The Biggest Scoop

by Gillian St. Kevern

  He doesn’t want a date, I reminded myself. And even if he did, he wouldn’t want to go with you. He already turned you down once.

  But that wasn’t on purpose.

  I stole a look at Taylor. No greater contrast to the Internet pictures could be imagined. His short-cut brown hair was shiny, his complexion healthy, and he had an energy to him that said “well rested.” He did not look like someone who was worried about his datelessness. He did not look worried at all. He nodded, giving every impression of listening seriously to Declan’s opinions on lighting, while remaining politely committed to his own decision.

  It was just possible that he felt enough guilt over my promposal winding up plastered all over the school that he might say yes, I decided. The dreadful certainty that I was going to ruin everything gave way to a new kind of apprehension. But could I ask him?

  Could I not? This was the thought that troubled me through my remaining classes. When I caught myself trying to conjugate “go to the formal” in Spanish, I realized I was as capable of not blurting out an invitation as I was not breathing. Try as I might to contain it, the impulse was not going to be contained. And since it was going to happen anyway, I might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

  News of Fern and Taylor not being a couple seemed to have breathed fresh hope into Taylor’s admirers, and the committee had increased numbers of volunteers, many of whom were inclined to linger near Taylor, talking loudly about the fact that they did not, as yet, have a date. Girls were by far the most obvious offenders, but the guys were equally shameless. Declan and I staked out seats at the table nearest Taylor for the best view of the action.

  “Carlos was obvious,” Declan said. “I mean, a cheerleader girlfriend does not account for knowing all the words to Born This Way.” He smirked at me. “That, and his cheerleader girlfriend apparently attends an all-male school. Totally Freudian.”

  I mentally kicked myself for not thinking to check Carlos’s sources. From now on, every girlfriend was being interrogated. “And Christopher?”

  “He’s only out to friends,” Declan reported. “His parents think it’s a phase. They tried to make him go to therapy. Luckily, his therapist is sane and had none of it. They compromised, and he’s keeping things low-key until college.”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t want to know if Boomer and Declan were serious, but at the same time, I couldn’t not ask. “Your boyfriend’s at college, right?”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Declan said immediately. “I dumped him after homecoming.”

  I froze. “I had no idea. I’m sor—”

  “Said he wasn’t interested in parties, that he was only joining a fraternity for the support. Apparently, his fraternity brothers are really supportive. He put photos on Facebook of them supporting each other, and when I asked him about it, he said ‘a kid like you wouldn’t understand,’ and ‘we never said we weren’t in an open relationship.’” Declan scowled. “Like ‘Naked Thursday’ is a really hard concept to grasp.”

  “Um—”

  “So what? He can have his frat parties and his experimentation and his open relationships. I’ve moved on! And not only is Boomer not going to college for another year, but he takes training seriously. He’s not going to get wasted at a party and lose all sense of proportion.” Declan finished with satisfaction. “But then you’d know all about that.”

  I swallowed. If Declan and Boomer were serious, then I really needed a date.

  Taylor finally managed to extricate himself from his fan club. I caught up with him in the hall, and we walked toward the main door.

  “See?” Taylor said. “It’s been one whole school day without me getting mobbed by the press. I knew you could do it.”

  I smiled weakly. Now that the time had come to ask him, I was having trouble finding the words.

  “Did you decide to just stop speaking entirely?”

  “That’s plan B.” I took a deep breath as we stepped outside. “Taylor. There’s something I’ve got to tell you—”

  “It’s him!”

  Camera shutters rattled at us like gunfire. Alarmed, I took a step backward. My heel caught on the first step and I went down backward.

  “Look this way, Jet!”

  “Is it true you are attending this school under a fake name?”

  “Are you preparing for a new role?”

  “Stay back!” Mr. Harper surged out of nowhere. He took Taylor by his elbow, screening him from the reporters with his bulk. “Mr. Carmichael is not giving interviews. And might I remind you all that this is a school.” He pushed Taylor back through the doors.

