Sources Say

by Lori Goldstein

“If you don’t mind getting mauled by a dog with the personality of a grizzly. To walk there you have to go all the way around, far enough to get blisters in crappy loafers.”

  “What happened to ‘comfy as clouds’?”

  “Didn’t you see that little ad hashtag at the bottom?”

  “I’ve so much to learn.”

  “Fortunately you have an excellent teacher.”

  Angeline wrote back to Tamara, whose reply came right away.

  Tamara: I may get arrested, but we gotta have each other’s backs. I know you would.

  And in the moment that Angeline should have felt pleased, all she felt was a deep fear that, if everything were on the line, she would always put herself first.

  34

  When Cat Thanks Slothy

  1 DAY TO THE (NOW CANCELED) ELECTION

  Cat nearly dumped her iced tea all over Ravi’s bare legs. He had on his green cargo shorts and a blue long-sleeved Boston tee he’d gotten on his trip to the library. Which she only knew because she saw the photo of him buying it from the kiosk. Social media was like a super creepy form of mind-reading.

  “Sorry,” Cat said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “No worries.” He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Got a lot to distract you.”

  Um, yeah, and one of those distractions was standing right in front of her in the cafeteria, with an absurdly sweet smile on his face, in need of a haircut that she hoped was way far down on his to-do list.

  “Right, sure,” Cat said. “Speaking of, thanks for your text last night. This sudden media attention is hard for my mom and grandfather.”

  “Course. And hard for you.”

  Cat’s instinct was to deny it. “Yeah, me too.” She shifted her lunch tray in her hands.

  “I should let you sit.”

  “Okay.” Okay? “You have one yet? A sit?” Ugh. “A seat, I mean.”

  “Mobile lunch.” Ravi lifted his wrapped sandwich. “We definitely fueled the monster. Grady’s all hyped up about an idea for a cartoon. I’m meeting him in the newsroom. Figured you’d be there too.”

  “Oh, well, I needed to talk to—”

  “I’m glad you’re not. Nice to see you out in the wild, Cat.”

  She gave him a quick, shy grin.

  “So,” he said, “probably take less time to put the paper to bed tomorrow without the election.”

  “Probably. Unless something changes.” Unless she could change it.

  “Maybe add pizza before bowling? If you’re interested?”

  “In pizza?”

  “Pizza, bowling, all of it.”

  “But what . . .” Cat swiveled her head. “What about Natalie?”

  “Nat? A friend. Always just a friend. And here’s the thing, Cat: while I’d be a Lake Lookey Loo happy camper to have more friends, I’d be even happier to have something else.” He started walking away, backward, keeping his eyes on her. “Just think about it.”

  Her stomach fluttered and her skin was hot and she thought maybe she was breaking out into hives or at least hive, and she watched Ravi until he disappeared out of the lunchroom, and then, finally, she forced her feet to move, yet her mind remained stuck on Ravi. Stuck on his something else. But she couldn’t think about Ravi now . . . she couldn’t think about Ravi later . . . because really what was the point of thinking about Ravi when she had so much else to think about?

  Angeline waved from a table in the center. Cat nodded, flashing a five with her open palm. Jitters filled Cat, yet her sister appeared calm, pulling a metal straw out of her tote bag and dropping it into a chocolate milk. They were meeting Tamara in five minutes. But clearing Leo was only part of their plan.

  For the second part, Cat needed Emmie. She set her tray down across from her, intent on brainstorming ideas for returning the election to the student body, when Sammy approached.

  “Hey, Cat,” he said solemnly, though his eyes brightened when they landed on Emmie. “And, oh, hey, Em. Next HQ overlap, maybe we swing by for froyo again before you drop me off. Heard they got pumpkin in. Your favorite?”

  Emmie hesitated before nodding.

  Sammy shifted his weight as his cheeks turned the color of cooked lobster. “Well, yeah, okay then, just wanted to say hi.”

