Sources Say

by Lori Goldstein

  “And you’re applying to Harvard?”

  “I’m going to Harvard.” She said it with such confidence, Cat was sure she would. “And you?”

  “Northwestern?” Emmie raised her eyebrows, and Cat tried again. “North. Western.”

  “That’s it.” Emmie flicked her spoon at Cat and accidentally dropped it. Cat offered up her own. Emmie almost accepted but instead grabbed a new one, which she first cleaned with a sanitizer wipe. “I know, I know.”

  “No judgment . . . except—”

  “Shaking hands and kissing babies?” Emmie cringed. “Universe has quite a sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

  Their easy conversation carried them through a half-priced refill and then another before they finally exited onto the street where, instantly, Cat’s phone buzzed with a Twitter notification.

  “Did The Shrieking Violet publish a new story?” she asked.

  “Sorry, I’m not following it.”

  “It must have. The Red and Blue’s been tagged in a tweet: ‘Investigate. Shrieking Violet says Angeline’s bogus. Shouldn’t even be at Acedia.’ Bogus? What does that mean?” Without waiting for Emmie to respond, Cat plugged in the website. She read the headline, and something twisted in the pit of her stomach.

  “Read it,” Emmie said. “Or I can pull it up. What’s the address?”

  “No, it’s okay.” Cat swallowed and began to read:

  Angeline Quinn’s Darkest Secrets Coming to Light

  With so much hallway flutter about our dear Ask an Angel and her Mary Poppins bag of bribes—–nay, “samples”—–it’s time for some transparency. Before casting a ballot in the StuCo election, voters deserve to know the truth about presidential candidate Angeline Quinn. But voters have homework. And band practice. And little brothers and sisters to torture babysit. With active accounts on Snap, Insta, Twitter, and, apparently even Facebook (cultivating the wrong seniors’ vote there!) on top of her YouTube channel, knowing all there is to know about Quinnie falls to The Shrieking Violet.

  We gathered our pumpkin spice popcorn, put up our bunny-slippered feet, and sat back to watch every single episode of Ask an Angel. For you.

  Research matters, folks. Don’t say The Shrieking Violet isn’t serious. Or is that “isn’t not serious”? We get confused with all the shrieking around here.

  Anyhoo, what did we learn?

  From those red lips in episodes 18, 22, and 31, we can confirm that rumors of Quinn being a succubus are some percentage true.

  Of greater concern, however, is Quinn’s very position as a student at this school. Not only should she not be running for elected office, but she shouldn’t even be allowed at Acedia since she lived outside the charter region when she applied for the lottery!

  Shriek with me, folks!

  Cat set down her phone. That twisting in her stomach coiled into knots. Because the article wasn’t entirely false. Succubus aside, the bit about the charter school region contained a modicum of truth.

  It was the summer after their dad had left. Their move into the current apartment, though planned, had yet to be completed. They were living with one of her mom’s friends a couple of towns over when they’d both applied.

  Details Cat had never shared. She’d bet the Fit to Print award that this was a secret Angeline would entrust to only one person.

  Leo.

  Which meant he must have been feeding stories to The Shrieking Violet.

  Which had an ad from the bowling alley underneath the article.

  This was all Angeline’s fault.

  “I have to go,” Cat said.

  “No problem.” Emmie’s eyes filled with concern. “I wouldn’t worry though. No one in their right mind would take that seriously.”

  The notifications kept coming on Cat’s phone. People asking The Red and Blue to confirm the claim.

  “You forget, this is high school,” Cat said. “‘Mind’ barely applies, let alone ‘right.’” She started walking. “See you in school.”

  “Sure,” Emmie said. “Or text me later.”

  Cat nodded as she clicked on The Shrieking Violet’s account. The original tweet linking to the story had comments like:

  Rules *are not* made to be broken!

  Expel!

  Succubus are wicked cool. Vote for the succubus!