  The reporters didn’t follow. “That’s him all right. Get a good photo?”

  “It’ll have to do. Security will have him out the back door— we’ll not get another chance.”

  “Hey, kid.” Suddenly I was the focus of attention. “You friends with Jet?”

  “I— what?” I gaped at the microphones thrust at me.

  “Is he your classmate? What is he like? Who are his friends?”

  I fought back the wave of nausea to get to my feet. “I don’t know,” I said, weaving through the reporters. “I got to go.”

  ****

  There was a newspaper clipping pinned to the fridge when I woke.

  How does it feel to be making news instead of writing about it? xxx Mom PS. We need to get you to a hairdresser.

  “Mom!” I ripped the clipping from the fridge and threw it across the room. “I don’t want to be making news!”

  I lasted about two minutes before I picked it up to read.

  Taylor and I were front page. The photographer had caught our surprise clearly. Taylor’s expression was guarded, I was falling over. But while Taylor looked like he might have been posing for the photo, grimly good-looking even caught unawares, I was a disaster. I didn’t need a haircut. I needed a fake I.D., a change of address and a personal stylist.

  “How does this always happen?”

  I wasn’t named in the article, but that didn’t matter. Everyone at school would recognize me. Frowning, I scanned the bulk of the article. The word from Jet’s representative was that Jet was present at Bernhardt to round out his education. He’d had a successful first month at school, elected class president and popular with fellow students. He was described as intelligent and thoughtful. Students were not surprised to learn that he was a former child actor. The visit from Sir Alan Carmichael had only confirmed their suspicions—

  “What suspicions?” I threw the article back across the kitchen with a groan. If this was what school was going to be like, I’d already had enough.

  ****

  “Of course, I knew.” Declan was supremely smug. “Seeing Sir Alan only confirmed it. There’s a family resemblance around the eyes.”

  I stared at him. “You didn’t say anything about your suspicions when we were discussing Sir Alan’s visit.”

  Declan dropped my gaze. Was he blushing? “Well, I couldn’t, could I? Not with Jet right there.”

  “I didn’t know,” Fern said frankly. “In retrospect, I don’t know how I didn’t suspect something. He was traveling every single weekend— He went to L.A. three times!”

  “If anyone should have worked it out, it was Milo,” Lily said. “No one spent more time with him than he did.”

  I blinked. “That was just hanging out!”

  “There’s no way Milo knew,” Declan said with certainty. “I mean, Milo keeping a secret?”

  “That’s where you’re wrong!” I was unreasonably annoyed. “I did know.” For about one day.

  Declan whistled. “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

  “He’s been crabby all day. In English, he actually said ‘I don’t care,’ to a question. If I’d said that, it would have been detention for sure, but Mr. Perry just told him to take it easy.” Sarah Choi huffed. “Male bias in action.”

  “Leave Milo alone,” Fern said. “He’s worried about Taylor.”

  “For that matter, where is Taylor?�
�

  “I don’t know.” I poked miserably at my tuna salad. “He’s not replying to my text messages. Maybe now the media found out, he can’t come back.”

  “They were hanging around at the entrance again today. Principal Kim asked them to leave.” Alexis had her arm draped over Taylor’s empty chair. “If they’re going to do that every day, the school board might not let him come back. I mean, that’s got to be a hazard.”

  Sarah Choi sighed. “Way to go, Milo.”

  “What?”

  “Well, how else did they find out? You’re the only one who knew!”

  My chair was abruptly jostled from behind. “Yeah, sneak. Way to blow the only good thing to happen to this school all term.”

  “I didn’t tell—” My protest died as I realized who I was arguing with. Logan?

  “Who else would? Face it. We all know that you put the story before everything else. Why? Because you did it before.”

  Fern’s chair scraped the cafeteria floor as she stood. “If this is about Carson and Blake, then you need to drop it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Logan stalled for a minute. “Storytellers stick together, huh. You didn’t think we’d forgotten you making stuff up—”

  “Fern didn’t—” Lily and I started at once.

