some of my elation fading. I had to prepare for life after Taylor. “Sure.”
“I’ll e-mail you the details. And Milo?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t turn my baby into Entertainment Weekly.”
I laughed. “No promises.”
****
Chapter Five
The election took place during second period on Thursday. I sat with the rest of my AP English class in the auditorium, watching as Taylor and Fern were complimented by Principal Kim on their community spirit. How long was an appropriate amount of time to wait before running an article on their compatibility? Or would it be better to feign ignorance as long as possible in order to keep interest in the paper going?
A finger jabbed into my ribs, and I yelped, drawing glares from the teachers sitting on stage.
“Move over, Milo. Don’t make such a fuss.” Candice barely gave me time to move my bag from the seat next to me before she sat.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered. “You’ve got class!” Only the juniors were allowed out for the election.
“What and miss this?” Candice looked to the stage with interest, sizing up both candidates. Her notebook was already on her lap. “So that’s the famous Taylor.”
I smirked as Taylor stood. “Just wait. He deserves all the hype.”
Logan and his friends jostled each other in the back row as Taylor took the podium. Trying to attract attention away from Taylor’s speech? Taylor didn’t seem to raise his voice, but there was a compelling note in it that called my attention back to him before I’d finished turning to see what Logan was doing.
I wasn’t the only one. There was not a single cough, scrape of a chair being moved or whispered comment as Taylor spoke, and a huge applause broke out as he finished. With a smile and a nod, Taylor made way for Fern. I settled back in my chair and became aware that Candice was watching not Taylor but me.
“What?”
Candice just shook her head. “I was wondering if Taylor was attractive. Guess that answers that.”
We voted on our way out of the auditorium. The announcement was made in the cafeteria at lunch. Taylor was announced class president and Fern vice president to thunderous applause.
“Taylor! Congratulations!”
“Oh my god, you did it!”
The Feministas swarmed him excitedly, followed by the academics and emos. I hung back, watching Taylor shake hands and being slapped on the back with mingled pride and sadness. It had happened, just like I’d known it would. Taylor was popular.
“Never mind, Fern! You did your best.” I looked over my shoulder to see Victoria consoling Fern.
“Vice president isn’t that bad,” Maria agreed, looking at her nails. “Better luck next year.”
Was that really what friends should be saying right now? I paused.
In that moment Taylor acted, holding out his hand to Fern. “Congratulations, vice president. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“Ditto,” Fern said. “On both parts. Let me know when you have time to talk. I have some great ideas for the formal.”
Taylor raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t exaggerating being committed to your projects.”
Declan snorted. “Fern’s commitment should never be underestimated.” But his voice was warm.
“We’ll need to organize a committee,” Fern continued. “I already drew up a list of venues to consider, and—”
“Did you forget we have a special practice after school?” Maria nudged Fern. “We’re working out that new cheer.”
“That’s not going to take all afternoon,” Fern said. “After—”
“But you promised to help me with my history essay!” Victoria protested. “And Maria’s math homework— we were busy all yesterday helping you.”
Fern bit her lip.
“Tell you what,” Taylor said. “I’ll give you my phone number. That way, you can get in touch whenever you have time.”
I couldn’t help it. I smirked. Fern had just accomplished what no girl in school had— acquiring Taylor’s number! Long night conversations into the early hours of the morning… Hopefully they would keep up a professional front at school so
that the rest of us weren’t sick with envy—
Suddenly I was on the cafeteria floor with a lap full of potato salad.
“Extra, extra! School sneak reaches new low!” Logan caught the eyes of his friends, and they snickered. “Newspaper so hungry for news you’re searching for table scraps now?”
I reached for my spilled tray, flicking a glob of potato off my wrist. “Don’t worry, Logan. We won’t be reporting on you anytime soon.”
He frowned, trying to work out if that was an insult. I took advantage of his pause to scoop up as much of my lunch as I could and go.
Taylor found me in the bathroom picking coleslaw out of my hair. “I didn’t see what happened, but are you okay?”
“No. I’m kicking myself.” I made a face at my reflection. “With how often this happens, I should have a comeback ready.”
“Stay still for one second—” Taylor reached over. I felt a gentle pressure on my hair, and a moment later, Taylor dropped a piece of cabbage in the sink. “There.”
“Thanks.” It was hard not to fidget with Taylor standing so close behind me that I could feel his body heat. I swallowed. Play it cool. Impress Taylor with your commitment to your projects. “Any chance of an exclusive interview with our new class president?”
Taylor snorted. “If there’s only one paper, isn’t everything you write an exclusive?”
“Don’t ruin the illusion. Well?”
“You were beaten to it. By a girl with big hair—”
“Candice?” How could she?
“She didn’t tell me her name. Just launched into her questions. The interview was over before I knew I was being interviewed.”
“That’s Candice.”
“It’s all right. I have a different headline for you.”
Was this how low I’d sunk? Accepting pity stories? “What is it?”
Taylor stepped back, spreading out his arms as if setting out an imaginary front page. “Class President Celebrates Victory by Watching Movie with Friend.”
“At least it’s a descriptive headline,” I said slowly. “But it should have a hook.” And because I couldn’t help it, “Who is the friend?”
Taylor looked at me.
I felt myself turning pink. “Just checking. Your choice or mine?”
****
They’re more afraid of you than you are them, I told myself firmly. They’re more afraid of you. Which must have the two black Labradors terrified. Keeping my eyes on the dogs, I opened the coffee shop door. Immediately, the larger of the two beasts lumbered toward me. I stepped backward and collided with Taylor.
The Biggest Scoop Page 7