“I still think it sucks,” Talia says. “And whoever is doing it sucks too.”
“All right, Talia,” Mrs. B. says.
Chas and I pull our desks to the back corner of the room for some privacy. We face the desks toward each other, and he leans in to whisper. “So who do you think is behind the blog?”
“The blog?”
“Yeah. The Tattler. Who do you think is doing it?”
“Who’s doing it?” I have got to stop repeating him. Can I sound any guiltier?
“Yeah,” he says. “Know what I think? I think it’s Talia. All this goody-two-shoes stuff. No one would expect her.”
Or me.
“And then she keeps throwing a fit about it. Notice no one else really says anything? It’s like that old saying, about the one who protests too loudly is the one who did it.”
I must have a confused look on my face because Chas elaborates.
“You know. Along the lines of the ‘he who smelt it, dealt it’ philosophy.”
I nod. Interesting. Wrong, but interesting. And I’m sure as heck not correcting him. I don’t want him to know it’s me. I’m sorta happy he suspects Talia of doing it. That pretty much cancels any fears I had that he had a crush on her.
Bang! We hear a loud crash toward the front of the room, and everyone looks up. Brittany’s books are all piled on the floor to her right and she’s glaring at them.
“This is so stupid,” she mutters angrily, slamming out of her seat. She walks around her desk, accidentally kicking one of her notebooks further out of her reach.
“Argh!” she lets out.
Everyone’s staring at her, surprised. I’m not sure what upset her so much. Brittany doesn’t usually get riled up like this. And why would she knock her books over like that?
“What?” she screams at the room.
People look away or look down at their desks.
“Brittany, do you need a moment to compose yourself?” Mrs. B. asks.
“Yeah,” Brittany snarls and walks out of the room, not bothering to pick up any of her books. The girl sitting closest to her bends down and gets them for her.
That was weird.
“Guess Brittany’s having a bad day,” Chas whispers to me.
“I guess,” I say, watching the door she just stomped out of.
“So, you got any new shots for me?” Chas asks.
“What?” I turn toward him. “Oh yeah, I do.” I pull out my camera and find the picture I snapped this morning between the wide crack in the last stall of the girl’s bathroom. I show him the viewer.
“It’s Madison and Alyssa fighting,” he says.
“Yeah, but guess who they’re fighting about?”
“Who?”
“Garret! Alyssa’s mad at Madison for fake-dating Garret. She’s had a crush on him forever, I guess. She said she couldn’t be friends with Madison anymore if she was going to keep pretending to date him. Madison was really upset.”
“That’s good stuff. Proof that they’re not really a couple. We’ll use it.”
***
I’m nibbling on a French fry while I check my e-mail on my phone at lunch. Tessa must be running late, but I don’t mind the alone time. There are a number of spam e-mails that somehow got through my blocker. And I’ve got another e-mail from Echo. I’m dying to know who he is and why he keeps writing to me. If it’s someone in class, then he could just use the info in his own summation reports. Unless it’s one of the celebrities who wants to play and can’t. Or, I suppose it could be someone else in school doing this. But that’s not likely, because then he wouldn’t know exactly who our eight celebrities are. It’s not like he’s talking about people outside of our class.
I read today’s note from him. “Ever wonder why Talia Daniels gets such good grades in Chemistry? Could her mom be helping her out with some extra credit? Pour vivre heureux, vivons cache.” Huh. I mentally note to Google translate that Pour phrase later when I have time. But what the heck does the rest of the message mean? That her mom’s doing her work? I’ll have to investigate. It may turn out to be nothing, but at least it’s something on Talia we can use in the reports. She’s gotten off way too easy with this entire project, considering it was all her idea.
Tessa sets down her bowl of yogurt with granola, and I quickly pocket my phone. “Hey, what held you up? Or should I say who?”
“Ha ha. No it wasn’t Joey,” Tessa says. “I was talking to my math teacher after class. I really screwed up on my quiz, but she said I can take it over again after school sometime this week so that’s good.”
“Claire joining us today?”
“Nah, she…” Tessa begins and suddenly stops. “Well, that’s strange.”
