Front Page Face-Off

by Jo Whittemore

  Without skipping a beat, she purred, “I know it was not his fault. He was just too distraught at being forced to take Delilah to the social.”

  “What?!” The word exploded from my lips before I could stop it. Shaking off Jenner and Paige, I stormed around the corner and into Ava’s face. “I did not force him to go with me, and you did not write that article.” I pointed at a copy of the paper she was holding. “I did!”

  Ava turned to the guy and girl with her and smirked. “Of course, Delilah. You wrote it. Whatever you say.”

  The guy and girl shook their heads piteously at me.

  “She did!” Jenner stepped up beside me. “She even made Marcus go to the social with her so …” She faltered under Ava’s triumphant gaze. “I mean … she didn’t make him.”

  I closed my eyes and groaned. “Jenner.”

  “You are a horrible person,” the girl with Ava said to me in disgust. “First, you try and steal Ava’s boyfriend, then you try and steal her article?”

  “It was my article!” With an enraged growl I grabbed Jenner’s arm and hauled her away. After what had happened Saturday, everyone was on Ava’s side. There was no point in trying to talk through the matter.

  It was time for action.

  I let go of Jenner once we were back with Paige and headed for the entrance to the school.

  “Where are you going?” Jenner and Paige hurried to catch up to me.

  “To see Major. You’re right. I need to put a stop to this once and for all.”

  “Telling Mrs. Bradford didn’t do anything. What makes you think telling your stepdad will help?” asked Paige.

  “He works in military defense,” I said. “If anyone knows how to take down the enemy, he does.”

  To say Major was thrilled to see me would have been less of a slight exaggeration and more of a total lie. The minute I walked into the lobby of the defense building, he frowned.

  “I’m confused. You don’t appear to be missing any limbs or coughing up blood, but you’re still out of school.” He leaned away and took in my outfit. “And what happened to the clothes you were wearing this morning?”

  I patted my backpack. “They’re in here. And I’m out of school because of a project I’m working on.” I recited the speech I’d been practicing the entire bus ride. “My teacher gave us time for independent study, so I’m using mine to get help from you.”

  Major raised one eyebrow. “I’m sure she meant for you to study on campus, Delilah.”

  I smiled up at him and batted my eyelashes. “But you’re better than any textbook. You’re like a walking library.”

  Major narrowed his eyes, then steered me toward the receptionist’s window. “Could we get a visitor’s badge for Delilah James?” To me, he said, “Don’t think you’ve flattered me into agreement. I plan to use your words against you in the future.”

  I nodded and clipped on the badge. “Just like any other parent.”

  The receptionist buzzed us back into the secure area of the building, and Major pointed to his office, a large room that looked more like a storage unit. Shelves of assorted junk lined every wall, and a desk in the far corner struggled to keep the chaos in order.

  “Don’t ever let your room get like this,” said Major.

  “What is all this stuff?” I asked, picking up a plastic package with the word “Meal” on it.

  “Some of them are prototypes for devices. Others are random items left behind by the captain who had this office before me.” Major took the package from me. “This is an MRE, Meal Ready-to-Eat. Be lucky I don’t serve these to you at home.”

  He returned it to the shelf. “But let’s get back to your project. What sort of information are you looking for?”

  “My project’s on warfare, so I just need to know how to end a war.” I pulled my spiral notepad and a pen out of my backpack and waited for his answer.

  “How to …” Major laughed so loud, the pen jumped from my fingers and clattered to the floor. “Delilah, there’s no simple answer to a question like that.”

  “But wars always end at some point.” I stooped to pick up my pen. “How?”

  Major shook his head. “If you want the simple solution, which there never is,” he repeated, “wars end in three ways.” He counted them off on his fingers. “You win, you lose, or you come to a truce.”

  I frowned. No amount of strapless dresses or froufrou fashion would convince Ava to just shake hands and leave it all behind us, and I would never admit defeat to her. “Okay. Um … how do you win a war, then?”

