Circle of Silence

by Carol M. Tanzman

  “Hold on.” I grab his hand excitedly. “This could work out. After you meet them, you’ll know who they are. So it’s not like you have to go through with the rest of it. You can stop right there and report the story.”

  Jagger shakes his head. “Don’t count on it. MP is not dumb enough to blow it like that. They must have some way to interview me so I won’t find out who they are.”

  “Wish we could ask Taneisha.”

  “She didn’t talk the first time. If either of us goes to her now and she runs straight to MP, I’ll never hear from them again.”

  I nod. “So, you think that after they vote, someone tells you where to show up for the initiation?”

  Idly, he traces a circle on the back of my hand. I should pull away, but I can’t. My hand is frozen—and on fire at the same time.

  “That’s exactly how I think it goes down,” Jagger says. “All we have to do is document it.”

  “All we have to do? How about keeping you from ending up in a hospital?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  I wish I could burn the cockiness right out of his eyes. “You’ve got to take this seriously, Jags. MP reminds me of the twins. Jesse and James do much stupider stuff together than when they’re alone!”

  “I didn’t know you care so much.”

  “Don’t be a jerk. You know I do.”

  “I wasn’t sure….” With a slow, gentle touch, Jagger runs a finger down my cheek and across my lips. Then back again. My pulse quickens. I know what comes next.

  Get up, Val. Walk out of this room. Go right now—

  Some things never change. As soon as our lips come together, I melt into him. How does he do it? His kisses are so sweet, yet so very, very hot….

  22

  The next morning, Marci catches up to me at my locker. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  Jagger? The secret meetings? The kissing? How would she know—

  “Winter Formal. Don’t tell me you forgot!”

  “Oh! Well, yeah. I mean, with everything going on…” I hang my jacket on the metal hook. Forget? The fact that I’m supposed to go to the dance with Raul has been wiped from my memory bank. “How’d you find out?”

  “How do you think?” Marci pouts. “Raul told me the other day. I was waiting for you to say something, but there’s been sort of a deafening silence coming from your side of the friendship.”

  “Sorry, Marci. I didn’t want anyone on the team to know. So no one accuses me of, you know, favoritism.”

  “I’m not anyone!” Immediately, though, she brightens. “We’ll shop for dresses together. In the Village—hey, Raul!” She waves him over. He turns out of the slipstream of kids heading off to homeroom. “We were just talking about you.”

  He looks pleased. “Yeah?”

  Marci grins. “Val and I are going to shop for Winter Formal together.”

  “Cool!” He grins shyly. “Don’t forget to tell me the color, Val.”

  I manage a smile. What on earth should I do? Tell Raul that last night I fell into the Voorham Vortex, so forget you? That’s flat-out mean. But how am I supposed to pull off dancing with him? What if Raul tries to kiss me? After last night, Jagger’s touch is all I can think about.

  Best friends were invented to figure out stuff like this, but if I even hint that Jags and I might get back together, Marci will clobber me with her history book. And I wouldn’t blame her one bit.

  * * *

  Second bell announces the end of homeroom. Dashing into the Media Center, I settle at a computer and start editing quickly so I don’t have to talk to anyone. When I’m done, I play the get-well video card through. It’s terrible.

  “What’s terrible?”

  Startled, I glance at Raul, two stations down from mine. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. “The piece. It’s lame.”

  “Let me see.”

  Within ten seconds, Marci and Jagger gather around, too. At the final frame, Marci nudges me. “I think it’s sweet. All you need to do is write a good intro and find some music.”

  “Uh-uh.” Jagger gives us a gravelly look. “Camera angles are boring and repetitious.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carleton,” Raul says drily. “It just needs a bit of cutting. Like Marci said, the instant you lay in music, it’ll brighten right up.”

  Jagger shrugs. “You ask for truth, I give it to you. You don’t like it, it’s no skin off my nose.”

  “That’s your opinion,” Marci snaps. “Not every segment has to be heavy. I bet lots of people will love this.”

  Raul taps my shoulder. “I can help tighten it if you want.”

  Instead of snapping, “I’ll figure it out myself,” I take him up on the offer. Stupid to let my newly complicated personal life get in the way of the help I need.

  He smiles broadly. “Let me save the stuff on my computer. BRB.”

  Jagger checks to make sure no one’s looking before he winks.

  Just playing the game.

  I give him the briefest of nods. “You think you can find music that isn’t sickly sweet?”

  “Sure. Come over after school. We’ll figure it out.”

  * * *

  I never make it to his house. Jagger finds me after sixth period, walking glumly out of a bio test I’m sure I tanked. He pulls me into the stairwell.

  “Got the summons,” he whispers excitedly. “I’m supposed to meet MP after school.”