“What?” I follow Tessa’s gaze. “That is strange.” Brittany’s standing at the nacho cheese machine, bowl of chips in her left hand, right hand slamming down on the cheese pump. “Brittany doesn’t eat processed cheese,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Not in public anyway,” Tessa jokes.
“She was acting weird this morning too. Threw her whole stack of books on the floor in IPC,” I tell her.
“Why would she do that?”
“No clue. She caused a big ol’ scene though.”
Bam! Bam! Brittany is hitting the side of the nacho cheese machine with her hand. “You’re supposed to give me cheese, now flippin’ give me cheese!” she yells at it.
More people are looking now. Some giggle. I reach for my camera and cautiously take a few steps closer to where Brittany is fighting with the nacho cheese machine. Other paparazzi from class get up and do the same thing. Some have started taking pictures.
The cheese still isn’t coming out of the pump, and Brittany grabs for a nearby lunch tray and hits the pump with it. And hits it again, harder. “Come. On!”
Marge, one of the lunch ladies, walks through the swinging doors just then with a big tray of fruit cups and takes in the scene. “Hey kid, knock it off,” she yells.
But Brittany seems to only be getting madder. Ignoring Marge, she takes both hands and throws herself against the nacho cheese machine, pushing it off the table with one heave. The pump begins working in midair, and a stream of cheese hits Tony Hernandez right in the crotch of his pants. The machine loudly crashes, and the whole lunchroom is now watching the scene.
Tony throws his hands in the air and stares down at himself. “Really? Really?” he asks no one in particular. Poor guy can’t catch a break. At least no one will likely take his picture this time. Everyone is tuned into Brittany.
Brittany turns toward the rest of us in the cafeteria, her eyes all wild. “What? Did you want a bowl of chemicals and artificial flavors too?” She bends down and scoops up some of the cheese pouring out of the machine with her bowl and then Frisbees it toward the nearest table. “You know it’s the same stuff they make plastic with, right?” she tells no one in particular.
“Oh my God,” Tessa, now standing by me, whispers.
I don’t say anything. I’m too stunned. People are taking pictures like crazy, and not just paparazzi kids either. Lots of kids are holding up their cellphones and taking videos too. I know I should be taking shots for the report, but I can’t move.
A janitor and two of the lunch ladies walk toward Brittany. “Come on hon’, that’s enough,” Marge says in a calm voice.
But she isn’t stopping. Brittany grabs at a tray of pizza burgers and flips them over her shoulder. Then the tray of fruit cups goes.
“She’s losing her mind,” I say.
I glance around the room, and people seem to be really enjoying the scene, laughing and yelling things like “human salad shooter” and “go for the macaroni.” No one seems concerned that there is something seriously wrong with Brittany. This is too much. I can’t take pictures of this.
Brittany’s moved on to whipping wrapped hot dogs at people before anyone tries to stop her. Two gym teachers appear and grab Brittany by either arm, hoisting her up off the ground. She
doesn’t weigh very much, and they move her easily.
Brittany’s still screaming her head off as they maneuver her around the mess and toward the exit. “There’s hidden sodium in the chicken nuggets! Five hundred calories in the meatloaf alone! More saturated fat in the cheeseburger than—”
The gym teachers kick the cafeteria doors closed behind them.
“Than what?” Tessa asks, and I just stare at her.
***
I’m sitting in the library after school waiting for Chas and still thinking about Brittany. I didn’t see her again the rest of the day. Did her parents come to pick her up from school? Are they going to take her to a doctor and see what’s wrong with her? That whole scene was wild.
Chas takes his seat next to me. “Did you hear about Brittany?”
“I was there.”
“Did you get pictures?” he asks in an excited voice.
What? “No!” I say, a tone angrier than I’d intended.
“Okay, okay. Why are you so worked up?”
I take a deep breath. “Sorry, I don’t know. I mean, I was going to. I got my camera ready and was going to capture the whole thing when I thought it was just Brittany having trouble with the nacho cheese machine. But then she totally lost it. Like had a mental breakdown or something. And I froze. I couldn’t take pictures of that. It seemed, I don’t know, too cruel.” It kinda freaked me out actually how everyone else kept snapping away. What if Brittany had hurt herself? Or hurt someone else? And everyone was just laughing and taking pictures the whole time.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I was just thinking about the summation report,” he says.
