Alfie says all the stuff I came up with as easily as if he had thought of it himself. He pauses and glances at me, waits for me to say something. I shake my head and he continues.
And then the meeting is over. Nothing is accomplished. We've lost. Buskin says he has no intention of reinstating The Clarion, “not after what you two pulled.” Alfie storms out and kicks the closest trash can, nearly knocking it over. I scurry after him.
As soon as we're out of earshot, out of the zone of conflict, my voice returns. But it's still shaky. “I know, I know, I'm chickenshit,” I say, before Alfie can.
Alfie whirls around. “Yeah. But the question is why, Samantha Waantha? Why are you such a pathetic chickenshit? You're not most of the time, you know. Just around bullies like Buskin. What are you afraid of? You think he's going to suspend us? Expel us? I’d like to see him try.”
Alfie hasn't called me Samantha Waantha since we were little and it's like a gut punch. A punch that brings tears to my eyes.
I’m about to say something when a teacher walks by us, escorting Mary McKissick, holding her by the shoulders and steering her toward the nurse’s office. Mary’s wearing a baggy cardigan. Pine needles are stuck on the sleeves and the knees of her jeans are dirty. I wonder if she fell. Her face is pale, and she’s staring straight ahead with that blank expression I’ve seen several times before.
Alfie stares after them, eyebrows raised. I think back to the headache she had at my house.
“Are you okay, Mary?” I call after her.
But she doesn’t seem to hear me.
Chapter 13
It's a weird day at school. Guys are everywhere, but at least half the girls stay home. Maybe even more than that. The girls who do show up stick together in large packs. I notice some of them are wearing crucifixes hanging from chains around their necks.
“Do we have a vampire problem that I’m unaware of?” Madison cracks.
The RIP Monica Goodman stickers are all over school now. So are grievance counselors. A memorial is growing near the yellow police tape at the entrance to Building C, which is still off-limits. All the girls are asked to use the two bathrooms closest to the administration building. Lady police officers are assigned to guard them. Which must be the worst assignment ever.
Alfie is out sick. Chloe is, too. This is disappointing because I'd hoped to talk to them about The Clarion. Maybe we could do something to get it back online. Something we haven't thought of yet.
I text Destiny to meet me for lunch. She says she's sorry but doesn't give me a reason. We always eat lunch together, so I’m left hanging, feeling uneasy.
It seems I'm the only one around to answer all the questions about what happened to The Clarion. Still, it's nice to know that so many people read it before Buskin killed it.
It occurs to me, a little late, that I should write something about it for The Clarion's social media, so I do that during a break. Within an hour, my post has racked up lots of reactions, mostly nice and supportive for once.
At least Madison doesn't bail. We decide on an off-campus lunch at a deli near the school. A bearded man with a pot belly takes our order at the counter and says, “You gals go to Hillside where that girl was found?”
We exchange glances. I decide to let Madison handle this one. “That we do,” she says briskly.
Leaning both elbows on the counter, he says, “Well, it’s a good thing you two young ladies aren’t blonde, although you look about the right age. It’s an awful thing that’s happening. I tell you what, lunch is on me today. It’s the least I can do.”
When we get our French Dip sandwiches, he places a plate of kosher pickles on the table and a side of fries. And while the extras are nice and everything is delicious, he stares at us the entire time we eat, so we shovel down our food so fast we hardly get to enjoy it. “Thank you!” I say, balling up my napkin. “We have to get back to class now.”
“You stay safe now!” he calls after us. “And God have mercy on your souls.”
“Let’s not eat there again,” Madison says when we get in the car.
On the drive back, Madison listens to my story about Buskin. She's not exactly sympathetic. She's not the type to let anyone, even a high school principal, intimidate her so she can't exactly put herself in my shoes. At least she doesn't call me a chickenshit. At least she doesn't roll her eyes and call me lame.
Madison just lets me talk while she drives. When I'm finished, she says, “That sucks.” And she sounds like she really means it. It's probably the nicest thing anyone has said to me in the last twenty-four hours.