  “Logan can think what he likes,” Fern said. “I’ve got more important things to worry about.” She sat down again. “The formal is only four days away, and we’ve still got a lot of work to do on the decorations. Declan, the drama club—”

  “Entirely at your disposal,” Declan assured her.

  Boomer leaned past Logan. “Basketball club, too.”

  “A load of men. Just what we need.” Alexis leaned across the table. “Just watch, Fern. We’ll have the decorations done so fast these boys won’t know what hit them.”

  “I don’t care who hits who,” Fern said. “Just as long as the decorations get made.”

  Lily nudged her. “Some pacifist. I’m starting to think that if the formal’s not a success, there’s going to be a murder.”

  “Murder on the dance floor.” Logan nudged my seat again. “How appropriate.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, watching as he sauntered away laughing. Was it me, or was there something distinctly unfunny about that laugh?

  ****

  The biggest joke was the newspaper meeting. All of us stood there, looking at Candice as if she’d grown a third head. Had we misheard?

  Candice looked back. “What? You heard me.”

  “Just let me double-check.” I ran my hand through my hair. “We have the biggest school story in the state— no, the country—”

  “And you’re telling us not to cover it?” Lionel looked at the rest of us. “She has to be joking.”

  “No joke.” Candice crossed her arms across her chest. “I talked to Principal Kim about why Jet was here. Turns out he missed a lot of school being a Hollywood big shot and needs to catch up. For the last month, he was, for the first and only time in his life, an ordinary kid.”

  I bit my lip. Taylor was never going to classify as ordinary. His mouth alone disqualified him.

  “Milo, don’t make that face. This is a serious newspaper meeting, and it’s very off-putting.” Candice tapped her foot against the desk she was sitting on. “Anyway. Those vultures outside are the perfect example of what a reporter is not. I want us to demonstrate true journalistic integrity.”

  “By not writing about Taylor?” Sam looked skeptical. “But we ran all those articles on him—”

  “Articles treating Taylor as just another student. Milo, I swear, if you do not control your face, I will control it for you.” Candice glared at me and then turned back to the others. “No, as far as the newspaper is concerned, he is Taylor, not Jet, until such time as he releases a press statement or exclusive interview to the contrary.” Candice opened her binder. “Now. There is the possibility that outside media are going to be taking an interest in our school publications, so our next issue is going to be amazing. Let’s show the world what it means to be Bernhardt. Got it? Good. I want your article summaries tonight.”

  ****

  It was really lucky I was still barred from cross-country practices. Working on my article (“A School Under Siege”) kept me so busy that it wasn’t until the paper was out and I slid into my seat first period that I had a moment to spare for my dilemma.

  It was Friday.

  The formal was Saturday night.

  Taylor was not responding to my texts or calls.

  Life After Social Death: True tales from the winter formal. I tapped my pencil against the page. Everyone loved a good tragedy, right?

  “If that were true, I would be the most popular person in the entire school!” I crumpled up the page. About to toss it into the trash, my gaze fell on a familiar blonde head. I breathed out in relief. Fern wouldn’t let me down! No way she would have had time to mastermind a formal, being Fern, and find a date!

  I caught up to her on our way to AP English. “Fern. I was wondering. The formal tomorrow. You don’t have a date, right?”

  “Right!”

  I paused. That was— oddly positive for someone without a date. “Don’t you want one?”

  “I think the excessive importance the media places on relationships detracts and devalues from important platonic friendships, and other relationships.” Fern tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gazing at me earnestly. “It also teaches people ‘you’re nothing unless you have someone with you.’ I think that’s wrong. I always admired you and Lily for your courage to strike out alone, while never imagining I could do the same. What happened after the tickets showed me that I’m stronger than I ever imagined. And I want the school to know it.”

  I stared at her. “So— no date then?”

