by Gwenda Bond
I’d intended to approach Principal Butler again today, so in some ways, this was convenient. Despite how weirdly dismissive he’d been before, I believed confronting him now would box him in, make him take action against the Warheads and protect Anavi.
Which would mean my first story for the Scoop would be slightly less awesome, as the school administration wouldn’t be completely inept in it. But it would also mean the plan—my plan for Metropolis—wasn’t completely scrapped, either.
Being good did not come easy for me.
But I couldn’t regret anything I was doing. This was a story, an important one, with a girl’s mind in the balance, and I would tell it.
Still. Rash might be my middle name, but I’d promised my dad—and myself—that I’d try to be different here. No need to get into trouble Dad would hear about, something that might make him change his mind about the Scoop. No need to engage in Worlds War Three against General Lane. Not yet.
“Besides,” I said, “I need to see Brown-nose Butler to get his official statement for my story.” I got up, ready to go do just that.
“You might want to refrain from using that particular name with him.”
Anavi had tried to make a joke, despite her wan face and dark-circled eyes. She gnawed at her bottom lip.
Something was still bugging her, even though she was safe here in cafeteria-land for the moment.
I hesitated. “What is it?”
“You’re not planning to mention me by name in the article, correct?” Anavi asked, with a hint of discomfort.
I inhaled sharply. The question stung.
After what we’d been through together in the last twenty-four hours . . . I wanted to be trusted. I was trustworthy. But you had to know people to trust them, and I hardly ever got to know anyone because of how often we moved. It wasn’t like I thought Anavi and I were close already, but I’d believed her when no one else would. I not only wanted to help her, but I liked and even admired her, not just for the mystifying gift she had at spelling, but the way she’d felled that troll. The way she was fighting to hold on to herself.
But she didn’t trust me.
SmallvilleGuy trusts you.
Yeah, and he probably also thinks I’m ticked off at him because of the way I signed off last night.
I sighed. “Look, I made you a promise. I’m helping you. Worry about staying away from the Warheads, but don’t worry about my end of the deal. This will all be over soon enough.”
The PA crackled and I was summoned again. Time to face the principal’s obnoxiousness.
“Lois, that’s not what I intended,” Anavi stopped me. “I . . . I want you to use my name. It will lend more credence to the story. And I thank you.”
I nodded, not quite able to speak. I’d misunderstood. She was trusting me.
As I left, I let the cafeteria door bang shut behind me, once again on a mission. There was no one in the empty hallway to notice the noise. I could not under any circumstances—whether it was attack by brain-stealing jerks or troll-pocalypse—fail Anavi.
I didn’t meet a soul until I arrived outside the office. When I was a few steps away from the door, it opened and who should come out but the one and only James the Third.
James the Third just happened to be in the principal’s office when I was called to it? Uh-huh.
What if he’d ratted out the way we hacked into the school system to take a look at the Warheads’ schedules? I didn’t like silver spoon guy, but would he do something that vile? Betray his fellow staffers, even Devin who’d told me to cut him some slack? And, if he had told, could he prove it?
His expression was almost unreadable, but not quite. What I saw there was a hint of apology.
“What did you do, the Third?” I asked as I passed him.
He held the door, always with the polite manners. He said, “Nothing, but be careful with—”
But his suggestion was cut short by the appearance of Principal Butler. An oily smile oozed across his face. “Ms. Lane, it’s about time you showed up. Ronda, when did you call for her, again?”
“Ten minutes ago, sir,” she answered. Her voice squeaked on the final word.
Sometimes a first impression was wrong. Most of the time, it wasn’t. I remembered just how much I had disliked Butler the other morning. By now, if anything, that amount had doubled. He might pretend to be nice, but you could always tell what kind of boss someone was by how their assistant acted around them. He had poor Ronda walking on eggshells, which must have been uncomfortable in high heels.
“See you at the office, old chum,” I said to James, “and we’ll catch up on tricks.”
I said it so I wasn’t hopping to Butler’s command, and so he’d know that James and I worked together. If he didn’t already.
James would also get the message that I wouldn’t let it go if he’d played the part of rat. Bonus.
Gratifyingly, the principal’s disapproval—as evidenced by the disappearance of his fake smile—meant I scored a direct hit by not hurrying. I sauntered toward him, taking my sweet, sweet time.
“Funny, it doesn’t take ten minutes to get here from anywhere in the building,” he said as I neared. “Of course, since you decided to cut class this morning, maybe you weren’t in the building.”
So much for this place being different. I’d forgotten about the plan again, in the moment.
But I hadn’t even done anything wrong. My story hadn’t run yet.
The story. That’s why you’re here. Anavi needs your help.
I followed him up the hallway and into his over-decorated office. Taking a seat opposite the desk, I removed my notepad from my messenger bag, put it on my lap and clicked my pen. I looked up at Butler, who sat behind a big oak desk.
“You’re not here to take dictation,” he said.