  The likes were pouring in. Everyone was reading The Shrieking Violet.

  And waiting for a response that The Red and Blue couldn’t give. Cat couldn’t investigate a somewhat true, mostly false claim that affected not just her sister but herself.

  Angeline had put her in an impossible position by being so selfish. If she hadn’t betrayed Leo, none of this would have been happening.

  Cat charged into their apartment, and her mom lifted her head from Evelyn’s Girl, Talk Like Everyone’s Listening book.

  “Cat, I was just about to make lunch. Are you—”

  “Not hungry.” Cat marched through the living room. The Angeline show. As always. Cat ripped the ribbon off the knob and flung open their bedroom door.

  “Hey! I’m filming!” Angeline popped out of the desk chair. Half her face was covered in what looked like strawberry jelly, and the room stunk of rotten fish and sour milk. “Cat, you know better!”

  “Me, what about you?”

  “Oh, what evil have I managed to do to you now? I’m not the one trashing you in The Red and Blue.”

  Cat’s face reddened with anger as she lifted her phone.

  “Cell phones?” Angeline grabbed a towel off the end of her bed and leveled it under her chin. “I know you’re a total Luddite, but honestly, Cat, I’m not responsible for the ills being done to our society by smartphone technology.”

  “But you . . .” Cat couldn’t concentrate what with Angeline’s half-bloodied face straight out of a horror movie. “What is that?”

  “Wine-soaked, macerated seaweed facial. Natalie Goldberg’s mom’s apparently a budding entrepreneur in skin care.”

  “And you’re promoting it?”

  “Testing first. Hence the one side.”

  Cat pinched her nostrils. “Whatever she’s paying you, it’s not enough.”

  Angeline shifted the towel to catch a glop falling from her cheek. “She’s not paying me.”

  “Then why are you . . . Oh, you really are unbelievable! Is this all for a vote? That’s . . . that’s just . . . how could . . .”

  “Use your words, Cat.”

  Cat swiped her palm across Angeline’s face. The foul, sticky concoction coated her fingers, and she shook her wrist. Red globules dropped onto the white carpet.

  “Cat!” Angeline fell to her knees and dabbed at the stain, only spreading it wider. “I swear you’re trying to sabotage me.”

  “Funny, that’s what I came here to say to you.”

  Angeline stood and wiped the rest of the gunk off her face. “Natalie’s vote comes with that of the whole swim and tennis teams, not to mention band and the hippie artist crowd.”

  “How very well-rounded of her,” Cat said through clenched teeth. “But you’ll have no need of votes at this rate.”

  “Are you talking about that ridiculous thing in The Shrieking Violet?”

  “That ridiculous thing that’s getting more reads than anything I’ve written except for my story on the Frankengirls? That ridiculous thing that’s stealing my advertisers? What’s going to keep my paper going when The Shrieking Violet pilfers them all?”

  “Why does this have anything to do with me? I’m not responsible for it.”

  “But you are. How did they get that story?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Think, Angeline, think. Who else knew?”

  “You, and I’d think you were the snitch except you’re a terrible actress.”

  They stared a
t each other.

  Cat’s heart pounded in her throat, and she wanted to smear seaweed in Angeline’s eye. “Leo? Did Leo know?”

  The way Angeline drew back confirmed it.

  “Then he’s doing this!” Cat said. “He’s giving them these stories.”

  “Leo? No way. He’d never. He’s too . . .” Her thoughts trailed off, and Cat saw doubt enter her sister’s eyes.

  “Too what?” Cat said. “Moral? Good? He was all those things before you. Before he became a mini Tad. And now he’s not just hurting you, he’s hurting me. If you don’t belong at the school, neither do I.”

  Angeline stiffened. “We both belong there. We didn’t do anything wrong. Our application will show—”

  “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what’s true or not, it matters what someone makes someone believe is the truth. Haven’t you been paying attention to anything that’s been going on for the past few years? Ms. Lute said Acedia was a microcosm, and she’s one hundred percent right.”