  He smiled and walked toward a dry erase board covered with notes and dates. “That is even more difficult than ending a war.” He erased the top half of the notes. “But you start with the basics. Number one being deception.” He jotted on the board. “You trick the enemy into thinking your actions serve a different purpose than they actually do.”

  “Serve … different purpose … than … actual.” I wrote down what he said and then looked up, perplexed. “Huh?”

  “For example …” He tapped his pen against his chin. “Say a man on the boardwalk comes up to you and starts juggling. While you’re watching him, his partner steals your purse. You thought the juggler was there to entertain you, but he was really there to distract you from the robbery.”

  “Ohhh.”

  Major returned to the board. “The second winning strategy is to attack your enemy’s weakest point. Hit them close to home.”

  That needed no explanation. I knew Ava’s weakest point.

  “You can also find someone else, an ally, to fight your battle for you.”

  I shook my head. “I want to do this alone.”

  Major stopped writing and faced me. “What?”

  My eyes widened. “I mean … if I … was in a war. I’d want to fight my own battle. What else do you have?”

  He regarded me for a moment more, then turned back to the board. “Number four, strike when morale is low.” He cleared his throat. “In other words, kick them when they’re down.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “And finally, we come to the element of surprise, which can completely stun an enemy and leave him open for attack.” He underlined the last point and put down the marker. “Any questions?”

  I put down my pen as well and thought for a moment. While Major had been talking, I’d been thinking about how I could incorporate his rules into an attack on Ava. I’d need a few supplies, but unfortunately, I was low on funds. “Can I have an advance on my allowance?”

  Major smirked. “Any questions about what I’ve written on the board?”

  “Oh. No, I think this is a good start.” I gave him a hopeful smile. “But I’d still like some money … for school supplies.”

  “I don’t suppose I can deny those.” He reached for his wallet. “What are you planning to buy exactly?”

  “Just some highlighters, spiral notepads, pens. About twenty dollars’ worth of stuff.”

  Major counted out the money and handed it over. “Before you go, I want you to take some books home.” He crossed the room and browsed a shelf crammed full of hardbacks. “Have you ever heard of The Art of War?” He disappeared behind the shelf and kept searching.

  “No,” I said, trying to keep the dismay out of my voice. My fake project was suddenly leading to a lot of real work, and somehow I had a feeling that The Art of War was more of a sleep aid than a good read.

  While I waited for Major to emerge with some twenty-pound backbreaker, I leaned against one of the shelves. Something smacked the floor by my feet, and I jumped, looking down to see the MRE package.

  “Hey, Major? Can I open this MRE thing?”

  “Help yourself!” he called.

  I picked it up and ripped into the bag, astounded by all the contents: ravioli, cookies, crackers, and cheese spread—it even came with a tiny bottle of hot sauce. The only thing missing was a toothbrush and toothpaste to clean up afterward. Though I supposed toothpaste would just make a sticky mess.
r />   I dropped the crackers and let out a gasp, struck full-force by my own brilliance.

  Toothpaste would be a sticky mess. A sticky, embarrassing, almost-impossible-to-wash-off mess. The grand finale to my master plan.

  I put all the MRE items back into the bag and joined Major. “I’m sure what you told me should be enough. I don’t really need any books.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He loaded my arms with books until I resembled a teen hunchback. “You’ll need a reliable source for your information, and that comes from these.” He dusted his hands off and placed them on his hips. “Now, is there anything else?”

  “Not unless you have a wheelbarrow,” I grunted. The top book shifted and I maneuvered the stack to keep it from falling, almost tripping over my own feet.

  “You’ll be fine.” Major moved to clap me on the back, then thought better of it. “A little hard work never killed anyone.”

  “How about books? Have they ever killed anyone?”

  He nudged me toward the door. “Head straight home, all right? I’ll see you in about an hour.”

  “Okay.” I leaned against the door and readjusted my grip. “But if I’m not there, look for me on the side of the road. I’ll probably be buried under these.”