At the end of the day, I spot Raj and Mary in the quad. She seems to have recovered from whatever was wrong with her the day before. They pretend they don't see me and do one of those awkward, abrupt turns and rush off toward the student parking lot. What the hell?
The day can't get any stranger. Alfie's never out, never sick. Neither is Chloe. Who knows what happened to Destiny because my calls go straight to voice mail.
After school, I drive home. My dad left work early after pulling a muscle. One of the hazards of working as an electrician. He is flat on his back on the floor of the family room, looking miserable.
“Couldn't happen at a worse time,” he says, then groans. I get an icepack from the freezer and hand it to him.
I flop on the couch. “What’s going on? Why is this a bad time?”
My dad grimaces as he slides the ice pack under his back. “Well, we’ve got all those big commercial jobs, but there's also been some appliance fires and it's been a nightmare trying to figure out what's causing them. We had a washing machine nearly burn down a house the other day.”
“A washing machine! Those catch fire?”
“Sure can. So can dryers and dishwashers and those cookers your mother is always going on about. No chance. Not with the wiring in this house.”
I snort. The electrical wiring is a family joke. When my parents bought it, my dad was too busy starting his business to replace the ancient wiring. And then the years went by, and he never got around to it.
The appliance fires remind me of something, but there is no time to think about it because my phone starts blowing up.
Madison texts Why didn’t you tell me? This is awesome! And then I start getting congratulations from all sorts of random school people except I have no idea what they’re talking about. Why are they congratulating me?
Alfie texts. SAMANTHA!
Then he sends a link. Heart pounding, a rushing sound in my ears, I click on it.
It’s a news website. “NOT-THE-CLARION” screams the masthead. It has all the stories that ran in The Clarion before Principal Buskin pulled the plug. A new website that I, the co-editor, don’t know anything about.
How the hell did that happen? And then I remember that Alfie was out sick. So was Chloe. Which explains why I was ghosted by Destiny. Which explains why Raj and Mary avoided me earlier in the day. It’s obvious they all worked together to create Not-The-Clarion.
What all of this does not explain is why I was left out.
Chapter 14
I am feeling so many things that it takes a while to hear my father saying, “Samantha! Are you okay? What's going on?”
“Yeah, fine,” I mumble, then rush to my bedroom where I can get on my laptop in privacy.
And there they are. Every story from our special edition. All the stories about Monica Goodman, about families freaking out, about spontaneous combustion, about the latest on the police and FBI investigation. Someone even copied what I wrote on social media about censorship and created a new lead article. Except my by-line is missing. In fact, all our names are missing. Each story is credited to Not-The-Clarion Staff.
I sink onto my bed, covering my face with my hands. Never, ever have I felt so humiliated. So betrayed. Betrayed by Alfie. It must have been his idea. Betrayed by Chloe and Destiny, my so-called friends. Betrayed by everyone else who had anything to do with Not-The-Clarion because they went along with it. K
ept it a secret so I couldn’t mess up their big plan. Alfie's plan. Alfie at it again with his Alfie magic.
And then my eyes are watering and I'm choking back a sob. I fall back on the bed and let it out. Let myself cry. Tell my dad, who's dragged himself to my door, that everything is okay. I'm okay, now please go away.
When I am finally done crying, I sit up, feeling dazed, like I just woke up. But what I am really waking up to is anger.
How could they do this to me? It was so, so wrong. So, so unfair. My heart is pounding again. Alfie is going to hear about it. So are the rest of them.
In the bathroom, I wash my face and reapply my makeup. Since my hands are shaking, it takes several tries to get the eyeliner on straight. It's still not quite right. I look like I'm hitting a club, but I don’t care.
My dad's giant Ford is parked out front, so I grab his keys. “I'm taking the truck, Dad! Just going to Alfie's.” It's not like he's going anywhere, and I'm in a hurry, so I don't wait around for a reply.