  Fern beamed at me and stepped into the classroom. “No date.”

  I slumped at my desk, smoothing out my piece of paper. Confessions of a Dateless Wonder.

  Though— if I were honest with myself, it wasn’t a date I wanted.

  Where was Taylor now? What was he doing? Did he miss me? Or—

  I bit my lip.

  The appearance of the paparazzi during my aborted promposal looked bad. Did Taylor think I was about to apologize for informing them— that I was responsible? Was he angry? Was that why he hadn’t got in touch?

  Declan laughed. I glanced up to see him leaning over the back of his chair to talk to Boomer. I quickly looked away. What if—

  Just because Declan’s older boyfriend succumbed to the lure of the party scene doesn’t mean that Taylor is going to forget you because he’s famous again, I told myself. Honestly. It’s Taylor.

  But how well did I really know Taylor? Jet was an actor. A really, really good actor if he was winning awards at nine years old. Was it possible that—

  “No!”

  “I understand Dickens is an author that provokes polarizing opinions, but his inclusion in our curriculum is not up for debate, Milo.” Mr. Perry eyed me sternly. “I know you’re all preoccupied with the formal, but I want everyone to have purchased a copy of Great Expectations by the end of next week and to have read it for the first week of next term. No, Jordan, you can’t watch it on Netflix. Any other questions?”

  Sarah Choi raised her hand. “Can students other than Jordan watch it on Netflix?”

  “You know,” Mr. Perry said as the class snickered. “I’m almost tempted.”

  Everyone in the school had gone mad.

  ****

  It was nine on Friday night when the call came. I was upside down on the sofa watching The Philadelphia Story when my phone rang.

  I stared at it, vibrating on the living room floor. If it had been armed with electric shocks, it could not have hurt more. It wasn’t Taylor. The ringtone was one I hadn’t heard since Boomer had dumped me.

  I swallowed. Could I do this?

  I’d spoken to Boomer since. Simple things like “I found your protractor in my pencil
case,” “I don’t own that chair,” or “I’m fine.” This was different. I didn’t know if I could do it—

  The phone stopped ringing.

  “No!” I hit redial. “Connect, damn you! I know he’s there, he has to be!”

  It was only when I stopped trying to call him that I saw the notification letting me know I had a voice message. Carefully placing my phone down on the coffee table, I hit play and ducked behind the sofa.

  “Hey, Milo.” Boomer was always quiet, as if trying to compensate for just how big he was. The day he’d dropped into normal volume with me had been a big one. Hearing hesitation in his voice again hurt. “I know there’s been a lot of stuff between us, but I still think of you as a friend, and I really, really hope you won’t hold that against me and you’ll listen. This is serious.”

  A lot of words for Boomer. I drew my arms around my knees, listening hard.

  “I was heading home after practice when I realized I forgot some stuff in the locker room. I turned back to get it and some of the wrestling team were still there. Jordan, Matt, I forget who else. They were talking about you. They stopped when they saw me, and I acted like I didn’t hear, but Milo— don’t go to the formal. I mean it. They’re gonna do something to you.”

  “What?” I unwound from behind the sofa. “That can’t be the end of the message! Boomer!”

  Still engaged. I tried Boomer two more times before giving up. I groaned, sliding on to the floor. “Perfect.” Exactly what my life needed.

  After a moment, I sat up, reaching for my scattered DVD collection. If I was about to relive Carrie, it only made sense to rewatch it.

  ****

  Chapter Twelve

  “Not that I would ever try to dictate your choices but wouldn’t Cinderella be a better choice than Carrie?” My mother smoothed my hair as she leaned over the sofa.

  I looked up at her sourly. “Are you calling me a princess?”

  “Well you won’t meet your handsome prince lying around in your pajamas, Spaghetti-O. At the very least, it would give us some variety. That’s the third time today.”

  I hit pause and sat up. “I’m not going to the formal!”

  “I don’t know why I gave you money for two tickets if you’re not going to the formal.”