Front Page Face-Off (11 page)

I felt sorry for Mrs. Bradford, who blushed and tugged on her shirt to smooth it, and for Ben, who looked as if he wanted to climb inside the cap of the marker dangling from his hand.

When I saw the expression on Ava's face, however, I had to work hard to transform my victorious smile into an apologetic one. “Sorry, Ava.”

“Good afternoon, everyone,” said the headmaster, smiling. “We need to have a little chat.”

T
hat
was wicked,” Jenner whispered in my ear as we walked out of the journalism room. “I think I actually saw smoke coming out of Ava's ears.”

I blew on my fingernails and shined them on my shirt. “All in a day's work.”

“I just feel bad for Ben and Mrs. Bradford. They must be totally embar-
rassed.”

I shook my head. “I told the headmaster
they
were the ones who wanted to make sure the article was okay.”

“Nice!” Jenner slapped me five.

Ben emerged from the class and threw an arm around my neck, giving me a squeeze. “Thank you for the save. I can't imagine the trouble we would've been in.”

I wished he could have stayed that close forever … or at least until college, but he pulled back when Ava strolled over.

“It was nothing.” I looked at Ava, summoning up my best expression of concern. “But what are you going to do for a debut article now? I mean, didn't you put all your hopes and dreams on that idea?”

“How sweet of you to worry.” Five sharp fingernails dug into my shoulder as Ava attempted to pulverize my collarbone in her grip.

I winced and wormed out from under her clutches. “Just keeping you in my thoughts,” I said. “You know, the way you did for me this morning.”

“And I will continue to think of you.” Ava smiled, but her upper lip curled back to reveal her canines. “As long as we share the same interests.”

Ava fixed her eyes on mine, and I returned the stare with a slight nod.

Ben studied our exchange curiously as Jenner crunched on her candy watch.

“Is something weird going on?” Ben whispered to her.

Jenner licked some of the sugar off her lips. “It's better if you don't know.”

“Well”—Ben cut through the tension between Ava and me—“good luck with the Swirlie Bandit interview, Delilah.” He fixed me with a serious expression. “You don't have to do this. The guy's a
stinking loser
.”

“She'll be fine.” Ava positioned herself between Ben and me. “Let's go find something you can wear to the social. I am sure Delilah needs to shop for her date as well.” She smirked, and I knew she imagined me
literally
shopping for a date.

She was in for a surprise … but then, so was Ben.

He waved as Ava dragged him down the hall by one hand, and it was all I could do not to yank on the other and pull him back to safety.

“See you guys later!” I yelled. He'd never catch the apology buried in it, but I couldn't very well blurt, “And stay away from toilets at the party!”

“You know Ava's going to get back at you,” said Jenner. “I've seen enough horror movies to spot the vengeful look in someone's eye.”

“I know, but I have the weekend to think about it. It's not like she'll try anything tomorrow night.” I walked to my locker and found a piece of ripped-out notebook paper stuffed in the slats.

“The Little Debbies are getting cheap with their stationery,” commented Jenner.

“It's from Marcus.” I unfolded the paper and sighed. “He wants to make sure nobody thinks we're ‘together,' so now he's going to meet me at the country club. Nice.”

I had no idea why I'd ever felt bad for him.

Jenner squeezed my shoulder. “Remember, it's only one evening of torture, and you'll have a great article from it.”

“Unless I have to spend the whole time keeping him and Ben from pummeling each other,” I said, sniffing the air. “And Paige, I can smell you from here. What do you want?”

Paige strolled around the corner, filing her nails. “Oh, were the two of you having a private conversation? I didn't hear
any
of it.” She pointed the file at me. “But
nice
that there are two guys willing to fight over you! Have you been wearing the new blush?”

“It's not that kind of fighting,” I told her. “And again, I ask, what do you want?”

She drew herself up a little taller and transitioned to Presidential Paige. “Two things. First, how are you coming on your pledge task?”

“Aaaand I'm out.” Jenner smiled apologetically. “Beach on Sunday?”

“I'll give you every grisly detail about the social,” I assured her.

Exasperated, Paige sighed loudly to remind me that I was sharing airspace with her.

“Later.” Jenner winked at me and scurried away.

I turned to Paige, feigning confusion. “Paige, when did you get here?”

“Ha-ha. Progress report. Now.”

“The pledge task is going fine,” I said. “I think something strange—something
big
—happened at Katie's old school. I'm going to visit next Monday and ask questions—maybe see if I can bump into Katie's old friends.”

Paige allowed the corners of her mouth to slip into a smile. “Clever, but the teachers here are going to notice you're missing.”

“I have a free period after lunch, and Jenner said she'd cover for me if I was late to class after that.”

“And how do you plan to get across town without a car?”

I shrugged. “Same as I always do. I'll take the bus.”

“Um … ew.” Paige shuddered and winced. “You actually take … the bus?”

“Ever since my chauffeur quit, I don't have a choice.”

“Funny.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Your plan is good. But I need more. I need proof that you're onto something.”

“You want proof?” Making sure the coast was clear, I walked to a locker across from mine and pulled out a piece of paper I'd folded into my pocket. “It's amazing what you can find on the Internet, you know?”

Paige took the paper and read the title. “Cracking combination locks.” She gasped and thrust the page back at me. “You're breaking and entering … and I'm an accomplice!”

“It's not breaking and entering unless Katie lives in here.” I rapped on the metallic door, then pressed my ear to it and looked at the paper. “Besides, I'm not taking anything. I'm just browsing.”