The streets in our neighborhood are narrow, barely enough room for one car let alone my dad's wide truck. There are also some hairpin turns that I take at old lady speed.
By the time I reach the bottom of the hill, I am driving like every other jerk in a big truck. Like I own the road. Come on, go ahead, mess with me. Try and pass me, try and tailgate me, try and jump your turn at the stop. Go ahead, see what happens. Because I'm driving a half ton pickup and you're not. And I am pissed.
Alfie lives less than half a mile away in another hilly pocket of Hillside, but it seems to take forever to get there because it's all zigging and zagging and upping and downing. But that's Hillside for you. Unless you live in the flats. A bunch of cars are parked in the driveway, on the street. I recognize most of them. If I didn't know better, I'd think Alfie was having a party I wasn't invited to. But no, it's a Clarion meeting I wasn't invited to.
I slam through the side gate and barge into the kitchen, where everyone is gathered. They look up, startled. Chloe, Destiny, Raj, Mary, some others. There are crackers and cheese, bowls of chips, even some beer and white wine. Vanessa Marquez is not going to be happy when she finds out Alfie busted out her Chardonnay. But what I am really focused on is Alfie. A bottle of Corona is frozen, two inches from his lips.
He swallows. “Samantha! You didn't text me back.”
I throw my dad's keys on the counter. Clang! Everyone jumps. Even Alfie.
Driving over, I was afraid I was going to cry when I confronted Alfie. But now, I'm afraid I'm going to lose it and start shouting. But I don't do that either. Instead, I lock eyes with Alfie, take a few steps into his personal space and say, “You didn't tell me about Not-The-Clarion. What's up with that?”
“Samantha,” Chloe says softly.
I whirl around and glare at her. “Did you decide this?”
She looks down, shakes her head.
“Then I'm not talking to you,” I snap. I hear her gasp. We never argue, me and Chloe. A few misunderstandings over the years, but we never fight. But I ignore this and turn back to Alfie, who sets his beer on the counter behind him, like he's afraid I'm going to pick it up and smash it over his head.
“Well?” I say to Alfie. “Why didn't you tell me?”
Alfie blows out a noisy breath. “Okay, okay. I was just trying to protect you that's all...”
“Protect me!” I shout. “Protect me from what?”
“From Buskin,” Alfie says, his eyes pleading. “I know you were afraid he might expel us, so I didn't want you involved. He’s probably going to come after us over this new site, so now you can say, totally legit, that you had nothing to do with it.”
All my certainty, all my anger, goes all fuzzy. There is some truth in this, even though I'm not ready to admit it. “But why didn't you ask me?” I say coldly. “I'm your co-editor, remember?”
“I didn't ask you because when Buskin asks who made the decision, it's all me. Down to me. Not you.” Then he looks at the others, holds out his hands in one of those help-me gestures. “Right? Isn't that right?”
There are nods all around, but no one's able to look me in the eye. Raj downs the rest of his beer. Mary is clutching the side of his shirt, her face buried in his shoulder.
“And I told you, didn't I?” Alfie continues. “The second Chloe hit publish.”
A lump is forming in my throat. I choke it back down. No way. Not this time, I can't have the entire Clarion staff—correction, Not-The-Clarion staff—see me melt down, back down, in front of Alfie, my equal, my co-editor, the guy who can't edit for shit. The guy who lets me come up with most of the story assignments.
The notion that they all think I’m such a chickenshit is horrifying. I need to fix that. Fast. I lift my chin, push my shoulders back. “Okay. Well, thanks for thinking of me. But if we are doing this, we're all doing this. Together. And who decided to get rid of the bylines? That’s a terrible idea.”
This is not the reaction that Alfie was expecting. His mouth falls open, like I'm a mouse that started talking. I allow myself the teeniest, tiniest moment of satisfaction.
“I did,” Alfie admits, face reddening. “That way Nutskin can't single out anyone for whatever they wrote. You know, solidarity.”