  Everything Cat had done, everything that was finally on the verge of paying off, all right before her, and now, because of her sister, she might lose it. Lose the award, lose Northwestern, and then what? Everything she’d worked for would be replaced by the deep dark hole of everything she’d given up to get it: fun and friends and bonfires and boys—yes, boys—a love life, any kind of life outside the newsroom.

  Angeline sighed. “What would you have me do, Cat? Quit?”

  “What if I said yes?”

  Her sister’s eyes shifted away from Cat’s. “The thing is, I’ve already sent Evelyn the deposit and signed the confidentiality agreement.”

  “Then why even ask?”

  Cat stormed out and straight into the bathroom. At the sink, her pulse raced as she washed off what she imagined the regurgitated supper of a seal felt like.

  She dried her fingers with a towel, refusing on principle to acknowledge the softness of her skin.

  18

  When Cat Watches Grady

  11 DAYS TO THE ELECTION

  Grady: Video’s uploaded to server.

  Cat: I’ll watch soon.

  Grady: Now soon?

  Grady:

  At the desk in her bedroom, Cat rolled her eyes. But she set aside her essay for government on protest marches and opened the shortcut to The Red and Blue’s server.

  * * *

  “Testing, one, two, three, testing. And action . . .

  “I’m standing outside the entrance to the boys’ bathroom in the west corridor where the first images of the Frankengirls were seen at the start of the school year. In that short time, while the climate outside these walls gradually transitions from summer to fall, inside has been experiencing a glacial shift. The question is, how did we enter this AF era—that’s ‘After Frankengirls,’ by the way. A question I hope to answer.

  “Welcome, I’m Grady Booker, Red and Blue staff reporter and your trusted guide for this special online video report. Come with me as we venture forth from this iconic spot and travel through the halls of Acedia. Our journey chronicles the student council election, from its first sign-up sheet at this bulletin board outside Ms. Lute’s classroom to the primary election that kicked off our Battle of the Exes in the auditorium, which we’ll visit in a bit.

  “That battle has become an all-out war in the weeks since. It started small, with cheeky campaign posters and messages on marquees. The all-in-good-fun feel continued when Quinn pulled her car sporting a three-foot-tall halo into the parking lot, only to be overshadowed, literally, by six-foot-high devil horns on half the cars of the football team, including Tad Marcus’s. Then there were the pink cozies snuggling over every football, basketball, and baseball bat in the equipment room. That was soon followed by the text messaged ’round the school with photos only Torres had access to take of the expensive wardrobe in Quinn’s closet, completely at odds with her dress code promise; the dozens of Finding Nemo stuffies strangled with plastic straws creepily dangling in unsuspecting corners of the school, challenging Torres’s ‘stop telling us what to do’ platform; and the corridors covered in bubble wrap, mocking the ‘safe space’ Quinn advocated for.

  “But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, with less than two weeks before the election, let’s center on Angeline Quinn. As many voters know, Quinn’s eligibility to run was called into question by The Shrieking Violet. After a visit from Quinn’s mother and an unearthing of her student file, she was given the all-clear. The confidentiality terms that prevent us from showing the evidence may be the reason skepticism remains.

  “Exhibit A.”

  “As you can see, Quinn’s campaign poster has been vandalized by someone in need of a grammar check, but that unfortunately doesn’t narrow down the suspect pool. But look closer as I zoom in . . . is this the zoom? I don’t know how to use this thing, which is old AF, and not in the After Frankengirls way . . . cheese and crackers . . . where’s the . . . okay, okay, there we go . . . note to self: edit here . . . and . . . action.

  “I hope you can see that all over Quinn’s poster are words of support like this one, ‘Ash for Ang 4Ever,’ as well as the outline of lips. Girls have been coming by and planting kisses. Wait, here comes someone now . . . And zoom back out . . . ooh, ooh, here she comes. Sonya Robins. God, she’s hot. I mean, not hot, I mean attractive. She’s a lovely girl. Lady. Person. Who I’d give my left pinkie to plant my own lipstick kiss on . . . And note to self, cut.”

