Triple Threat (Lois Lane)

by Gwenda Bond

  When he still hadn’t responded by this morning, I could’ve told him it was definitely working.

  I read all the descriptions of the shop’s offerings from a big chalkboard overhead while the line progressed. By the time it was my turn, I’d settled on the most desserty-sounding option. “A double mocha frappé,” I told the pale coffee guy. Then, on impulse, “Make it two. To go.”

  The second wasn’t for me, but for Ronda. Principal Butler was one of the few people I knew who’d ever met Jenkins. Aside from Dad, who’d gone in for a meet-and-greet when we first arrived in town. But Dad was still off chasing the flying man, and it wasn’t like I could ask him anyway. So Principal Butler it was. He’d wanted to be useful; now I’d see whether he actually could make good on it.

  The coffee guy glanced over at me as he finished up my coffees. “Whipped cream?” he asked.

  Mocha frappés came with whipped cream? I’d chosen wisely. “Extra, please,” I said.

  The guy laughed and went crazy with the can of whip, creating a tower of the stuff. I paid, and he handed over the cups. I cradled Ronda’s in my left hand, and sipped mine from my right.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t even care if I have a whipped cream mustache, that’s how good,” I said.

  Utter sugary chocolate goodness. Coffee was growing on me fast.

  The hit of sweetness put some speed in my step too. Yes, I’d go see Butler first thing. I needed to figure out what was driving Steve Jenkins, what kind of man he was beyond a colossal jerk who had no problem experimenting on innocent teens. Revenge wouldn’t be enough of a motivation for someone like Jenkins—at least, not just revenge. I didn’t think. He’d be after some sort of other profit.

  Talking to Butler about his personality might help me back that up with fact rather than feelings.

  A skinny guy with a loaded-down backpack got the door for me at school. I spotted Maddy, James, and Devin waiting as soon as I made it inside the crowded hallway.

  Maddy’s T-shirt today said Smarty Dance. A hint to Dante to ask her to the spring formal, or not? “For me?” she asked with a look at the cups. “Also, you have a little…” she traced a finger across her upper lip.

  “Whipped cream,” I said, swiping with my forearm. “Worth it. The other one’s for Ronda.”

  Maddy asked, “Who?”

  “Butler’s assistant. I’m going to talk to him about Jenkins.”

  “Aha,” Devin said, nodding. “That’s not a bad idea. He might be able to give us something. Although I still find it weird you would ever talk to Butler on purpose.”

  James said, “I could come with you, if you want.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” I said. “He does love you. Again. More.”

  James shrugged and gave an ironic smile. “Who can resist my charms?”

  Maddy laughed. I looked at the two of them, but if there was anything new happening I couldn’t tell. Dante appeared then, and she joined him with a wave to the rest of us.

  “Save me a seat in English,” I told her.

  James and I headed up the hall together, Devin peeling off. “I’m not going to ask anything,” I said to James. “About Maddy. I’m sorry about the other day.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Of course, now that I’d said that, I wanted nothing more than to ask him again. Instead I said, “How’d taking calls go? Anything interesting?”

  “Other than the fact they were from people reporting seeing insane things?”

  “Yes,” I said, finishing off my coffee and popping the cup in the trash can outside Butler’s office. “Other than that.”

  James frowned. “Do you think it’s odd that they aren’t really doing anything? Other than when they approached us, there’s no aggression… They’re just being seen.”

  I’d had the same thought. “The only aggression is toward us. The being seen is for us too. They know we can’t ignore a story.”

  I was going to have to confess about the photo of me, and about the presence of the Project Hydra story. I hadn’t even mentioned that Jenkins had bought and trashed a Daily Planet to them in my email report the night before.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. “One sec,” I said.

  The bell rang and the hallway started to clear out. Since I planned for us to depart Butler’s office with late slips, I wasn’t in a huge hurry.

  SmallvilleGuy: Did you tell the Scoop guys about Jenkins?