“Good,” I countered, “because I don’t do that. I did want to ask you a few questions, though.”
He didn’t respond, and so I made a closer study of his décor to see what I could see.
Predictable. Everything reflected a false sort of opulence. He must spend a lot of money on those pricey suits. There were scrollwork appliqués on the wood paneling, and his desk was varnished to a high gloss. The shelves behind it were filled with leather books, spines perfect and uncracked, meaning they might or might not have been empty inside and only for show. The paintings were grim hunting scenes with lean hounds and fleeing foxes and gentlemen in puffy pants carrying long rifles. In other words, more like some estate in England than the city around us.
“You hunt foxes?” I asked, skeptical.
His way-too-high-backed chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”
He was turning on the charm again.
“No, actually.” I might as well go all in, shake his confidence by being blunt, if I wanted to get a reaction. “I wanted to talk to you about bullying.”
Two well-groomed silver eyebrows shot up at that. “You’re not still fixated on those claims you heard the other morning, are you? They’re baseless.”
“You are familiar with a group of students known as the Warheads, aren’t you? You said as much to Anavi the other day.”
He steepled his fingers. He probably got weekly manicures.
“I make it my business to know what our students are up to. Especially our brightest, which the Warheads are among. I know that you took pains to be transferred into their computer class, despite not having any of the prerequisites. Something Ronda should not have allowed. I also know that despite this great desire to be in the class, you skipped out this morning and took another of our best and brightest with you. Anavi Singh has never cut class in her life.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I scribbled some nonsense in my notebook, so it would look like I was writing that down. When I finished, the amusement on h
is face was like grit in my shoe. “But you would agree that bullying isn’t something the school tolerates?”
I was giving him an out, even though I didn’t want to anymore.
I waited, as if poised to take down the answer. All he had to say was that of course the school frowned on it, of course he’d intervene.
“The world is a harsh place,” Principal Butler said instead. “Our job is to prepare you to take part in it. We don’t baby our students here. Real bullying is much rarer than these news reports make it out to be. Handling uncomfortable situations is a good life skill. Anavi is perfectly capable.”
So much for him taking the out I’d offered.
“You’re really saying that bullying builds character? What would you say if it was the Warheads being targeted, instead of Anavi?”
“I’d say the same thing: handle it on your own.” Principal Butler’s fingers made a dome on top of the leatherbound notebook dead center on his desk. “Lois, we got off on the wrong foot. Your dad is a decorated war hero. And Perry White . . . saw something in you, after all. He’s an important person in this city. I want to make sure you settle in here successfully. I’ll be transferring you out of computer science, and into phys ed. To be frank, I believe you need an outlet for all that excess energy.”
Anything but the horrors of P.E. Volleyball, locker rooms, polyester gym shorts. Oh, he was low.
“But—”
“But you’re welcome. The other thing you’re going to do is leave the Warheads alone. They are good students, promising minds, which we support. They need room to blossom.”
“Like mushroom clouds, maybe,” I muttered.
Being kicked out of that class wasn’t a big deal, since I hadn’t wanted to stay in it anyway. And P.E. would rue the day Lois Lane was invited into its sweaty nightmare.
“I do have one more question,” I said. “Well, two. The first is what was James the Third doing here?”
“Not that it’s any of your business.” Butler shifted in his throne. “But his father was a friend. I like to check in, make sure the kid’s doing all right these days.”
Figured they’d be besties, what with the power and the criminal proclivities of ex-Mayor James Jr.
“And there’s one more.” I gripped my pen harder and stared at him. I didn’t want to miss any part of his reaction.
“Shoot,” he said, pleased with our little chat. He probably assumed he’d set me straight.
“About Project Hydra . . . What’s that? Why does it preempt the Warheads’ afternoon class work? I hear they leave every day after lunch. Is that why you’re protecting them despite clear allegations of bullying? I’ve witnessed it, by the way. In the game they play and in the halls of your school.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then he pushed back from the desk.
“That’s no business of yours. Nothing to do with the Warheads is, as I’ve made clear.”
When I got up, assuming he was dismissing me, he said, “Just a second,” and left.
Left me right there in his office. All alone, with no one around.
And he didn’t return right away.
I got up, peeked out the door. He wasn’t in the hall, but I could hear him talking to someone out front—presumably poor Ronda—in barking-orders mode. I’d flustered him enough that he’d dropped his cheap-satin-disguised-as-smooth-silk veneer.
I scurried over to his desk and poked around the contents. Beside his giant dinosaur of a computer was a small faux leather stand holding post-its. Because he wouldn’t want anyone to think his post-its weren’t classy.
They didn’t seem to be used, at a glance. But I picked up the pad and flicked through, confirmed they were blank.
I eyed the leather notebook, in its place of pride. Picked it up and flipped through it, as well. Also empty, except . . . I stopped when I reached the final sheet. The only page with writing.