  “Today? Are you sure you—”

  “It’s just the ‘meet in person and decide if they want to let me in’ meeting, Val. I’m gonna be so charming they can’t say no. Then we’ll blow the lid right off their stupid club.” He grins. “Honest to God, I get why you love Campus News. This is way more exciting than figuring out the back beat of a song.”

  “It is.” I pull him close. “But I swear to God, if you let them talk you into doing anything dumb…”

  “Relax.” Jagger runs a hand along my spine. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I want to believe him, but it seems too good to be true. Break the MP story and be with a more honest Jagger? Does anyone ever have it all?

  23

  I’m at Starbucks, sitting in the back of the store where no one on the street can see me. I’ve been sipping a cup of hot chocolate for about an hour, anxiously waiting for word from Jagger. When my cell rings, I snatch it quick. “You okay?”

  A laugh. “Of course I’m okay.”

  “Raul? Sorry, I was expecting another call.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  Yes.

  “Ha. What’s up?” I ask.

  “You’re not going to believe the double bill at the Quad this weekend. All the President’s Men and Broadcast News.”

  “My two favorite movies. How’d you know?”

  “I figured. You want to go Friday night?”

  My cell clicks, signaling a second call. The fastest way to end the conversation is to take Raul up on the offer. “Friday’s good. See you at school tomorrow.”

  I switch over to Jagger. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m aliiiive.”

  “Don’t fool around. What happened?”

  “I got out about five minutes ago. You home? I’ll come over.”

  I didn’t want Bethany to figure out that Jagger and I are up to something, so I never went to the house. “I’m not home. Going there’s n
ot a good idea.”

  “Meet you at my place?” he asks.

  “No.” As much as I’d like to, I can’t do that. Not after just agreeing to go to the movies with Raul. “Not good, either.”

  “Too distracting?” Jagger laughs. “Okay. Tony’s is too popular. What about Burger ’n Bun? It’s on—”

  “I know where it is!” I take a breath. “Too close to WiHi. Someone from MP might be sitting on the next stool and we’d never know.”

  “Then it’s got to be the bridge. Half an hour.”

  It’s not until I hang up that I realize what I’ve agreed to. The Brooklyn Bridge is where Jagger took me on our very first date.

  * * *

  The pedestrian walkway that spans the bridge might be the most romantic spot in the world. It’s easy to imagine couples promising undying love while down below, boats sail, silent witnesses to the pact.

  Jagger puts his arm around me. “Warm enough?”

  God knows I want to snuggle into him, but I need to focus. Carefully, I slide a few inches to the right. “I’m good. Dying to know what happened. Who they are.”

  He shakes his head ruefully. “They wore masks.”

  “The whole time?”

  Jagger laughs. “Yep. They think they’re oh so scary. Frankenstein, Zombie, Skeletor—”

  “Who’s Skeletor?”

  “Masters of the Universe? Skeleton face, cape thing with a hood—”

  “Holy crap!”

  Jagger blinks. “What?”

  “I know him.” Jagger’s mouth falls open in astonishment. “I mean, not who he is. Some kid in a skeleton mask and hoodie tried to get me to dance at Omar’s party. Of course, it might not be the same person—”

  “What color was the hood?” Jagger asks.

  “Blue. Darker than sky-blue but not exactly navy.”

  “Letters or pictures?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Plain.”

  “So was the one he wore today. What’s his voice like?”

  “The music was so loud I could barely hear. Do you really think someone from MP tried to pick me up? That’s insane!”

  He gives me a look I can’t read. “Not so insane, Valerie.”

  “If that kid’s in MP, it was a goof. Getting off on me not knowing who he was.” I stare at the long strip of land that’s Brooklyn. “What happened next?”

  “I gave them exactly what they want.”

  “Which is?”

  He lightens his voice. “You’re so awesome. I really want to be in the group. I have lots of ideas for things we can do.”

  Before the meeting, he and I came up with a list of pranks in case that was part of the interview. “Did you give it up?”

  “Nah. I told them they have to let me into the club first. Like we planned. Dangle the carrot, let them grab for it.”

  “Did they?”

  “Oh yeah. Had them eating out of my hand by the time I left.”

  I snort. “So you say.”

  “You’ll see. I’ll get in.”

  Down below, a tugboat pushes an oiler. “How many are there?”

  “Five.”

  It’s killing me that I wasn’t with him. “Could you tell if there’s a leader? Someone they’re afraid of.”

  “Not sure. If I had to pick, I’d choose Skeletor. He was pretty quiet, but the others kept looking at him. As if trying to figure out what he was thinking.” Jagger shakes his head. “The hardest part was not laughing. They kept calling each other by their mask names. I’m supposed to choose one for myself if they vote me in. How dorky is that?”

  “Actually, it’s smart. The masks hide who they are.” Something tickles my brain. “Taneisha had a Masters of the Universe comic at the hospital. Wonder which character she chose.”

  “They never mentioned her or anyone else.”