  SkepticGirl1: Of course I did.

  SmallvilleGuy: But you still haven’t told them about the contents of the folder. Shouldn’t you?

  Grumble, grumble. Great minds.

  SkepticGirl1: I’m aware. See you later?

  SmallvilleGuy: 6 sharp. What are your mom’s favorite flowers?

  I shook my head. The thoughtfulness of this guy. My mom would undoubtedly think I’d put him up to it.

  SkepticGirl1: Same as mine, actually. Tulips.

  SmallvilleGuy: Thx. See you then. <3

  James was watching me with a tres amused smile. “Something funny?” I asked.

  “Tough as nails Lois Lane is head over heels,” he retorted. “I’d say it’s pretty funny.”

  “Where’s your romantic streak?” I said, trying not to protest. I’d never be able to do so truthfully. “He’s here, in town.”

  James blinked at me. “Your mystery guy?”

  “Clark,” I said. “He got here Sunday. He was with me yesterday, when I spotted Jenkins.”

  James was gaping at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You haven’t told anyone else?” His eyebrows lifted in disbelief.

  “I, um, think I mentioned he was coming to Devin. Who would I tell? He’s coming to my parents’ house, so they know.” I started to open the office door, then realized what he meant. “Oh no.” My heart fell through the floor. “I didn’t tell Maddy. That’s why you’re surprised?”

  “Excellent deducting, Sherlock. She’s going to be hurt,” he said. “You’d better be the one to tell her.”

  “Then you don’t,” I said. “Argh.” I gentled banged my head on the glass of the door. “I’ve got to get better at this.”

  Learning how to be a friend remained a work in progress for me, but even I knew this was a shocking lapse. I couldn’t explain why I hadn’t told her yet either. Yes, there was the excuse of things not going well between her and Dante, but that was weak. There’d been a lot going on… I’d been so nervous that meeting him would ruin everything…

  Annnd I wasn’t used to talking about my feelings. Not out loud, and not with anyone except SmallvilleGuy.

  Which meant the reason I hadn’t told Maddy was because I hadn’t wanted to. I’d known Devin wouldn’t prod that much. It wasn’t like I’d shared the details with him. I hadn’t wanted to share with anyone else how dorky Clark made me.

  Clark. He was part of my life. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I’ll tell her at lunch,” I said.

  “Excellent,” James said. “Are we going in, or what?”

  “Oh,” I said. I’d paused with my hand on the door. “Yeah.”

  Squaring my shoulders, I opened the door and hoisted the extra coffee cup. “Ronda, my friend, are you in the mood for a mocha frappé? Extra whipped cream.”

  Ronda sat at her desk, her hair in a perky ponytail. She paused mid-typing. “I shouldn’t,” she said. But then, “Give it here.”

  I put it on her desk, which was in the outer office waiting area, Ronda the guardian of the hallway that led back to Principal Butler’s office.

  She gave me a quizzical look. “What’s up? Here to steal more tardy slips?”

  “I would never,” I said, hand over my heart.

  Ronda and I both knew the drill. I’d never admit it.

  “You don’t ha
ve an appointment with him, and he didn’t ask me to summon you… so what are you doing here? And you too, why’d you come along?” Ronda asked James, then took a long, delighted sip of her drink.

  “We need a word with Principal Butler,” I said.

  “No way,” she said.

  I clarified. “We think he might be able to help with a story.”

  “Oh.” She set down the cup. “Then go right ahead. I’ve never seen him in such a good mood as the week after your dad’s press conference, James. He didn’t yell at me once.”

  “You are a goddess, as ever,” I said.

  “Don’t push it,” Ronda said, without any ire. She was enjoying the mocha frappé too much.