A series of scratched out words ran down it in columns. All at least six characters. All with at least one number and one capital letter.
The last word wasn’t crossed out.
I looked over my shoulder, confirming he wasn’t back yet, and took the top sticky to copy down the last in the list. Which I’d bet a ransom was his password.
You never knew. It might come in handy.
I closed the notebook, scooting it back to the position where I’d found it, and then headed back to my chair. Dropping into it, I reached down to tuck the post-it into my messenger bag, finishing as he returned.
He was still rattled, and he did a double take when he came back in. Like he’d forgotten I was there.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“There’s only one way out of the office, so if you didn’t see me leave . . . ” I smiled innocently. “I wasn’t dismissed. I figured I should wait.”
“You are now. I think we’ve settled the matter of these claims. Baseless. Enjoy gym class.”
He waited by the door, and so I picked up my bag, placing my notebook inside. The yellow of the post-it within winked at me.
“This has been very educational,” I told him, and he motioned for me to head out.
I made it almost to the end of the beige hall, right before it met Ronda’s guard desk area, before I ran smack into a cluster of four Warheads, coming in where I was going out. So my mention of Hydra had gotten them summoned. Interesting.
Not that I could tell if the four of them minded. I stopped, and they glided past me with that same coordinated movement, like they were part of a single-celled organism. The same smirks, the same overlapping whispers, as they headed to Butler’s lair.
“Uh-oh . . .”
“. . . called to the principal’s office . . .”
“She can’t stay out . . .”
“. . . of trouble, can she?”
I flattened myself against the wall to let them pass. Peeking past into the outer office, I saw that the poor assistant Ronda was at her post, but she had her head buried in her arms, not paying attention to anything around her. No doubt Butler had reamed her out for something, or at least been rude about asking for his favorite sociopaths to be brought to him.
When I heard the principal’s office door shut with a click, I turned to confirm the members of the Warheads were inside, and went back the way I’d come. Hearing what he said to them would be useful. It might help answer my remaining questions.
I pressed my ear to the door, like I did at night before my chats with SmallvilleGuy. All I could hear was the non-dulcet tones of a voice talking. Droning on and on. It was Butler, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
I wanted to.
So I fished out my phone, scrolled to the recording app, pressed it on, and locked the screen to prevent a stray sound from giving me away. I plugged in the earbuds, keeping the ends tight in one hand, then bent and pressed the phone under the bottom of the door. The gap was plenty big enough, the carpet muffling its slide into position.
Have your private consult, principal, so long as I can listen.
I stayed there, my leg muscles shrieking bloody murder at being forced to hold the crouch. After minutes that felt like hours passed, the doorknob started to turn . . . but stopped at a harsh order, which must have been Butler telling them to hold up. I yanked on the earbuds, pulling the phone back out and into my hand.
And I bolted up the hall and out to the front. I paused in the front office and said to Ronda, “I hope you spit in his coffee.”
From the way Ronda looked at me, shocked before she gave a pink smile, I figured Principal Butler was lucky if that was all that his assistant did to his morning cuppa these days.
Good for you.
I left, inspired by her example. I’d already cut one class. Why not another later this afternoon?
If Butler wouldn’t tell me where the jerk squad went an
d what Project Hydra was, well, then I had no choice but to find out on my own.
CHAPTER 11
Maddy and I were keeping Anavi company during lunch in the back corner of exile again. Though we weren’t doing that great a job of it.
Anavi wasn’t behaving normally, even for harassed values of normalcy. She had only spoken to us when we pressed her, spaced out otherwise, and so we’d settled into an awkward silence.
“You’re making me nervous with that,” Maddy said.
And I realized I was drumming my fingers on the table in the staccato rhythm of impatience. “Oops. Sorry.”
With effort, I stopped drumming and fidgeting. I was practically dead from how much I wanted lunch to end so that I could listen to the recording and make my next move toward uncovering the dirty secrets of Hydra.
But distraction came in the form of a semi-surprise, when Devin walked up and pulled out a chair to join us.
Maddy found this even more notable than I did. “Are you sure this is where you want to sit, or will you lose cool points?” she asked him.
Devin settled back into the seat across from Anavi. “Last time I checked, it was a free cafeteria.”
He must usually hang with a more exclusive lunch crowd, which made it a nice gesture on his part. I couldn’t help wondering if his non-Scoop friends knew about his giant castle and gaming kingdom.
I remembered the banner with his silhouette on it and decided probably not. It might mean that he was on his way to trusting me too, since he hadn’t hidden it from me. And not only that, but he’d set up the game to send me there and given elf Lo an alliance.
He directed his next words to me. “You’re not in detention, so I take it Butler let you off with some kind of warning?”
“An infuriating one.” I could almost see the secret realm ruler in Devin peeking through in his manner, as if he was comfortable anywhere.
Devin accepted my answer, and started rattling away about the game. I got the distinct impression it was to give Anavi something to focus on. Not that it seemed to be working.