  Grady landed the camera on Sonya just as Riley met up with her. “Here we have Riley Donovan and”—Grady swallowed—“and Sonya Robins. Sonya, can you tell us what you are doing and why?”

  Sonya started to respond, but Riley interrupted. “This for The Shrieking Violet?”

  The camera swung back and forth.

  “Good, that rag has a vendetta against our Angeline.” Riley unspooled a lipstick. “Which is why we’re here.”

  Sonya took the lipstick and circled her lips three times. She kissed Angeline’s poster, leaving behind a perfect imprint.

  “We’re showing Angeline our support,” Sonya said.

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “The girls,” Riley said, edging her way into the frame.

  “The girls?”

  “In the school,” Sonya said. “We’re all behind her.”

  “Fluttering our wings!” Riley said.

  The camera angle widened but remained squarely focused on Sonya as she and Riley walked down the hall.

  Sounds of a throat clearing.

  “All the girls may not be entirely accurate, but a hefty portion of them . . . don’t say ‘hefty,’ that’s not right . . . large . . . a large portion . . . uh, not all the girls but many of them . . . yes! . . . many of them are behind her. This sign with both the anti-Angeline comment and the lipstick smooches is representative of what we’ll see during our tour on at least half a dozen of her individual posters, incidentally painted by the uber-talented Sonya Robins, and even on what remains of the half-stolen mural, which is printed with images from her Ask an Angel YouTube channel. A channel that some say she’s using to unfair advantage. A Reddit post in particular has accused Quinn of offering freebies and promo spots to voters. Scratch that, allegedly offering.

  “But if the girls are behind Angeline, the guys, the jocks, and the wannabe jocks, they’re behind Leo Torres, offering up negative criticisms of Angeline’s ‘more regulations’ campaign and allowing Leo to remain above the fray. Yet Torres is not without his own critics.”

  “Now . . .” The camera zoomed in for a close-up of Grady’s fingertips caressing the poster. “Presumably the professional design and high-quality paper of Torres’s campaign posters are causing doubt as to whether he’s made them himself or relied on members of his mother’s campaign.

  “The posters and their defacing are one element that speak
s to the divisiveness of this student council election. But another can be seen not in these halls but online.”

  The camera centered on a phone logged in to Instagram.

  “I’ll read a few comments that are representative of what’s being posted on all forms of social media by students and, increasingly, nonstudents.

  “‘Rules of succession don’t apply to chicks!’ one says, even though this is an election and not a monarchy. And even then I’m not sure that’s true anymore. Here’s another: ‘Frankengirls didn’t point to Angeline’s brain.’ They snipe at Torres too, with more than a few citing his tendency to follow the lead of friends like Tad Marcus. ‘Look close and you can see those puppet strings!’

  “Whether this is indicative of a student body that cannot find common ground or a bunch of kids trying to be what they think is funny, it’s dividing the school, and it’s being seen as hurtful to many, not just Quinn and Torres.

  “Though Quinn is taking another hit. This one even more personal than the last. According to The Shrieking Violet, sources say when Angeline’s father said he was getting remarried, she was pissed, thinking if he had another kid, she’d lose her inheritance. To get back at him, on the eve of his wedding, Angeline turned arsonist, setting his fiancée’s house on fire with her future stepmom and her prized cockapoo inside. The four-alarm fire reportedly cost the town nearly a hundred thousand dollars, and the smoke clinging to Angeline was so strong that she was stripped of her role as flower girl.

  “That explains the latest hashtag: #HotheadQuinnCantWin. With as many trolls fueling it as supporters—including women’s groups outside the school—denouncing it. Now, on to the cafeteria, where the first spontaneous debate over vegan bacon occurred . . .”

  * * *