Front Page Face-Off (7 page)

Paige crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “I don't know, Delilah. Maybe you should check with Marcus and Renee.”

My jaw dropped as I marveled at the clever comeback—and the fact that it had come from Paige. “Huh. Okay.”

“Besides, Hot Stuff and the Angels aren't our enemies. They're our competition. Like Miss America.”

“Yes, but the contestants in beauty pageants don't try to destroy one another.”

Paige shook her head emphatically. “Not true. When I was in the Teen Dream competition, this horrible girl from Long Beach gave everyone ‘good luck' cookies that she said were fat free.” She paused for dramatic effect. “But they
weren't
.”

“Fascinating.” I shifted my backpack onto my shoulders. “I'll see you later.”

“Try some of that blush tonight.” She pantomimed with her hands. “But not too much or it'll clash with your
hair and make you look like Ronald McDonald.”

“Good-bye, Paige.”

“And make friends with a pair of tweezers!” she called after me. “You're
this
close to having a unibrow!”

I pushed through the feathers and found the door. The brain trusts guarding it were gone, but to my dismay, Marcus was leaning against the building. As he fell into step beside me, I was astounded by my new talent to attract all manner of evil.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“The Little Debbies gave me sanctuary, so you can't touch me,” I reminded him.

“I said ‘talk,' not fight.”

“Okay.” I pulled my cell out of my backpack and sent a text to Jenner. “So talk.”

“You owe me an apology.”

I snapped my phone shut and stared at him. “Not going to happen.”

Marcus's face reddened, and his eyebrows formed a V of anger. “I had to change schools because of you, and you won't even say ‘I'm sorry'?”

I frowned back. “
You're
the one who should apologize. To the entire school.”

“I only dunked, like, ten people!”

“Yes, but you intimidated
everyone
,” I said. “Kids were
terrified they might be next. The school counselor's schedule was booked solid for a month!”

Marcus's expression relaxed, and he looked a little pleased. “Really?”

I gave an exasperated groan. “Wrong answer. You should feel horrible for ruining people's lives!”

He stared at me, dumbfounded. “So should you. Instead, you're being welcomed into the popular crowd … all because of an article that made me look bad.”

“Actually”—I cleared my throat—“because of an article that made the
Little Debbies
look bad.”

“Whatever!” He waved his arms like a madman, a sign for me to start moving again.

“Good-bye.” I quickened my pace toward the main building, and he matched me, stride for stride.

“Who are you going to exploit next?” His voice was close enough to my ear to startle me. “I mean, that
is
your pledge task, right?”

I swallowed and fixed my gaze ahead. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He laughed, but it was mirthless. “I'll bet you don't. I'll also bet that whoever you're about to destroy doesn't deserve it.”

We reached the doors, and I jerked one of them open, pausing to look back at him. “Marcus, I'm sorry you did
something stupid and got caught at it, but I'll never be sorry I told everyone.” I was thankful to see Jenner waiting for me at one of the tables. “And since we talked about this now, I assume we won't have to talk tomorrow or ever again, so …
have a nice life.”

I nodded to Jenner, who scooped up an envelope sitting beside her and followed me down the hall.

“That's not really an apology!” called Marcus. “Crazy redhead!”

Jenner waited until we'd stepped off campus before saying, “I guess that's a ‘no' on the follow-up interview?”

I sighed, relaxing my shoulders until they were no longer up by my ears. “
He
actually came looking for
me
. To get an apology because he had to change schools.”

“Wow. Nothing like a little guilt before dinner.”

I took the envelope from her and folded the flap back. Inside were pictures of various members of Hot Stuff she'd nabbed from the journalism room.

“Marcus left because he couldn't live with what he did,” I said. “Not because of me.”

“Well, it was a
little
because of you.” As soon as she'd said the words, Jenner pointed to the envelope. “And before you smite me, remember that I busted my butt to run down here with these.”

“Okay, okay.” I pulled out the photos and flipped
through them slowly. Nothing jumped out at me. I hadn't really expected to see anything scandalous, but it would have been nice to see a picture of Katie shoplifting or kicking a puppy. “There's
nothing
unusual about Katie Glenn,” I said with a sigh.

“Oh, yeah.
Nothing
unusual.” Jenner leaned over my shoulder and smirked. “Unless you count her obsession with sea turtles, the fact that she only wears long-sleeve shirts, and her tendency to wander off mid-conversation.”

“She does that to you, too? I thought I was the only one who drove her to boredom.”

Jenner shook her head. “If you don't have a shell, you're lucky to get five minutes of her time.”

“Note to self,” I murmured. “Purchase turtle costume before talking to Katie.” I held up a picture of her at a basket-
ball game the previous school year. “Her hair was really short back then. Shorter than it is now.”

“Well, it
does
grow.”

I gave Jenner a withering glance. “That's not what I mean. She hasn't worn it that short ever since. Why not?”

Jenner shrugged. “Because she realized it made her look like a guy? Who knows.” She took the picture and fanned herself with it. “What exactly did
the Little Debbies ask you to do to Katie, anyway?” The disapproving tone I'd been waiting for finally worked its way into her voice.

“They want me to bring down her clique, which involves digging up dirt on her officers.”

“Oh.” Jenner's tone changed to one of surprise. “So, you're just writing an exposé
on another clique.”

I nodded. “Nothing's changed. I'm still the same girl doing the same things.”