  James gestured for me to take the lead. “You know the way better than I do.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in.” But I led us past Ronda’s checkpoint and up the little hallway to Principal Butler’s office, with its fox-hunting paintings and pretentious leather-volume-lined shelves. It was true; I could’ve gotten us there blindfolded. I’d spent a lot more time than I’d wanted to in Butler’s office when I first arrived. He’d tortured me by forcing me to have weekly meetings with him every Monday, my permanent file tantalizingly stacked on his desk.

  “Hey,” I said, remembering something, “you said Butler showed you my file, right?”

  James’s lips curled in a little smile. “Well, not exactly showed. He might have left it out one day. By accident.”

  For once, James had thoroughly surprised me. He’d peeked. I couldn’t help approving. “Not bad, Worthington. There’s hope for you yet.”

  Butler’s door was open and he was sitting at his desk, frowning into his computer monitor. I knocked on the frame to give him a moment’s warning.

  “Yes?” he asked, then brightened when he saw it was us.

  Oh, how times have changed.

  “What can I do for the two of you? Come right on in,” he said.

  He even got up to shepherd us into his office, closing the door. He returned to his desk as we settled into the leather chairs across from it. The suit he wore was as shiny and expensively flamboyant as always, with a charcoal pinstripe that offset his silver hair.

  “To what do I owe the visit?” he asked with a greedy expression.

  He really needed to get out more or take up something exciting as a hobby. Was there a natural way to suggest skydiving or spear-fishing to him?

  “We’re here about a story.” I pitched my voice low as if I was worried we’d be overheard, even here, in the privacy of his office. I felt like the least we could do was dress up the part he had to play and make with some intrigue. “We need your help.”

  “I suspected as much,” he said, as if that was a genius thing to surmise.

  James cut in. “We were hoping to pick your brain about someone who used to donate funds to the school—Steve Jenkins from Advanced Research Labs.”

  Well, that slammed the door on Butler’s eager cooperation. “The one you wrote the story about that caused the school such humiliation?” he asked, studying his desk.

  Riiiiiight, it was the school’s humiliation that troubled him.

  I scrambled to make it better. “We know that you had no idea what he was up to—obviously.” You were too eager to look the other way. “And no reason to doubt his good intentions at the time. Think of this as a chance for payback.”

  He looked up, which I decided to take as a sign I was getting through.

  “Wouldn’t that feel good?” I asked. “To see him go down permanently?”

  “What do you mean?” Butler asked. “That sounds… dangerous.”

  I’d have to be careful not to overpromise or make things too dramatic, apparently. Besides, I wanted the pleasure of taking down Jenkins—again, for good—myself, along with Donovan and the Contessa.

  “We think he’s involved in another off-book experiment,” I said.

  His eyebrows rose.

  “Not using students from here,” I said. “Not this time. But we were just wondering if you could tell us what he’s like.”

  Where Butler had been mellowing, his face clamped back to tightness. “We weren’t that close… I don’t know.”

  He clearly thought this was a trap of some kind. And, normally, he’d be right. I shot James a panicked look and nodded for him to take a shot. If anyone could save this, it was James.

  “We just… um… you’re such a student of human nature,” James said. “You never doubted my dad was a good man. We value your judgment. We weren’t implying that you would like the guy.”

  “Oh, I see,” Butler said. “I’m still not sure…”

  “You know the other morning,” I said, “when we were out front and we told you that Maddy had a run-in with some people who weren’t from here? That was them. We don’t want to risk them coming back and dragging you and the school into any more shenanigans.”

  James shook his head slightly, admiringly, at my attempt to manipulate Butler.

  And it worked.

  Butler relaxed back in his chair. “I’m glad you thought to come to me. You just want to know what he’s like?”

  “We’re trying to understand him a little better. Anything you can remember might help. Did he approach you at first or the other way around?” I asked.

  Butler closed his eyes, like he was conjuring the scene in his mind. He nodded, then opened them. “He contacted me—he invited me to come to his office the first time. The offices are well appointed. Luxurious. Modern. Well, you know that, you’ve been there.” He shifted uncomfortably again. “He was polite enough, but cold. Those tech types, you know? He suggested that there were lots of opportunities for bright young students who liked computers to partner with the company.”

