“Essentially, being accountable,” Ms. Lute said. “Whether it’s your student council election or the national one, whether it’s The New York Times or the local TV news, Twitter or Facebook, or whatever’s to come, the question is what responsibility do not only purveyors of information have but also consumers? Especially now, when social media gives a platform to anyone who seeks it. An anonymous platform, if they wish, like The Shrieking Violet. What responsibility do we have when we don’t have a face or a name to hold someone accountable?”
Ms. Lute clasped her hands around the projector remote and looked out at the class.
“So . . . are you going to tell us?” Josh said. “What responsibility do we have?”
Ms. Lute flicked off the projector. “I’ve said it before. My job is to teach. But some things you have to learn and decide for yourself.”
* * *
Principal Schwartz waited outside Ms. Lute’s classroom. “Miss Quinn, Mr. Torres, may I have a word?”
His stern look was a sharp contrast to the one on the back of his phone. The photo case showed him on a boat, beaming like the foot-long striper in his hands was the size of a great white. Even in that suit in need of serious tailoring, it humanized him.
Which was why it was that much more jarring when he said, “This administration has a limit, and you two are butting up against it. We can’t have such negative attention brought to the school. And we can’t have more of these.” He kicked at a box by his feet. Inside, a dozen or so bubble wrap mailers lay torn open, and spilling out were . . . wings. Angel wings.
Angeline lifted a pair. “Is this hand-knitted?”
And could she offer the pattern online?
“And likely teeming with moths. We can’t have an infestation.” Principal Schwartz pursed his lips. “When I saw you two had signed up to run, I mistakenly thought it would be beneficial to this school. I thought you stood a chance of getting the student body engaged, but this is not the kind of engagement we want.” He held out his phone screen. “These comments are only getting worse. It’s not just our students anymore; we’ve got students from other schools in Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York . . . this one’s in Oregon. Not to mention the organizations of adults weighing in. My wife follows this Evelyn character, and she keeps telling me she’s favoriting Acedia tweets.”
Angeline’s heart skipped.
“How does someone in Oregon and some minor celebrity know about a student council election on the South Shore of Boston?”
First, minor? Second, was that a rhetorical question?
“Well,” Angeline said, “that’s basically the point of social media. It breaks down barriers and brings people closer.” That it was a stock answer didn’t mean it wasn’t true. But what Ms. Lute had been talking about was also true. Hiding behind an avatar and a quippy screen name released the darkest parts for many. Parts that were calling her “Hothead Quinn.”
“Apparently not here.” Principal Schwartz reached over their heads and popped a section of bubble wrap that Leo’s supporters had glued to the wall. “Voter engagement and loyalty is one thing, but we have a zero-tolerance policy on bullying, and this is starting to cross the line.”
“This?” Angeline blurted out. “I’m sorry, but this is absurd considering what just happened with—” She stopped herself. It wasn’t her place. She couldn’t go against Olivia’s wishes.
Principal Schwartz waited, eyebrow raised. When she didn’t continue, he said, “We’re getting calls from parents.” The yellowy-green bags under his eyes seemed to hang heavier. “Over a student council election. All these rumors circulating about Miss Quinn, these unfortunate Frankengirls, this ‘he said, she said’ squabbling . . . it’s making the school seem out of control. You both need to shut this down, or we’ll be forced to.”
Leo raked his hand through his hair. “What do you want us to do? We can’t stop other people from going online or messing with posters.”
“You can start by being better role models going forward. Turn this around and run a clean and positive campaign. We’ve got a little over a week. Use it.”
20
When Cat Enters the Watch Yard
10 DAYS TO THE ELECTION
Cat ran into Emmie in the girls’ bathroom after school.
“Finish the issue?” Emmie asked, washing her hands at the sink as if she were scrubbing for surgery.
“Just. You need a lift home?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got at least another hour of debate practice. I’m showing my team pointers from Mrs. Torres’s speech last night. Her husband introduced her, which was a nice personal touch, but I didn’t see Leo or his brother there, which seems strange.”
“Oh? Does it?” Cat pressed the automatic dryer to hide her lying face. Leo wouldn’t have been there because of the deal he made with his mom. “Homework, maybe?”
“Couldn’t keep me away if one of my dads was running.”
“Are they interested in politics?”
“One’s an immigration lawyer and the other works for an LGBTQIA for teens nonprofit.”
“So just a smidge.” Cat grinned. “Is that where you get it from?”
“In a way, though they’re more into activism than running for office.” Emmie dried her hands with a paper towel and pointed to the automatic dryer. “You know those things only spread around E. coli.”
Cat eyed her hands suspiciously, and Emmie squirted hand sanitizer into them. She opened the door with her elbow. “I assume the story about Leo’s above the fold?”
“Leo and Angeline. The latest polling data, and I’ve got a story on Maxine’s security measures for the voting app and—”
“No. About what happened today. In the hall?”
“You mean with that girl and her phone? It was cool of Leo.” And nice to see that version of him—the one Cat knew—hadn’t completely disappeared under Tad’s thick, gross thumb. “But it’s not really a story.”