  The walk to the bus stop was painful, and it involved a great deal of sweating in Jenner’s gym clothes, which released a crowd-scattering odor. When I finally climbed onto the bus, I dreaded the moment it would pull up to my stop … until I saw Marcus waiting there.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mixed emotions of happiness and horror coursed through me. On the one hand, I was about to bump into him. On the other hand, I smelled like a mule farmer. Ducking low in my seat, I said a prayer to the gods of public indecency and pulled off my shirt, trading it for Marcus’s sweater. There was no way I could get into the skirt without extreme embarrassment, so I simply hoped Marcus would be too tall for the stink of Jenner’s pants to reach him.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I slung my bag over one shoulder,

  grabbed the mountain of books, and walked off the bus in a cool, calm manner. When Marcus saw me, he smiled and got up.

  “Hey, Delilah. I was starting to think you’d never show up.”

  “You were waiting for me?” My heart fluttered, and my hand went up to play with my hair. Unfortunately, one of the heavier books had pinned my sleeve down, so when I lifted my arm, the top half of the stack tumbled to the sidewalk. “Ugh!”

  Marcus stooped and grabbed the books but didn’t hand them to me. “Yeah. I thought I’d walk you home and we could talk about your trip to Sheldon.” He tugged at the sweater. “Just out of curiosity, why are you still wearing this?”

  I glanced down and blushed. “Oh! Um … it’s just really comfortable and I’m a little chilly.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “You look like you’ve been sweating buckets. Maybe you have a fever.”

  I wiped at my face with the sleeve. “No. I was just really nervous breaking into Sheldon.” Suddenly I realized how gross I must have looked, using his sweater like a sponge, and I lowered my arm. “Sorry. I’ll wash this and get it back to you.”

  “No hurry,” he said. “So, how was Sheldon? Did you”—he waggled his eyebrows—“uncover the truth?”

  “Of course.” I started walking toward my street. “And it was very juicy … but you already knew that.”

  He nodded and listened while I explained everything I’d learned.

  “You should talk to Katie, you know,” he said when I finished. “Before you talk to Paige.”

  “I’m going to,” I said. “Maybe I can get her to do an interview with me like you did.”

  Marcus nudged my arm. “I wanted to talk to you about that, too. That article you wrote was great.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You mean the one Ava wrote?”

  “Yeah,” he winced. “Sorry about that. But you know you wrote it, and I know you wrote it, and I’ve been telling people that whenever they talk to me.”

  “You have?” I looked up at him in surprise. Ben’s response to my distress had been to do nothing, but Marcus had made an effort to set things straight on his own. If my arms hadn’t been about to fall off, I would have hugged him.

  “Thank you,” I said. Then the rest of his words sank in. “Wait. People have been going up to you?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “They keep telling me they never knew what I’d been going through and that they’ve felt the same way, and that they’re so sorry. Then I say that I’m sorry for any trouble I caused, and the girls cry, and the guys punch me in the arm.” He shifted his portion of the books to one side and squeezed my shoulders. “And it’s all because of you. That article might be the greatest thing you’ve ever written.”

  His compliment should have made me happy, but I couldn’t get the image of Ava’s name attached to my work out of my mind.

  “The greatest thing”—I shrugged him off—“that people are giving her credit for!”

  Marcus stared at me in bewilderment. “Why are you upset? I told you I’ve been fixing it.”

  “You don’t understand. This was the first issue of the year and a huge article, and no matter what you say, people are still going to remember Ava’s name when they think about it. Plus, she has this lie she’s been telling people about why she wrote it that makes me look like a jerk.”

  “So what?” He waved a dismissive hand. “This is school. It’s not the rest of your life.”

  I glared at him. “Says the guy who made me write the article so everyone would like him.”

  Instead of getting furious, Marcus blushed and lowered his eyes. “I don’t need everyone to like me. Just you.”