“Well, don’t worry. Everyone else was taking plenty of pictures, so you’ll get to read all about it come Friday.”
Chas momentarily scowls, probably annoyed that he missed out on such a scoop. But then his eyes change to a look of concern. “So it was pretty serious, huh? What do you think is wrong with her?”
My heart softens toward him. I knew he wasn’t like all of the gawkers. He cares.
I almost tell Chas what I really think is wrong with Brittany. That I fear our first muffin exposé on her sent her on a path headed straight for crazy town and that I’m feeling an incredible amount of guilt over it. There’s a little nagging part of me, however, that is afraid he might use the info against her in the summation report.
I shrug. “I’m not really sure.” Which is true. I don’t know anything for sure. It’s just a gut feeling.
“Tell you what,” Chas says, “let’s leave her alone this week. Let’s not mention her at all.”
“Really?” I say, relieved. This is pretty big of him. He’ll be the only tabloid not reporting the juiciest scoop of the week. If he’s worried about his grade, he’s not showing it.
“Really. Let’s just work with what we’ve got.”
I put my hand on top of his and squeeze. And my skin tingles. Chas somehow just got even more attractive.
Livvie’s Reflective Journal: Entry #19
I think that I’ve discovered a key difference between the real tabloids and the tabloids in our class project, Mrs. B. At least with my tabloid contact, Chas. He’s a total sweetheart. There’s a big breaking story right now with one of our celebs, Brittany (by the way, did you check on her after I asked you to in a previous entry? I told you there was something wrong with her. I think you should let her out of this project. Not that I’m telling you how to teach, mind you. I just think it’s all too much for her.) And Chas decided that we’re not going to include anything on Brittany or her situation in our weekly summation report. Oh wait, Mrs. B., that’s not going to get Chas in trouble grade-wise, is it? That he’s not printing the story no matter what? Because he totally would in any other situation. It’s just that we don’t want to hurt Brittany any more than she already is. Isn’t he so sweet? :-) So, in summary, the key difference is that real tabloids=cold-hearted robots with no feelings, and Chas=sensitive and caring (with a cute butt to boot! Not that you care. Just saying.)
Chapter 23
Brittany went home from school Monday after her “breakdown” and didn’t return yesterday. Rumor is her parents have enrolled in some kind of treatment program, I’m assuming for an eating disorder, and she’s not going to be back in school for a while. Of course, the class tabloids are going nuts, writing stories that she’s in rehab for everything from alcohol abuse to sex addiction—which, come on, is absolutely absurd. Who on earth has ever heard of someone beating up a nacho cheese machine due to a sex addiction? Still, people are going wild with their own spin on the facts and the only thing I know for sure is that this Friday’s summation report will certainly be an interesting one.
I’ve been busy trying to get something on the other celebrities. Chas thinks that since everyone’s summation reports this week are going to be pretty much based around Brittany and what happened, ours would really stand out if I could get some good shots of people who haven’t had as much attention, like Drew Higgins, Joey Davis, or Talia Daniels. Talia, to me, is still just as boring as watching snow melt (Unless, of course, there’s a freak heat wave and the snow melts so fast it floods a town. That would be something to see.). I highly doubt I’m going to get anything good on her. Sure, I’ll tail her for a bit just in case but I’m not holding my breath.
Joey is an interesting one though. I’m going to keep my eye on him, and not just for paparazzi reasons. He has such a crush on Tessa and she likes him too, only she was waiting until she was done with Mike first. And now that Mike’s totally out of the picture she can date Joey if she wants.