“Sure it is. Especially since Angeline was there and did nothing. From the things you’ve told me about her, I know you wouldn’t shy away from calling her out. The whole situation speaks to their character. The voters should know.”
Cat had gotten to know Emmie well enough not to be surprised by her strong opinions, but Cat had her own—especially when it came to her paper. “Well, I wasn’t there, but I’m not sure it’s accurate to say Angeline did nothing. It must have been a mutual decision to send Leo over since he’s a guy—and taller.”
“Even so, if that’s true it cuts into her whole girl-power thing, doesn’t it? Either way it’s a story.”
Seemed more like clickbait to Cat. Not to mention something that would only embarrass the girl further, which Cat thought Emmie should understand. “I’ll look into it.”
“Let me know if you need help.” Emmie headed toward the auditorium.
Cat hiked her backpack higher, but instead of going straight to the exit, she took a lap through the empty halls.
Emmie was smart and knew a lot about politics. Was it possible she was right? That this was a story? And Cat’s connections to Leo and Angeline were making her miss it?
The unexpected sound of a door closing led Cat farther down the hall to the alcove beyond the school’s grinding server room. There was an exit she’d never noticed before. She peeked through the small pane of glass to see Ravi. She pushed the door open.
“Hey,” she said.
Ravi tucked his sketchbook under his arm. “Hey, Cat. Come to pay your respects?”
Cat awkwardly slipped her thumbs through the loops of her backpack straps. “Uh, sure, okay.”
“You have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“Well, I . . .” She sighed. “No, I don’t.”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He led her down the narrow sidewalk that wound around the building to a dead end, where a low
rock wall stretched along the whole far side of the school. Beyond it, scattered among the tall grass and weeds, were little signs. Some on rocks glued to sticks, some on paper, faded and wrinkled, some on wooden two-by-fours stuck in the ground.
WE’RE WITH YOU!
NEVER FORGET.
THANKS FOR WATCHING OVER US.
“What is this?” she said. “Like a graveyard?”
“A watch yard.” Ravi pointed to the roof of the school.
“I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”
Ravi filled the space beside her. He plucked his pencil out from behind his ear and used the tip to direct her gaze upward. “See, there, right at the edge?”
A grayish mop-like thing hung slightly over the side. Not moving.
Ravi’s bare leg brushed hers, and she felt her spine go rigid. “I heard they used a ladder and a fishing rod to nab the lawn chair, but they couldn’t reach him. Probably figured no one would ever know since this exit’s hardly used anymore. They blocked the path that once led to the parking lot a while back. So they just left him. All alone.”
“You mean, that’s . . .”
“Slothy.” He exhaled a long sigh. “Poor little dude. Kids couldn’t stand the thought so . . . the watch yard. Like graveyard but with less chance of ghosts.”
Signs and flowers and plants and stuffed walruses and octopuses and a giant bear lay strewn throughout the overgrowth. A memorial to a stuffed sloth.
Cat laughed. “I told Ms. Lute not to bother with StuCo. That this is what got Acedia engaged, and I was right.”
“Not so fast. This is one of the coolest things I’ve ever been witness to, but it’s not the only thing that’s gotten our school engaged. This election wouldn’t be anything without you. And The Shrieking Violet.”
Cat narrowed her eyes.
“Destroy any rakshasa with that look? Yikes.” Ravi shivered. “But I’m serious. The competition helped. Got everyone interested.”
The Shrieking Violet did what she couldn’t on her own. With lies. She could never be grateful.
Ravi sat on the rock wall and opened his sketchbook.
“Are you including this in your novel?” Cat asked.
“Yeah, I need inspiration for a scene honoring the rakshasa. Trying to finish this to send with my Emerson application.”
“Oh, you want to stay close for school?”
“Close enough to see my little sister on her birthday but not so close as to have to go to every one of my brother’s violin recitals.” He winced. “You?”
“Northwestern. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Don’t know if you want it or if it’ll happen?”
“That second one.”
“You can only concentrate on the first. So want it, Cat. Do what you can, and then . . . see what comes.”
“You make it sound so easy. To not, like, obsess.”
“Eh, you haven’t seen me with my stack of Marvel comics. My parents being into books meant I was plenty indulged. Camp sucked in all ways but one. ’Cause all it took was my art teacher to say I had talent, help me get a couple of drawings into a kids’ magazine, and my parents were hooked. Now they think I’m going to be the next Stan Lee.”
Cat smiled weakly. “Hard when there are expectations.” Especially when they’re your own.
“But they come with all sorts of encouragement. My mom’s got the aunties asking me when my books will be made into movies. I just don’t want to disappoint them.”
“So you’re here, in the watch yard, searching for inspiration.”
He paused and looked straight at her. “And finding it.”
A tiny electric shock sparked through her, and suddenly Cat wished for her sister. Because not only would she know if Ravi was flirting, she’d be able to tell Cat how to flirt back.