Paige cracked her gum, each snap emphasizing her disbelief. “Does Jennifer know you do this?”

“Her name's Jenner,” I said, “and if she knew all the things I do for investigative reporting, we probably wouldn't be best friends.” I turned the locker dial and listened for a click. “She has a problem with things that are slightly illegal.”

“So do I! Especially when ‘slightly illegal' sends you to the same jail as ‘regular illegal.'” Paige smoothed her hair. “And I'm too pretty to wear orange.”

I rolled my eyes. “We aren't going to jail. The worst that would happen is we'd get detention, but
I'd
take all the heat for it, anyway, so don't worry about it.” The locker finally rewarded me with a click, and I looked up at the dial. “Remember the number forty-two.”

“Forty-two, forty-two, forty-two.” She paced back and forth. “The answer to life, the universe, and everything.”

“Huh?” I spun the dial again and listened for a second click.

She waved me away. “My dad has it on one of his geeky T-shirts. Forty-two, forty-two, forty-two.”

Paige's words shattered my concentration. “Your dad wears T-shirts
and
he's a geek?” I'd assumed he spent his time on a yacht sipping champagne, not playing video games. “How did
you
turn out so different?”

She glared at me. “What's that supposed to mean? I'm smart. I got a perfect score on the
Seventeen
personality test.”

I rolled my eyes. “I mean geekdom is almost as genetic as freckles. I'm just surprised your dad doesn't rub off on you.”

Paige shrugged. “He probably doesn't have enough
time
to rub off. I only get to see him once a month.”

“Oh.” That hadn't been the answer I expected. “Sorry.”

“It's no big deal.” She smirked, as if an apology were
so
out of fashion. “Can you imagine all the lame things he'd make me do if he were around? He'd probably take me to dorky movies and have me help him shop for better clothes.” She laughed, but it sounded halfhearted and fake.

“Yeah.” I forced a laugh too and got back to work, searching for the next number in the combination and the end to the awkwardness.

Paige leaned against the locker next to Katie's. “He's not in prison.” The snotty tone had returned to her voice. “I know that's what you're thinking.”

I shook my head. “Prisoners can have visitors every week,
so I never thought that. Remember the number fifteen.” It wasn't the next number in the combination, but I could tell she needed a distraction.

Paige started chanting. “Forty-two, fifteen. Forty-two, fifteen. Forty-two … fine!” She stopped and turned to me, sighing deeply. “If you're going to make
such
a big deal of it, I'll tell you.”

For once, I actually wasn't curious for dirt on someone's private life. “Um … okay.”

“My dad left us, and my mom had a better lawyer, so she got full custody. She promised nothing would change, but she's so controlling.” Her nostrils flared with emotion. “The only time I get to see him is when I sneak out during her monthly garden club meeting.”

I'd found the last number to Katie's combination, but I didn't open the locker. I wasn't sure if it was worse to lose someone entirely, like I had, or to lose someone just enough to make it painful to see them again.

“Why don't you ask your mom to let you visit him?”

She rolled her eyes and snapped her gum. “Didn't you hear? I have absolutely
no
power over her.”

This from the girl who controlled one of the most influential groups of students at Brighton. Or maybe that was
why
she controlled them … because the rest of her life wasn't up to her.

Paige frowned and pointed at the locker. “Have you figured this out or do we need to call a locksmith?”

“Oh. Right.” I jerked on the lever and pulled the door open.

Katie's locker was surprisingly neat. The space had been sectioned off with colorful plastic shelves so that her textbooks rested on the bottom and her binders and personal effects lay across the middle. The top shelf, however, was a mystery.

“
What
is that?” Paige prodded at a red metallic ball, the only thing occupying the space. It was the size and shape of a grapefruit and had a nozzle mounted on top.

“Hair spray?” I suggested.

Paige shook her head. “Katie's hair doesn't look crunchy enough.”

“Perfume?”

“In a container like that?” She sniffed at me. “It's not like you'd know, anyway.”

I ignored her and chewed on my lip. “This might sound weird, but it kind of looks like a fire extinguisher. I'll search for it on the Internet when I get a chance.”

I took my cell phone out and snapped a picture of the container, then moved on to the middle shelf, leafing through the contents. “Her date book! What—” I looked back at Paige just as she raised a glass bottle and squirted
me with the contents, most of which found their way into my open mouth. “Ack!” I sputtered and gagged as the heady smell of perfume overwhelmed me. “You Chanel-ed me!”

“You weren't supposed to turn around,” said Paige, “and I would
never
waste Chanel. This is Pink Sugar. I use it on my gym sneakers.”

“I'm not allowed to wear perfume … or drink it!” I smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, making a face.

“Just tell your stepdad someone accidentally got you with it.” She took the date book from me and flipped to October. “Ha! She doesn't have the Woodcliff Pumpkin Romp in here
or
any Halloween parties planned. But … she does have
this
whole week marked off.”

Paige pointed at the first week of the month and frowned. Katie had drawn a line across the entire week, with the letters NFP written above it. “NFP … and on that Friday night there's a banquet.” Paige gasped. “NF. Do you know what that is?”

“Some sort of awareness group.” I wiped my face with the bottom of my shirt.

“No. Nouveau Fashion!” When I didn't cheer and wave pom-poms, Paige gave me a pained look. “They're one of the top designers on your fashion card. When was the last time you looked at it?”

“When I used it to scrape gum off my shoe. Listen, Katie said NFP was an awareness thing.”