  I poke him. “Did you pick a name? For when you’re initiated?”

  Jagger laughs. “You choose. What about Gollum from Lord of the Rings? Or the one all the girls think is hot. What’s his name?”

  “Legolas.”

  “Great! That’s who I’ll be.”

  “Egomaniac!” Laughing, he starts to protest, but I wave him off. “Seriously, we have to plan. They might give you fifteen minutes to get somewhere. That’s all I had to find the notes.”

  Jagger’s eyes are bright with anticipation. “You’ve got an idea, don’t you?”

  “Yes. But you have to promise to follow it.”

  Unexpectedly, he turns me so I have no choice but to look directly at him. “Valerie, please tell me last night wasn’t some freak accident. That you really do forgive me.”

  “I told you. I do. But what’s important right now is stopping MP. Let’s do that first, and then figure us out.”

  He grabs my scarf and pulls me close. “That’s exactly the reason I want to be with you. You’re the most driven person I know. Interesting, exciting…”

  I back away. “Now you’re making fun.”

  “I’m not! I mean it. And I’ll prove it to you, if you’ll let me.” He holds up his hand. “After we get the story.”

  With the wind ruffling his hair and bridge lights reflected in his eyes, Jagger’s a city sprite swearing undying allegiance. It’s heady, beyond anything I ever imagined—but we have to get back to business.

  I take a step away. “Here’s what I think we should do. Did you see that little camera some company donated to Mr. Carleton? He wants people to try it out….”

  The plans get made. When we’re done, I let Jags take my hand for the walk back. Just like he promised, he doesn’t push for more.

  I’m not sure if I’m relieved—or disappointed.

  24

  It’s weird. I find out when and where the initiation will take place before Jagger does. I wish it had to do with some awesome reporting on my part, but it doesn’t. The message is in my in-box late Thursday night. No time for the secret agent to play his annoying hide-and-seek game because it’s planned for the very next day.

  Flag Pole, little park by the river in Red Hook, 5 p.m. Friday.

  I know the place. From the Heights, the bus travels south through Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens before it crosses under the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. On the other side of the BQE, it’s a different world. Mostly warehouses and factories, mixed with blocks of identical brick buildings turned into low-income projects.

  It can be dangerous, especially at night. Some of the warehouses were converted into artist studios and lofts, although many are abandoned. A tiny park stands at the river’s edge. The East River empties into the ocean less than a mile away, so the wind goes arctic awfully quick. Once November hits, the park is empty.

  The perfect place for an MP initiation.

  * * *

  Jagger and I meet in the Media Center during lunch. The team’s latest broadcast aired earlier that day, so we don’t have a specific reason to be there. Mr. Carleton’s reading the paper, however, and isn’t paying attention.

  We slip into the control room and keep the lights off.

  “You’re sure the camera’s charged?” I ask nervously.

  The white camera is about the size of an iPod. A little thicker, maybe, but not by much. Jagger and I tested it yesterday. The images are clear—and the audio rocks. The small mic built into the cam picks up voices from across a room.

  “Positive,” he tells me. “Checked again last night.”

  “Go
od. I’ll get to the park by four and hang out in the garden. Watch it happen from behind a bunch of plants or something.”

  “Be careful,” Jagger says. “If anyone sees you, they’ll shut the whole thing down.”

  “Don’t worry. You be careful, too.”

  He smiles with the self-confidence that’s pure Jagger. “It’ll be fine. You’ve got your cell. If I do this—” he tugs his ear “—call 911. But only if I give the signal.”

  We’ve gone over and over this. I can tell he’s as excited as I am. If we really do pull this off, we’ll have the story of a lifetime.

  “Meet back at my house after it’s over and we’ll check the footage…together,” he whispers.

  That, too, has been arranged. We don’t want any MP dawdler to see us together.

  Jagger and I plan to rough-edit over the weekend and show it to the team on Monday. From my hiding place in the garden, I’ll set my still camera on zoom and photograph each MP member who shows up. Then we’ll intercut the pictures with whatever footage Jagger gets.

  “What do you think they’ll have you do?” I wonder.

  That, too, is a question I’ve asked incessantly. Jagger nibbles my ear. “We decided not to worry about it, remember?”

  I pull away. “Promise me one more time that you won’t do anything stupid.” Silence. “Jags?”

  He grins. “Only if you do something for me now.”

  It’s hard to suppress a smile. “And that is…”

  “One kiss. For good luck.”

  How can I say no? No one sees us. Nobody knows what we’re doing.

  * * *

  By the end of the day, I’m so focused on my part of the plan that I jump half out of my skin when someone taps my shoulder. “Sorry, Raul. Didn’t hear you behind me.”

  “Next time I’ll wear a bell.” He grabs my backpack as I stick my arms through my jacket. “Should I come by at seven?”

  “What?”

  His face falls. “Double bill at the Quad—”