21
When Angeline Hits the Sweet Spot
10 DAYS TO THE ELECTION
Angeline met him at the lighthouse. Free of his sling for the first time, Leo gingerly clasped his hands in front of his stomach.
“Remember when you couldn’t go up?” Angeline said.
“Only because you like to remind me.”
“We’d already bought the tickets.”
“It was five dollars.”
“Ten, together. But not enough to push you past your fears.”
“Of falling to certain death? My podcast says falls are the second leading cause of accidental deaths in the world. I’d like to think my life is worth more than ten dollars.”
“This with inflation or without?” She grinned, and he gave a crooked smile, and it felt like no time had passed since they’d last been here during Heritage Days. When Leo’s fear of heights meant he couldn’t follow Angeline up to see the view from the top of the white stone lighthouse, which was built in the early 1800s. It was only open a couple of times a year. Fear held him back in the way it never did Angeline.
For the first time, instead of thinking his way was wrong and hers was right, she wondered if there wasn’t something in between.
They walked the circular path, past the monument to the warship that ground just offshore during a blizzard in the 1950s, heading for the long jetty that stretched into the Atlantic. It curved in toward the harbor like an elbow, protecting the shops and homes as best it could. Which was all one could ask, really.
Their words flowed with familiar ease, talking about Ms. Lute’s class and the incident with Olivia and shying away from the election. The whole time she wished she could read him, to know if he was here solely because of Principal Schwartz, because he needed to win or wanted to win or . . . or maybe something else.
The late afternoon sun warmed Angeline’s skin, and she breathed in the sulfur smell of the harbor at low tide. “It’s different here. From Eggshell Beach.” Eggshell was their beach. Which was why she’d chosen to meet him here—more neutral ground.
“Which, I’d like to mention, has a terrifying mountain I’ve repeatedly risked my life to climb.”
“It’s a dune.”
“It’s steep,” he said. “Been since the bonfire?”
“Not much time.” And too many memories.
“Shame.”
“Sweet spot,” they said at the same time.
Leo laughed. “Better that they don’t know.”
“They” being most of their fellow New Englanders who started writing off the summer at the end of August, readying themselves for walls of snow and puffy parkas. All the fuss buzzed about June, July, and August. But the secret that Angeline and Leo shared was that September was the perfect month for beachcombing. Tourists and summer people had packed it in, school and birthday parties and sports practice kept the little kids away, and the ocean was warmer than it ever was in June.
Especially at Eggshell Beach. The curve of the shoreline offered protection from the wind, and the flat, oval rocks that littered the sand and gave the beach its name radiated heat from the sun. Warm enough to lounge on the boulder-sized rock that was their favorite. She could picture its deep green, hear Leo saying how it reminded him of her eyes, feel the tender pressure against her lips as they shared their first kiss. Three Septembers ago.
September was the sweet spot, all right.
“Really is too bad,” Leo said. “I miss looking at the stars.”
“Me too.” Angeline waited for him to say more, like if he missed looking at them with her, but Leo simply pointed to one of the flattest rocks on the jetty about halfway out.
They sat, and Angeline slipped her tote bag off her shoulder. She drew out two pairs of knitted angel wings she’d snagged from Schwartz’s box and set them down as placemats, making Leo laugh. On top, she laid out a container of sushi, a thermos (free with purchase of three pounds of fair-trade coffee beans with the AngelsAreFair promo code!), and two reusable plastic cups.
Leo screwed off the top of the thermos and sniffed. “Riley?”
“Naturally. She’s thinking of going to the juicery with this one. Wants to know what we think.” Angeline set out the sushi, and their arms brushed. Goose bumps. Instantly.
“So, any ideas?” Leo asked, getting down to business. “Or should we follow in George Washington’s footsteps and just spend our entire campaign budgets on booze for the voters?”
“Seriously?”
“It was before he was running for president. Just state legislature.”
“Oh, well, that cleans it all up, then.” She and Leo had made a pact to end the dirty campaigning, but it wouldn’t matter if no one followed their lead. They needed an initiative, one to work on together, to get their classmates to cool it on the whole Battle of the Exes. “Blood drive? Clean the beach?”
“May as well ask them to nap in class,” Leo said.
“Now that would engage them.”
“Would be totally nonpartisan, though. Speaking of, can I really expect Maxine’s voting app to be fair?”
Angeline feigned shock. “Whatever are you suggesting?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It will be. Promise.” She expected him to say something about her promises, but all he said was, “Okay.”
“Okay.” She tilted her cup to taste Riley’s drink. Sweet and savory and felt like fall, the color a mix of yellow and orange and red, like leaves changing color. She felt Leo’s eyes on her as she set down her glass. Lifting her head the barest of inches, she glanced up at him.
He was staring at her. In a good way.
Very, very good.
He quickly looked away, but a grin crept in, and he sipped his drink to cover. His tongue circled his lips in satisfaction, and Angeline pretended that she hadn’t seen what she’d seen. Him looking at her like he did before everything happened.
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