  “Did he work to convince you?” Not that I thought it would have been hard.

  “Or did he let you think it was your idea?” James added.

  “None of it was my idea,” Butler said, and for once, I believed him. He hadn’t hesitated at all before saying it. “He went so far as to ask if he might come to the school, meet some of our students who used their gaming software. That’s where it all started. I wanted the school to get something out of it, so I proposed the computers he donated. That’s all.”

  “Mmm,” I said. “Was he ever…” I thought back to James’s words in the hallway. “Was he ever aggressive with you?”

  “Yes,” Principal Butler said. “When you first came here and—when I told him you were asking about the students, the Hydra program, he wasn’t happy. He was rude to me. Told me I should be able to handle ‘children.’ But…”

  He had a troubled expression on his face, like thinking back made him realize how screwy all this had been. Too bad he hadn’t had the foresight when it was happening.

  “But what?” I prompted.

  James was hanging on his every word too. This might be something we could use.

  “The way he talked about them. The Warheads… Miss Singh… even you, it was as if he barely thought of you as people. More like bothersome problems. Or, no, not problems. Opportunities, and if not opportunities, then you’d be problems. He, uh, talked to me the same way. What you said before about my being a judge of character, well, I haven’t always been. Sometimes I looked the other way when I shouldn’t have. I do regret what happened with him.” He paused. “I don’t think he was a good man.”

  So, if we messed up Jenkins’s plans, backed him into a corner, then he might lose it. Revenge takes a cool head to plot and carry out. If he saw the world in terms of problems versus opportunities, he must be after me for a reason. I hadn’t been a problem for him, not anymore, not before he started baiting me.

  The logical conclusion was that he viewed me as an opportunity. But for what?

  “Is,” I said. “He isn’t a good man. And yeah, we don’t think so eithe
r.”

  CHAPTER 20

  I waited by my locker for Maddy. As we were leaving English, I’d asked her if we could have lunch alone. She’d given me a curious look, and said “Sure.” I’d gotten more and more nervous as the morning wore on. So much so that when she appeared in front of me, I practically cringed at the sight of her.

  “Wow,” she said, “that’s a new one. Do I smell?”

  And I was screwing up already. “Like a rose. Or another flower that smells good. I mean, I assume—I haven’t smelled you, so I don’t really know how to describe your smell. Which means you smell fine, right?”

  Stop babbling.

  “What is happening?” Maddy asked.

  Just say it.

  “I screwed up. And I’m afraid you’ll be mad at me. And… let’s get a table and I’ll explain.”

  Maddy gave me a wary look. “You didn’t say something to Dante, did you?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s something about me. Something I did. Or forgot to do.” I sighed, feeling that every word made it worse. “Something I forgot to tell you.”

  “Okay, now I’m really worried. Come on,” she said, and led the way into the cafeteria and to the food line.

  I was the worried one. Maddy was my best friend, and I should tell her things. That was part of the friend deal. It should be easy for me to tell her things.

  We got our Standard Issue Lunchtime Meals—chicken fingers for me, pasta salad for her—and schlepped the trays to our usual table. I’d already warned off the boys. This was a girls-only lunch.

  Around us the various friend groups of East Metropolis High gossiped and made in-jokes and did their usual things, whatever those happened to be.

  We sat. I hesitated. How should I start? Shouldn’t I have rehearsed this before now?

  Maddy finally made a frustrated noise. “In the immortal words Lois Lane would use: spill, you’re killing me here.”

  Fair enough.

  “So,” I said, “here’s the thing. I didn’t tell anyone about this. Not even my parents until I had to.”

  Maddy frowned. “Lois… you’re going to force me to start guessing. Did you commit a felony? Make out with Devin? Secretly fall in love with Boss Moxie over prison correspondence?”