  “Oh,” I said. He had discovered the quickest way to soothe an angry girl’s temper—blatant flattery. “What?”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m still happy that people aren’t treating me like a mutant anymore, but whenever you don’t like me, it makes me feel a hundred times worse than anyone else does.”

  “Well,” I cleared my throat. “Well … I …” I licked my lips. “I like you right now.”

  Marcus smiled. “And that makes me feel a hundred times better.”

  We reached my front yard and he walked with me up to the porch.

  “Thanks for your help,” I told him. “And … I’ll see you tomorrow.” I gave him a polite nod, unsure of how to handle things, since we’d just admitted our feelings but weren’t yet officially … anything.

  “Sure. Let me just give you these.” Marcus loaded the books he was carrying back into my arms. “And this …” While I was busy trying to shuffle them into my pile, he reached out and put a hand on my back, pulling me to him.

  I froze and watched him move closer and closer, knowing what he was about to do but struck with so many emotions, I couldn’t react. His nose bumped against mine, I could smell his skin, and suddenly my eyelids were too heavy to stay open.

  The next thing I knew, his lips were pressing against mine so that I felt like melting into a puddle on the porch. I lifted one of my hands to touch his face and forgot all about the ton of books in my arms. They crashed to the ground, smashing our toes.

  “Ow,” Marcus mumbled. “You okay?”

  “I think my sneaker is filling with blood,” I whispered back.

  We laughed, and Marcus finally stepped away. I looked at the mess of books at our feet. “That was some kiss.”

  He grinned and nudged one of the books with his shoe. “Hopefully it was a little better than Ben’s.”

  “Absolutely.” I took his hand. “This time there was no public shame and crying.”

  We laughed again, and Marcus squeezed my fingers. “Well, I hate to say good-bye. …”

  “You should go.” I nodded. “My stepdad would probably freak if he saw that a boy knew where I lived.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Bye.”

  He pulled back, wearing a goofy smile. “Bye. I’ll see you tomorrow. And don’t be too u
pset about the paper thing. Ava’ll get what’s coming to her someday.”

  I watched him jog down the street. “Yes, she will,” I murmured. “And that day will be tomorrow.”

  Gathering all the books and stacking them by the door, I sat on the pile and called Jenner.

  “Since my caller ID doesn’t say ‘County Jail,’ I’ll assume you haven’t done anything crazy yet.” She groaned. “Which means you’re planning to do it tomorrow.”

  “That’s why I’m friends with you,” I said. “You’re so smart.”

  Jenner sighed. “I’m going to try once more to talk you out of this. Please just let it go before someone gets hurt.”

  “Nobody’s going to get hurt,” I promised. “I’m just going to pull off one mega-prank that’ll ensure Ava never messes with me again.”

  “Well, I’m not helping,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I have that tournament coming up and I cannot afford to get in trouble.”

  “Relax.” I dug my hand into my pocket and fished out the twenty. “I just need you to come get some money and buy a few things at the grocery store.”

  Despite her earlier refusal, I could still hear the curiosity in her voice. “The grocery store?”

  “Make a list,” I said. “Starting with chocolate syrup and Cool Whip. It has to be Cool Whip.”

  In Jenner’s opinion, Brighton Junior Academy before sunrise was the perfect backdrop for a teen horror film. Strange noises echoed in the silence, making vacuum cleaners sound like growling beasts and soft conversation sound like the whisper of wandering spirits.

  She cowered behind me as we crept down the hallway, the emergency lights our only guide in the dark.

  “I just wanted to let you know,” she said, “that if something jumps out at us, I’m going to push you toward it and run. But I will totally come back later and ID your body for the coroner.”

  “Thanks,” I said wryly. “It’s so good to have a friend like you.”

  “Hey, I’ve already proven what a good friend I am by buying this junk.” She held up a plastic bag with Cool Whip, chocolate syrup, and a handful of other items. “And after telling you last night that I wasn’t going to help, somehow I’m here.”