I slide onto a stool and take a swig from Alfie's now forgotten beer. I hate beer, and nearly gag, but I am making a point so down it goes. “That doesn't make any sense. Buskin already knows who wrote what. We might as well get the credit we deserve.” Then I turn to Chloe. “Can you get those bylines back up? As soon as possible?”
“Hell yeah,” Chloe says, pushing off from the counter and reaching for her laptop in one fluid move. Then she ties up her long black hair and gets to work.
While I am at it, I ask for more changes, including the addition of “No Censorship” under the title on the masthead. And it all gets done. And not once, not even for a second, does anyone look at Alfie first for permission.
Chapter 15
After school, Chloe, Destiny and I hop onto the Hillside Shuttle for a free ride downtown for some girl time. For us, that means pedicures. It's all their idea. They can't stop apologizing for going along with Alfie's Not-the-Clarion plan and keeping it a secret. They're buying. It's their way of making up.
The little bus is nearly empty as we make our way to the back. Nearly empty because most of the kids from high school only take it out of desperation. And we are desperate.
My mom borrowed my car since hers is in the shop. Destiny’s old Volvo wouldn’t start that morning. Chloe doesn't drive. As in not at all. As in she's seventeen and still hasn't got her license. She might not, ever. She doesn't seem to have any interest in driving. Me, I jumped up and down when my parents gave me a red Mazda for my sixteenth birthday.
As soon as we sit down, Chloe turns to me and says, “Buskin didn't call you guys into his office? Like, at all?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Mrs. Sangler said now that it's off the school servers, there isn't much he can do about it.”
“Was she mad? When you talked to her?”
“No. It's like she was happy we'd done it, except she didn't want to come out and say so. She also said that since it's not an official school paper anymore, we're pretty much on our own.”
Destiny is sitting across the aisle from us. “But she's not going to do anything to bring it back? Make it a club again?”
I shrug. “No. But to be honest, it's not like she was all that involved. She hardly ever came to our meetings. I get the feeling she thought it was a time suck.”
Chloe raises her eyebrows. “She only backed off when you became co-editor, Samantha. She trusts you.”
I look at Chloe in surprise.
Destiny nods. “Chloe's right. When Alfie was solo editor, she was way more involved. She wouldn't let him do anything on his own, not even the assignments.”
“Alfie,” I say. As if that explains it all.
The girls laugh. “Alfie!” But Chloe's laughter is half-hearted, because once upon
a time, Chloe and Alfie were a thing. A big, complicated messy thing. I suspect she's not over it yet. Alfie has that effect on people. People other than me.
We pass by houses, smaller, closer together than in other parts of Hillside. It's a busy, wide street that runs straight through the middle of town. An old lady is planting flowers. A young mother is unloading groceries from the trunk of an SUV while two kids run around on the lawn. Some workers are up on a roof, laying down new shingles. Normal, everyday stuff. Normal for them. Normal for anyone who is not a girl around the age of seventeen.
The shuttle bus takes a sharp right turn. We're rumbling past the Wirth Mansion, Hillside's historic claim to fame.
It's a cream-colored monstrosity sitting back from the road at the top of a sloping lawn, partly hidden by trees. The place was built after the Gold Rush by a rich family in San Francisco as their summer home. This I know because every school kid in Hillside gets dragged on a tour in the fourth grade.
It's also the reason why Madison isn't with us. She works there part time. She's more than a little obsessed with the place. She plans on majoring in architecture in college—and she can go on and on about Italianate this and Steamboat Gothic that. Most of the time we don't even know what she’s talking about.
She's the youngest tour guide at the Wirth Mansion by, like, decades.
Some people swear it's haunted. Madison rolls her eyes and says it's nothing but stupid rumors.
“I don't know how she stands working there,” Chloe says with a shudder, staring at the mansion. “It's creepy. So creepy.”
Chapter 16
Marguerite: Hillside,1868
The Box in The Cuts: A Supernatural Mystery Page 5