Jenner nodded. “While wearing a hideous purple whistle.” She pointed to my neck and I blushed.

“It's supposed to be my personal security system.” I tucked the whistle under my shirt. “When I blow on it, mermaids swim to my rescue or something.”

“Not a bad idea, given your situation,” she said. “You should definitely wear it to the beach tonight.”

I stared at her as if she were speaking a different language. “The beach?”

Jenner gasped in mock surprise. “Don't tell me the Little Debbies aren't in the know!”

I pushed her. “Paige is allergic to seaweed, so she doesn't care about the beach. Why? What's happening there?”

“Twilight Surf.” Jenner leaned forward conspiratorially. “And rumor has it that a certain editor and his new girlfriend will be there
and
there may be a few sea turtles as well.”

“Really.” My fingers curled around the edges of the pictures. “How interesting.”

As I rummaged through my closet for Twilight Surf clothes, I gave serious thought to blowing my whistle. On the list of Little Debbie emergency situations, I was certain that fashion crises ranked somewhere between breakups and bad facials.

Even though I owned enough khaki to outfit a preppy army, my wardrobe suffered from a severe lack of sundresses, skirts, or anything remotely feminine. Nobody, in my opinion, would take a reporter in a halter top seriously.

After waffling between a dress with a lace collar and a skirt covered
in smiling ladybugs, I chose the lesser of the two embarrassments and slipped into the dress.

When I strolled into the kitchen, Major had his head buried in the refrigerator, so I tapped him on the shoulder.

“Bye, Major! I'll be back after dinner.”

I managed three steps toward the door before I heard him say, “Hold up there, Delilah.”

I scowled at the ceiling before turning around. “Yes?”

Major stood “at ease,” legs apart and arms folded behind his back. “You're wearing one of your old dresses.”

I glanced down as if noticing it for the first time. “Yes.”

“To the beach.”

My weight shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes.”

Major leaned forward and, in a voice barely above a whisper, asked, “Why?”

“Because …” My hands went to the lace collar, which now felt like a noose. “Most girls … I mean, this guy …”

From the look on Major's face, I knew there was no right answer.

“Delilah,” he said. “I don't like the idea of you changing yourself for
anybody
.” He frowned. “Especially if it means you'll be dressing like an urban pilgrim.”

“Pilgrims don't wear sneakers,” I pointed out.

Major turned me to face my bedroom. “Into your normal clothes, please.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was stepping onto a city bus with Jenner, wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt.

“You look nice,” she said. “That outfit is very you.”

“But it's the me Ben already knows,” I countered. “The simple Delilah who threw up in his living room. I want him to see a more sophisticated Delilah.”

Jenner blinked at me. “You're twelve. Sophisticated doesn't happen until college.”

I regarded my reflection in the bus window. “Ava's sophisticated.”

“Blah. Ava's an alien from the planet Pretentious.” She dug into her beach bag and pulled out a magazine and a pack of licorice.

“What's this about?” I took the magazine from her.

It was the same issue Paige had shown me the day before but with some of the pages marked by scraps of paper. “You
never
read these kinds of magazines.”

“My mom got me a subscription over the summer.” She snapped a licorice whip in half with her teeth. “And I found some articles that made me think of you.”

I flipped through the marked pages, reading the headlines.

peer pressure: the personality killer.

the good girl's guide to getting what you want.

squashing the jealousy bug.

I lowered the magazine and fixed Jenner with a steely gaze. “What a
thoughtful
friend you are.”

She sighed. “I'm just looking out for you.”

“No, you're pointing out what
you
think is wrong with me!” The bus driver glanced at us in the mirror, and I lowered my voice. “
None
of these articles apply. I mean, they're even more irrelevant than
this
.” I jabbed at an article entitled “The 411 on Flirting.”

“Fine.” Jenner focused all her attention on shredding her licorice into strands. “Sorry.”

Seeing the embarrassed look on her face, I wilted. “No, I'm sorry. You're just trying to help.”

She nodded. “I want you to beat Ava, but I don't want you to forget about the
real
reason you're doing it.”

I gave her a questioning look, and she rolled her eyes. “The
newspaper
!”

“Right! No, I won't,” I promised. “In fact, I'm going to interview Katie while I'm there and see if I can learn more about Hot Stuff.”

“Good!” She smiled and returned her attention to a novel that had a decapitated princess on the cover.

To humor Jenner, I decided to read one of the articles she'd marked for me … until my eyes were drawn to the opposite page blasting the 411 on flirting.

It was laid out like a comic strip, featuring a girl shooting
a heart-shaped arrow at a boy. They didn't look a thing like me or Ben—but that didn't stop me from making the comparison. When I glanced at the rules for flirting, they seemed simple and straightforward:

1. Be approachable. Flip that hair, show those pearly whites, and laugh it up. Guys love girls who know how to have fun.
   
2. Maintain eye contact. Guys want to know you're focused on them and
   only
   them.
   
3. Compliment, compliment, compliment!
   Flattery will get you everywhere.
   
4. Actions speak louder than words. Touch his arm and create that personal connection to let him know you're interested.
   
5. Be his mirror so that your body language matches his. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and, as we all know, flattery will get you everywhere.
   

Jenner bumped my elbow. “Come on. This is our stop.”

I closed the magazine before I reached the end of the comic, but I knew the girl had won the heart of the boy. And if a one-dimensional scribble could get what she was after, it couldn't be
that
difficult for me, could it?