  Cat watched Sammy dash off. “Someone’s got a crush.” She laughed, but Emmie’s face had gone pale. “You okay? It’s no big deal. Just don’t show too much interest. I’m sure he’ll get the hint. There’s nothing else you really need to do.”

  “Yes, well, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Emmie gave a weak smile. “Doing nothing’s hard precisely because you never know when you’re done.” She quickly stood. “I just remembered I need a book from my locker.”

  “Okay, but—” Cat stopped when a hand pressed down on her shoulder. She turned to see her sister, her lips tight, eyes bugging.

  “Text me.” Emmie picked up her tray full of uneaten salad and headed for the exit.

  Angeline squeezed. “That . . . did you hear that?”

  “What? That Emmie forgot something in her locker? Nobody’s perfect, even when they try to be.”

  “And she tries hard, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s driven. Same as you and me.”

  “Uh-huh. Driven enough to stab her friends in the back?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Angeline’s eyes narrowed. She unlocked her phone and began scrolling.

  Cat checked her digital watch. “We’re going to be late.”

  Angeline raised a finger in the air, and Cat wolfed down her hummus wrap.

  “Read.” Angeline shoved her phone in front of Cat’s face.

  “The Shrieking Violet? Now? I’ve read it and don’t care to again.”

  Angeline zoomed in. “Just this part.”

  Cat sighed. “‘Tip for ya, dearies, the hard thing about doing nothing’s that you never know when you’re done. So take it from us and do SOMETHING.’” She looked up at her sister. “Are you trying to make a point?” And then Cat’s stomach plummeted. “Oh. Oh. You don’t think . . .”

  “Freaking Emmie Hayes. Creator of The Shrieking Violet.”

  * * *

  As they hurried to meet Tamara, Cat’s mind worked double-time, same as Angeline’s lips.

  “I remembered because that’s the joke that made me think it was Sammy. He said it at the hospital. After it was in The Shrieking Violet.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” Cat said. “Emmie could have picked it up from the paper or even from Sammy himself.”

  “Wait, what? How would she have picked it up from Sammy?”

  “She volunteers for Mrs. Torres. She gave Sammy a ride home at least once, because they stopped for frozen yogurt.” The words had barely left Cat’s lips, and the pieces were already falling into place. “Frozen yogurt. They stopped for frozen yogurt.”

  “Where there’s no Wi-Fi.”

  “But there is the Torres Extension.”

  “If Sammy gave her the password . . .” Angeline whooped. “That’s why the IP for those Shrieking Violet emails matched the Torres network. I knew Maxine was right! She was covering her tracks and framing Leo at the same time. Has to be! Except I don’t get how Emmie knew so much.”

  Cat’s legs filled with lead. She knew how. Because she was the one who told her.

  * * *

  Sweat dotted Cat’s brow as she waited in the watch yard amid the shrine to Slothy. When Maxine arrived, Angeline filled her in and then sent Leo a text, asking him to confirm what they suspected about Sammy and Emmie. Meanwhile, Cat scrolled through her own texts, confirming what she knew to be true about herself.

  She’d texted with Emmie about how small this town was and how they each wanted more. Cat had mentioned living somewhere else for a while. Was that e
nough for Emmie to research the rest?

  That first day when they’d met in the frozen yogurt shop . . . when Emmie was probably posting her latest article . . . Cat had told her about Angeline making fun of her in fourth grade. She’d been upset. She’d been venting. To a friend. Never in a million years did she think any of it would come out. Had she actually said anything about the grill fire? In one of her stream-of-consciousness rambles? Had she?

  She tried to remember everything, but she didn’t need to.

  There was enough.

  Same as there were enough clues in The Shrieking Violet—at least in hindsight: Who knew mommies had such power? Not us. Emmie was being raised by her two dads. One article called the posters “germ-infested,” and Emmie was a self-declared germophobe. There’d been something about Mrs. Torres’s size seven shoes—a size Emmie would know, having once gotten her a new pair.

  Emmie—can it really be Emmie?

  The door to the watch yard opened, and Tamara stepped outside.

