Sources Say

by Lori Goldstein

  But she’d roped Ravi in.

  And she wanted to see it through.

  Not for a story or an award but for herself. She didn’t only want to report on the world, she wanted to be a part of it.

  “Think it’s going to work?” Ravi asked.

  They watched Leo leading a group of male students toward the side exit. After the meeting with Principal Schwartz and his parents, Leo’s suspension had been lifted pending a complete investigation—one that Cat’s hunch, Maxine’s hacking, and Slothy’s camera might end.

  “Something’s going to happen,” Cat said. “What? I have no idea.”

  “Well, we’re in it together,” he said.

  Cat stole a glance at him, those dark eyes she could get lost in, which scared her as much as it intrigued her.

  “All together,” Angeline said, meeting them at the exit. She’d layered her red Acedia short-sleeved tee over a long-sleeved white one. Her jeans were dark blue, and a purple ribbon secured her long braid. A beach rose, the last from the plant in their room, was tucked behind her ear. Cat had borrowed a blue sweater but wore her own khaki skirt.

  Behind them, feet shuffled and murmuring spread. A collective shift as if from a gust announced Principal Schwartz’s arrival, his too-large suit jacket making his shoulders seem broader. Cat wondered if that had always been his goal, to appear more imposing than he actually was.

  The first bell for fourth period rang, silencing conversations and gluing everyone in place. Ravi brushed his finger against Cat’s, hooking it around hers, not pulling her back but also not urging her forward.

  She didn’t look at Angeline. She simply laid her hand on the door and pushed.

  Students followed, slowly at first. Maxine, Sonya, and Riley, who’d coordinated to each represent a color: red, blue, and violet. Then came Natalie Goldberg, Dipti Patel, Josh Baker, Chelsea Anders. And Emmie. Emmie came. She didn’t have to. That wasn’t part of their deal.

  They were all juniors and seniors, and more of their classmates made up the first wave. It wasn’t long before sophomores and freshmen joined. Soon, the green grass was obscured by students wearing red, blue, and violet. Red was the most popular, with many in their Acedia-issued red athletic tees for gym. But as Cat looked around, the picture became the one Ravi had drawn, the one she’d seen in her head. Down to the poster painted by Sonya announcing the Red, Blue, and Violet Protest, hung over the marquee by Grady.

  Angeline and Cat stood on the concrete mound beneath it. Leo came to Angeline’s side, Ravi settled a step behind Cat, and Emmie was before her, her blue eyes anxious but determined.

  Seventy, eighty, maybe even a hundred students filled the lawn, turning in unison at the rumble of one news van, then another. Cat gave a silent thanks to Grady for sending her note, in which she’d asked the reporters to delay their arrival as long as they could. Though the administration would see the activity on social media, she didn’t want it to realize just how big this might become.

  As it was, Principal Schwartz had had time to prepare. He claimed a spot by the flagpole, megaphone in one hand, watching as students trickled out of the building, probably waiting so he could saddle as many as possible with disciplinary action.

  Cat nodded to Maxine, who’d added protest streaks of red and violet to the already blue tips of her hair. Before homeroom, Cat, Angeline, and Leo had downloaded an app that would turn their phones into mics. Maxine had tested it using Cat’s phone. As Maxine pressed the power button on the Bluetooth speaker in her hand, a light glowed green and through the tiny holes came: “Now connected to Cathleen Quinn’s phone.”

  And everyone looked at her.

  Her.

  But it was Angeline who was supposed to speak. Not Cat.

  She went as rigid as a rabbit caught in an open field. Angeline whispered, “Give me your phone” just as Grady shouted from the far edge of the lawn, “Go, Chief!”

  The buzzing echoed in Cat’s ears. A few shouts rose above the hum: some more “Chief”s and a couple of “Cat”s. Despite the increased readership of The Red and Blue, she was surprised that so many were able to connect her face with her name. She tried to wet her lips, but the throng of students before her and the reporters and cameras rushing closer made her tongue go numb.