Speaking of Mike, what a jerk. He called Tessa twenty-six times over the weekend, begging for her forgiveness and asking that she give him “just one more chance.” Pbbt. Please. Like she’s ever going to believe a word out of his lying mouth again. And I’m pretty sure he and Denise are completely caput too. The few times I’ve seen them anywhere near each other, Denise is looking after Mike with these sad little lost puppy dog eyes, and Mike either acts completely oblivious to her being in the same room as him or shoots her a look of disgust. I’d almost feel sorry for Denise if she wasn’t such a jerk herself. I mean, she knew Tessa was dating Mike all along. Everyone knew Tessa was dating Mike. Yet she still went after him anyway. She’s like one of those skanky girls who goes after a married celebrity football star or basketball star or whoever just for the chance of getting her name or picture into a tabloid. They don’t give even the tiniest bit of concern for the wife, or children if there are any, because they know if they get even the slightest bit of notoriety, they’re set. They’ll be asked to pose for Playboy or be given their own talk show or a book deal. Bad behavior is always rewarded these days.
Wait, is that what Denise could have been up to all this time? Was she just trying to get more time in our class tabloids? No, that’s ridiculous. Denise isn’t smart enough to think of that. Not to mention she started up with Mike before our IPC class project even begin. She’s just your typical, run-of-the-mill skank.
Today I’m going to follow Drew Higgins. Drew’s been pretty elusive so far. I don’t share lunch hour with him and rarely see him in the hallways. The only thing I know about him is that he likes salad with vinaigrette and that he goes to the public library in town on Wednesday afternoons. I saw him hanging around there a couple of times when I was returning books.
When school lets out, I get in my car, drive over to the library, and head inside. I wonder what section Drew goes to when he comes in. Is he a sci-fi guy? Or maybe a Stephen King freak? Wouldn’t that be funny if he was obsessed with chick lit and hid in an abandoned corner of the library every Wednesday so that he could read his books without checking them out and thus keeping the rest of the world from ever finding out his secret? Oh man, I so hope that’s what it is.
I linger around the corner of the main entrance, where the What’s New bulletin board hangs. I pretend like I’m reading it but I have my camera in hand, ready to go when Drew makes it in.
I’ve been here for ten minutes and I’m beginning to feel conspicuous. The same librarian has walked by me twice already. When she’s about to walk by a third time, I pull a brochure off the board and try to look interested. “Wow, a free lecture on time management. Boy, I sure could use something like this. I’ll definitely need to make it back in on the 20th.” The librarian gives me a leery look but keeps walking. And then I see Drew.
I pull back around the corner so that he doesn’t see me. He passes right by me and heads for the elevator. Uh-oh. I look around and see a set of stairs and head for them. Luckily the building is only two floors—the main one and a basement. I race down the stairs and peek out the little window on the door to watch for Drew getting off the elevator. I hear a ding, and the doors open and Drew steps out. I take a picture. Not that an elevator shot is all that interesting, but maybe I’ll need a lead up for whatever story I’m going to get today.
Drew heads for the children’s section. That’s strange. Why’s he going in there? It’s not like he’s got a kid brother or sister with him. I wait until he’s a bit away and then step out from the stairway and follow him. The children’s area is pretty cute. There are cartoon posters covering the walls and stuffed animals perched on the tops of all the bookshelves. And there are shelves and shelves of pictures books. There are a couple of rocking chairs spread around and even a tiny play area for the really small kids to hang out. Drew stops walking and turns. I duck behind a giant stuffed Mickey Mouse and count to ten, hoping he’ll have moved on by then. I peek out, and he’s continued walking, so I do too.
Finally we reach the back of the children’s section, where there are several tables. There are a lot of other teens here and a bunch of kids too. I’m guessing between the ages of six and nine. The chalkboard on the wall says “Reading Buddies.” I crouch by a shelf, pretending like I’m looking through books, and watch. The teens pair off with kids and they all sit at different tables. The kids begin to read to the teens they’re matched with. It’s a reading program! Like, a Big Brothers or something but for kids to have teens practice reading with them. How cute. And Drew is a volunteer. This is awesome. I start snapping pictures. It’s not the typical story we’ve been doing so far in our tabloid, but not every story has to be scandalous. The real tabloids include good stuff too, like when a celebrity adopts her twelfth baby from another country or whatever. This is going to be a sweet story.
Just Your Average Box Set (Just Your Average Princess, Just Your Average Geek, & Just Your Average Celebrity) Page 38