  “He never carries it to lunch,” she said, handing over a backpack and a sheet of paper with Tad’s locker combination on it. “Return it before the period’s over. And try not to get caught.”

  Cat said, “No matter what, you had nothing to do with it. Promise.”

  “Just nail him,” she said.

  Maxine grabbed the bag. “My pleasure.”

  As Maxine plopped herself on the grass and searched for Frankengirls evidence on Tad’s computer, Cat’s body became riddled with nerves.

  “Anything?” Angeline asked.

  “No photo editing or layout software,” Maxine said. “No large enough image files from the time of the first incident on here or uploaded anywhere. If he created the perfect tens, he didn’t do it on this.”

  “Damn,” Angeline said.

  “I’ve got the video, but it’s the same length as what was posted online,” Maxine said with disappointment. She kept working. “But . . . wait . . . what do we have here . . .”

  “You found something?” Cat asked. At least if she helped to exonerate Leo, then maybe the rest of it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Deleted photo. Metadata shows it was taken right after the video. Probably by accident. It’s just the corner of my front door and someone’s back.” Maxine grinned. “Someone’s lime-green back.”

  “No way!” Angeline and Cat huddled around Maxine.

  In the photo, the person’s hood was up, so they couldn’t even tell what color their hair was. Maxine zoomed in and out, searching for some detail to identify their former green ghost. Who was actually a green giant.

  Green.

  Giant.

  The person’s head was just shy of reaching the top of Maxine’s surfboard, which rested by the door.

  Cat’s heart gained speed. “Leo’s not—”

  “That tall,” Angeline finished. She pulled up a photo of her and Leo entering the party. Neither of their heads came anywhere close to hitting the top of the board. “This has to prove it, doesn’t it?”

  It was good, Cat had to admit. But she wasn’t sure it was enough. And then Maxine zoomed in once more. “Wait, stop. The arm of the sweatshirt. It’s all pushed up, but it looks like there’s writing on it. Can either of you read it?”

  Maxine sent the photo to herself. “No, but I can enhance it when I get home.”

  Angeline bounced beside them. “But we don’t have to be able to read it. Schwartz took Leo’s sweatshirt as evidence. There’s no writing anywhere on it. That along with the photos showing his height has to be enough to clear him, doesn’t it?”

  Cat nodded. “At least cast serious doubt. Force the administration to expand the investigation.”

  Maxine returned Tad’s computer to his backpack. “You know what this calls for?” She lifted her hand in the air, and the three of them met in a high-five.

  As Cat looked up at their joined hands, she caught sight of Slothy on the roof of the school. Slothy watching them. Watching anyone who came in or out. She walked to the door, her eyes searching. “No camera.”

  “You’re right.” Maxine moved to Cat’s side. “And I’ve never found the door locked. Keyhole’s so rusted probably can’t be anymore. Makes this the perfect place to come and go unseen.”

  “Maybe. Except for that.” Cat grabbed Maxine and Angeline’s hands and drew them back. “Look up.”

  “Slothy’s not exactly the biggest chatterbox,” Angeline said.

  “No, but he’s got a camera—an all-weather one. At least he did last year.” Cat turned to Maxine. “Think the webcam still works?”

  “I’ll find out,” Maxine said.

  “Damn, we make a good team, don’t we?” Angeline said.

  Cat smiled. “More than our parts.”

  35

  When Angeline Goes Campaigning

  1 DAY TO THE (NOW CANCELED) ELECTION

  Angeline had often walked through the harbor overcome by a sense of calm. It was comforting to live in a town small enough that the routines of others were as familiar as your own. That same long-haired guy in a wet suit hanging out at the cafe, fresh from his morning surf. The same eclectic antique shop owner watching her toy greyhound chase dust bunnies through the store. On Friday nights, the same set of Red Sox–capped tradesmen drifting into the Irish pub for dollar oysters and two-dollar drafts. Saturdays, the same moms and dads and dogs and strollers making the loop around the lighthouse.