  Her heart pounded and her mind spun and she wondered how she could ever expect to lead anyone at any paper, at anything, with spots dancing before her eyes.

  And then she remembered something she read about one of her idols: Katharine Graham, who transformed The Washington Post into a leading newspaper by going against the advice of her male colleagues, trusting her instincts, and publishing the Pentagon Papers. When asked how she did it, she said she put one foot in front of the other, shut her eyes, and stepped off the edge.

  And so Cat closed her eyes, imagining herself alone in front of her computer, her fingers stroking the keyboard, and let the words come. “Today on the lawn of Acedia Charter School, hundreds of students have gathered to protest the administration’s decision to select the members of the student council itself, stripping from the student body a responsibility that previously belonged to it.”

  She opened her eyes to a sea of blank stares. A few students looked to be sleeping standing up. Some were eyeing the main entrance. And Principal Schwartz smirked.

  Angeline nudged her, and Cat began to pass her the phone. But instead Angeline placed something in Cat’s free hand: a beige rock with a single white line encircling it. “You got this. Just be yourself.”

  Cat’s eyes widened in surprise. Slowly, she ran her finger around the rock and, for the first time, made a wish instead of watching Angeline do so. Please let this work. Her pulse beat faster, but she squeezed the rock and tried once more. “Thank you for coming.”

  What is this? A birthday party?

  Someone snorted, and someone else said, “Still better than a calc quiz.”

  Cat paused, trying to find her place in this story. But it wasn’t just her story. It was her sister’s, her sister’s friends’, Leo’s, Emmie’s, Ravi’s. And they were all there. Trusting her. Believing in her. Being in front of all these people was so far out of her comfort zone that she was in another zip code. But this was a story worth telling.

  She gripped the phone and stepped off the edge. “You’re here because you follow The Red and Blue or The Shrieking Violet or Ask an Angel. Or maybe you were curious or wanted to get out of class or maybe saw these news vans . . .” Cat waved.

  Oh God.

  She cleared her throat. “Maybe you thought it was your chance for a few minutes of fame. Or maybe you’re here because you’re angry.”

  “Pissed off!” Natalie shouted.

  “Exactly!” Cat said, emboldened. “Frustrated by everything that’s happened since the school year began. We’ve had female students degraded, we’ve had rumors being spread by an untrustworthy and unverified source, we’ve had two candidates for student council president antagonize each other, rile up the student body—”

  “Cat,” Angeline cautioned.

  “Right. Yes, well, so, maybe things got heated, but at least it did what no other election at this school has done in years: it got us engaged. And then what? We’re rewarded by having it all taken away because someone else says we can’t handle the responsibility?” Boos pushed Cat to continue. “No matter why you came, I hope you stay because you realize that you have a voice. Our generation has more eligible voters than any other. But change only happens if we make voting a priority. How will we learn to do that if we don’t start here?”

  Cat lowered the phone, and Angeline reached for her hand. The students had multiplied as Cat had been talking, and it seemed the entire student population filled the lawn.

  Principal Schwartz pressed the button on his megaphone, and with his first words of “Very well, Miss Quinn,” that entire student population erupted.
>
  Cat didn’t hesitate to give Angeline her phone. “Guess I warmed them up for you,” she said over the roar.

  “And made a hard act to follow.” Angeline’s tone and smile were so genuine that pride swirled in Cat’s chest.

  Then, there under the marquee, Angeline and Leo buried the Battle of the Exes.

  They held hands. They faced their classmates. And they apologized.

  Leo first. “The climate in our school has gotten toxic. Something for which I accept responsibility. I followed at the same time as I was asking you to let me lead. Not anymore.” He pushed his shoulders back. “I own my role in hurting you, hurting our school, and hurting Angeline Quinn.” He glanced at her and turned back to the students. “Now I need you to do something. Own your role in all of this. Because I may have let you take things too far—”

  “We.” Angeline added her voice to Leo’s. “We let you.”

  Leo nodded appreciatively. “We egged you on with things we only half believed, and we watched as bandwagons were hopped on. That’s not to say that you shouldn’t stand behind what you believe. But Angeline’s right about the need for empathy, something the world hasn’t given us the best role models in lately. Because standing behind shouldn’t mean tearing others down.” He eyed the news vans. “What it should mean is getting engaged, and Cat’s right that we have. But a lot of us are only deep in slacktivism. A like, a thumbs-up . . . maybe, if we’re really feeling generous, a share or repost. We think we’ve done our part by using a hashtag, so we don’t do more. And we let the trolls go wild.”

  “And that’s a spring break vid I definitely don’t want to see on YouTube,” Angeline said, impressing Cat at her perfect timing for lightening the mood.

  And then Leo showed just what a good team they could be by adding, “Do you know there’s a law that if you live in Texas, you can vote from space? So our astronauts don’t miss out on their rights. How’s that for a role model? If we let them drown us out now, we send the message that they can keep doing it. We need to show them that we won’t stand for it. And that we can come up with something even better. A new approach.”

  “No president,” Angeline said, engendering gasps and a few boos.

  Then someone shouted, “Sure ’nuff, angel, you can be my queen!”

  Angeline’s response came quick. “Hey, hey, now, as much as I’d rock a tiara, we want more students to have a say, not less. Which is why we propose to eliminate all the traditional officer roles and replace them with a committee.”

  She gave the phone to Leo. “This committee will consist of an elected delegate from each grade and three volunteer representatives from each class. The committee will randomly choose the volunteers from the pool signing up, rotating every four weeks, so more students have the opportunity to have their voices heard.”

  Angeline nodded, then accepted the mic. “And because Maxine Chen and the Girl Coders Club are total geniuses, they’re transforming my campaign-promised Ask an Angel app into Acedia Speaks. Have feedback on a broken toilet? A sticky locker? A couple of hallway bullies? Open, click, and speak. And tune in during the live-streamed committee meetings to speak up in real time. Total transparency for you and us—no hiding behind anonymity.”

  Despite being in the room when Leo and Angeline had hammered this out last night, Cat was struck by her sister. This was a new Angeline, one taking the focus off of herself, but also the same Angeline, doing what she did best by employing social media as a way forward. Like Cat and Gramps had been talking about for the future she was still determined to have, even if the form wouldn’t be what she’d thought.

  “And yes,” Angeline said, addressing Principal Schwartz, “the student council allows for such modifications. All that’s required is a vote by the student body.”

  Eyes frowning, Principal Schwartz lifted the megaphone. But before he pressed the button to speak, Ms. Lute carefully tipped her head toward the news cameras. If Principal Schwartz’s shoulders slumped, his oversized jacket hid it well as he said, “Acedia supports students making their own choices.”

  Maxine whooped and grabbed Cat’s phone from Angeline. “Here we go, Sloths. Let’s ramp things up. Because today is election day at Acedia! If you haven’t already downloaded my voting app, first, what’s wrong with you, and second, do it now.”

  Cat was too short to see over Maxine’s shoulder. Immediately, Ravi stepped forward. She inched closer, eliminating any space between them, despite being able to see his phone fine right where she was.

  On the voting app was a brief description of Angeline and Leo’s proposed new system with a button for yes and a button for no. The entire lawn of red, blue, and purple moved as one: heads lowering, thumbs swiping, fingers tapping. Voting out in the open, not exactly a town fair like Ms. Lute had talked about, but being all together, watching one another act had the same accountability for participating.

  Maxine added, “And anyone without a smartphone, step right up! I’ll ensure your vote’s counted.”

  A reporter and cameraperson approached Jay Choi, who let them zoom in on his phone.

  As heads began to lift, Maxine checked the results. “Isn’t democracy grand? A resounding ninety-eight percent say yes to Student Council 2.0!”

  “That’s not what we’re calling it,” Angeline whispered.