  She knew them, and she liked to think they knew her too. Knew she picked up a latte every Friday after school to energize her for that night’s party. Knew she met Maxine, Sonya, and Riley every Saturday morning at the bagel place to rehash said party with a round of whatever questionable hangover cure Riley had made. Knew she’d be the last one cuddled under a blanket on the beach in October, Leo beside her.

  And if they knew all that, they also knew that the very last place she’d go was Eliza Torres’s campaign headquarters.

  (Avoiding confrontation can be a form of self-care. See Ask an Angel’s “If You Don’t Care, Why Should We?” video!)

  Her nerves were already rattled by the email from Evelyn’s Epic Everyday, who wasn’t only “disturbed by” the boot camp leak but “deeply offended” by the negative attention Angeline had been bringing to Evelyn, especially after she was “gracious enough” to show Angeline support online. As if someone like Evelyn did anything online that wasn’t directly related to furthering her own brand. Angeline had been the same. Evelyn was exactly who Angeline thought she was, letting nothing stand in the way of her success; it was why Angeline wanted to learn from her. But then why did it sting so much?

  Angeline arrived at the pop-up space in the harbor, inhaled a breath, and pushed open the door. She was greeted by a large blooming orchid on the front desk and . . . Leo’s mom.

  “Angeline,” Mrs. Torres said. “Thank you for coming.”

  Her tone was clipped but not entirely cold.

  “Of course.” Angeline’s eyes searched among the brochures and posters and boxes of campaign pins for Leo. He said he’d meet her after he changed the Torres Wi-Fi password, which Sammy had confirmed he’d given to Emmie.

  Mrs. Torres caught and held Angeline’s gaze. “You were expecting to see my son?”

  Angeline’s bottom lip folded between her teeth. Mrs. Torres had a way of making her feel stripped down—down to her basest self, without the flash of her ombre hair, the perfect dewiness of her makeup, the thousands of fans hitting thumbs-up after thumbs-up—to someone who wasn’t anyone, no matter how hard she was trying to be.

  Angeline’s heart beat in her throat. “Is that really so bad? That we want to see . . . that we want to be together?”

  Mrs. Torres tilted her head. She was a woman of firsts. First female state senator for her district, first Latina town council president on the South Shore, first anyone to challeng
e the long-term incumbent in this congressional seat. A hard road, which Angeline must have always known, somewhere in the back of her mind, in those few instances when she could consider Mrs. Torres as the Mrs. Torres everyone else did and not as the woman trying to stand in the way of her and Leo. She understood the drive to keep going in spite of it being hard—maybe because of it. Mrs. Torres left casualties in her path the same way Angeline did. But Angeline wasn’t sure Mrs. Torres could see that. For all Mrs. Torres’s strength, was she just someone trying not to be just anyone too?

  “Or do you not even know that?” Angeline said. “That he’s always wanted me in his life. And that I’m good for him.”

  Mrs. Torres frowned, but then she straightened her lips into a thin, flat line. “Tell me.”

  Angeline’s eyebrows lifted. “Tell you what?”

  “Tell me how you’re good for my son.”

  Tell her? What could she say that this woman would understand? That Leo helped Angeline with all the things she couldn’t do: test beard softeners, warm her cold hands, make her family feel whole. That Angeline helped him focus on his homework, prune a rosebush, feel like he mattered for who he was and what he thought and not the role he played in someone else’s life.

  At least, she used to.

  She looked at Mrs. Torres and said simply, “Because I love him.”

  * * *

  Angeline showed Mrs. Torres the photo from Tad’s computer and explained what she, Cat, and Maxine had found. She sent her the evidence and accepted her thank-you—more sincere than the one she’d given upon Angeline’s entrance.

  As Angeline walked past a whiteboard with the latest polling statistics, she heard Mrs. Torres on the phone, already setting up a meeting with Principal Schwartz for the next morning. With any luck, Leo would be back in school for first period. And on the way out, Angeline got a little luck of her own.

  “Can I borrow this?” Angeline asked one of the aides.