  Maxine flung her long hair over one shoulder. “My app, my rules.” Then, to the crowd, “We’ll have to hold a new signup period to elect the officers from the rest of the classes, but since we happen to have two seniors on the ballot who’ve already campaigned, let’s go ahead and vote in our senior class officer right now.”

  “No,” Leo said. “It should be brand-new for everyone to have a chance.”

  Maxine sighed. “Isn’t he just the cutest? Sorry, babe, this is happening. You two started this, it’s got to end with one of you.” She jutted her chin to the students whose heads were lowered once again. “Kinda understanding the power trip you’ve both been on of late. I mean, look what I did.”

  Angeline shushed Maxine and jerked her head toward the news vans. She then straightened her spine and shifted to offer what Cat knew she thought was her better side to the cameras.

  Her sister was who she was. And Cat loved her because of it as much as in spite of it.

  Maxine gave a one-minute warning. When time was up, her entire face frowned and she swore.

  That was how they all found out that Leo had won.

  39

  When Angeline Becomes News

  THE NIGHT AFTER THE STUDENT COUNCIL

  2.0 ELECTION

  Must have been the World Series, Angeline thought, when the Red Sox were in it. The last time the four of them had crowded onto the couch in front of the TV like this. And that had only been for the first pitch.

  Beside her, Cat hit play, and the reporter with her hairsprayed helmet of a bob began summing up all that’d happened at Acedia since the school year began. Weeks of anger, hurt, fear, and triumph reduced to a twenty-second intro.

  Angeline watched herself, angling to show more of her good side, as the reporter asked how she felt about Leo winning the race for student council president.

  “Officer,” she’d said in the news segment. “Student council officer representing the senior class.”

  “In Student Council 2.0,” the reporter said.

  Angeline then watched herself flinch. Maxine.

  “Are you surprised you didn’t win, after all the attention you’ve received?” The camera panned down to the boxes spilling over with angel wings that they’d staged at Angeline’s feet.

  “Surprised in a good way.” Angeline remembered how it felt for the words to spill out of her, her own beliefs, without her usual crafting to stay on-brand. “It means students are making a choice independent of media attention or hints of celebrity. Which is hard enough for adults to do, isn’t it? That’s a
good thing. A great thing. Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think, I’m simply reporting.”

  “Uh-huh,” Angeline said knowingly on-screen, and Cat snorted on the sofa beside her. “Thought you’d appreciate that,” Angeline said to her sister, noticing a look passing between Gramps and her mom.

  On TV, Angeline pulled Leo into the frame. “Leo Torres deserves this win. His loyalties are one hundred percent with his constituents, something he learned from his mother, who’s the hardest working woman in politics I know.”

  Cat snorted again. “And the only one.”

  “Still true.”

  Another look.

  The reporter glanced at Leo as if she should address him but instead asked Angeline what was next for her.

  Cat leaned into their mom. “This is my favorite part.”

  Because during the live report, Angeline had wiggled her phone. “We have what’s next for me right here. Evelyn. You know, from Evelyn’s Epic Everyday?”

  The reporter instinctively smoothed her nest of dark hair. “Evelyn . . .” her voice trailed off.

  Angeline had smiled. Right after the protest, she’d sent a direct message to Evelyn, “hinting” about all the good press about to come Angeline’s way and how advantageous it might be for Evelyn’s Epic Everyday to be seen leading it.

  Angeline began, “As some sources have said, I do have a connection with Evelyn. She’s actually just reached out, asking me to read the following statement: ‘Hey, Boston! Evelyn’s Epic Everyday has her epic eye on you! We at Evelyn always knew our Angeline would never betray her sisters by having inside knowledge of those Frankengirls.’”

  Gramps paused the report. “This is the phony you want to spend a week with, Angeline?”

  Her mom recrossed her legs. “I tend to agree. Despite some solid advice in her book, is this really the person you want to be mentored by?”

  Angeline nodded.

  “Not without a thorough background check,” Gramps said. “I’ve got a buddy on the force who owes me a favor.”