So Totally (26 page)

And all it took was one kid tripping to undo the moment.

The fall happened in super slow-mo. Not the kid’s fall. My fall.

The kid tripped. I saw it happen and instantly knew he would be my own downfall. Literally. Foster tried to spin around, so he made first contact, tripping on the boy’s skate and landing hard on his butt with me following right after. I thunked my knee hard, but Foster broke my fall. Unfortunately, he couldn’t also shield me from the couple right behind us, who both toppled and landed mostly on me.

Disengaging and getting upright proved to be a lot more awkward than even the falling. Being manhandled by Jimmy Foster at the skating rink used to happen two or three times a week. The difference was he used to do it on purpose so he didn’t apologize when he brushed against my breasts. This time, he blushed and stammered.

By the time we made it to the benches, we were both war weary and said very little while we unlaced the boots. We limped our way to the counter and then finally to the parking lot.

“Well, there’s my car,” I stated, even though it was obvious. “Where is yours?”

“I parked a block away so you wouldn’t spot me.”

It figures. “That’s right. I almost forgot to be upset about the spying part. Thanks for reminding me. Expect that I’ll be angry with you on Monday morning.”

Foster shrugged. “I always expect you’ll be angry at me on Monday mornings.”

He declined the offer of a ride to his car but offered to stay long enough to make sure mine started. As I limped away, I could tell he was staring at my ass by the burn.

Funny that rather than making me angry, it made me smile.

CHAPTER SIX

Mr. May

“I
JUST
got a blue slip to see Maple,” I told Tyler, who was on the other end of my cell phone call.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I have no idea. So we can talk more about my near panic attack later, I guess.”

“You just don’t want to talk about it all.”

“It was no big deal. I have to go.”

And it wasn’t a big deal. I just had a moment of panic that sorted itself out. Talking about it wasn’t going to change how I felt last night or how I felt in eighth grade. Stuff happens; move on.

The secretary was on the phone and waved me into the office. Ms. Maple, our vice-principal, rose from her seat when I entered her office. She’d stuffed herself into a lime green suit today. It went really well with her brassy red bun. I’d watched
Facts of Life
on Nick at Nite before. She was Mrs. Garrett’s evil twin.

“Miss Logan.”

“Ms. Maple.”

She indicated to a chair. “Please have a seat.” Which meant sit whether you want to or not. She didn’t waste time and started speaking as we both sat down. “I’ll get right to the point, Layney. The district is not happy with your little newspaper club causing so much trouble about the cell phone issue. The topic is already heated enough.”

My little newspaper club?
I leaned toward her over the desk. “Are you referring to the
journalists
of a highly regarded periodical asking questions? I don’t see how that is causing trouble, Miss Maple. I see that as students thinking critically, something your staff attempts to teach us every day.”

“I’ll remind you that there is no longer a ‘highly regarded periodical’ as you say. You are now participating in a campus club and will adhere to the directives of …” She paused briefly as she noticed a memo pad on her desk. Her eyes darted back to me quickly. “The directives of the administration, or we’ll shut you down.”

Nonchalantly—which, by the way, is very telling to bloodhounds like me—she palmed her memo pad and slid it closer to her side of the desk.

What was she going to do with it, and why didn’t she want me to see it? “Ms. Maple, my staff is not out to cause trouble. There is a legitimate story here. Not only do students deserve to know if their rights are being violated, but they also need to know if they are not. We are conducting interviews with key members of your staff as well as…” This time I paused. She ripped the top page of her memo pad off and folded it in her hand several times before pocketing it.
Interesting
. “As well as members of the governing body of the school. Your bosses, I guess you could say.”

She arched an eyebrow. I’m not afraid to give credit—she does it better than I do. “You are not conducting interviews. You’re conducting witch hunts.” She tucked the pad between a couple of folders and then folded her hands in front of her again. “Do you think we came about this decision lightly?”

No, but I did think she was hiding something from me. “Of course not. The paper will lay out the story in an unbiased way, I assure you.”

“There is no paper, Layney.”

“The
Follower
is not dead.” I stood. “We are coming back and we’ll be even better than before.”

“You have no print press. And don’t think you can use school materials to xerox your little newsletter, either.”

Getting angry would not help. In fact, that is probably what she wanted me to do. Then she could punish me and maybe even bury the
Follower
forever. The question remained—why? “There is such a thing as free speech still, isn’t there?”

Ms. Maple stood. “This isn’t a democracy. This is a high school. You’d best remember that if you want to keep your club on school grounds.”

I fished out my recorder. Luckily, I had one that didn’t double as my cell phone. “I’d like to make sure I understood you correctly, Ms. Maple. Is it okay if I record the rest of our conversation so that I can relay accurate information back to the other members of my little club?”

She glared at me. You’ll have to take my word for it because it won’t show up on the audio. I sat back down and turned my weapon on. If she wasn’t going to say no, I was going to assume she meant yes.

“Ms. Maple, is it true that you do not want the newspaper to cover the story regarding the recent student cell phone mandates because you feel the issue is too heated? Therefore, in your opinion, stifling an honest exchange of information will be better for the school board than full disclosure?”

“That is not what I said.”

“I see. So you
don’t
intend to shut down the
Follower
if we pursue our first-amendment right to free speech?”

She pursed her lips like a constipated fish. “If the newspaper club follows all the school rules regarding campus groups, then of course it is free to remain a school activity.”

I sent her my perky smile. The one that gives Foster hives. “Perhaps you’d like to give me an exclusive. Tell me—”

I was interrupted by her cell phone ringing. People would pay good money for this kind of irony.

“Do you need to get that?” I asked. “It’s okay if you do. We still have six weeks until November first.” She knit her brow in confusion. “I’m assuming that since the regulations came down because cellular devices were detracting from children’s education, that means all teachers and staff members will also have to abide by the rule, right?”

“I think you better get back to class, Ms. Logan.”

“Okey dokey.” I bounced off my seat and to the door. “Thanks for all your help with the story.”

For the rest of the day, I was distracted by the secret memo incident. She really didn’t want me to see that note, so of course I had to find a way get the goods.

After school, I skipped out of our newspaper meeting a little early. As I used my “cartoon classic-sneaky-walk”—you know, the one Shaggy and Scooby use when they are trying to hide from a ghost—I got almost all the way to Ms. Maple’s desk when I felt the hand on my shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I’ll admit, I also performed the “cartoon I-am-a-statue” move for a second. Then I realized it was Foster.

I pivoted toward him and shushed him. “I’m investigating if you must know,” I whispered.

“Investigating what? How did you get in here? Bobby pin or credit card?”

I held up a key. “I have friends in very low places.” He rolled his eyes, but I know he had to be impressed. I’d bet another date at the rink he only wished he had keys to the administrators’ offices.

The undeniable clip-clop of heels sounded in the hall, and my whole high school career flashed before my eyes. I’d gotten into a few scrapes over the years, but getting caught breaking and entering into the vice-principal’s office was going to be a little deeper of a cut. My panicked brain started me toward her desk, but Foster grabbed me and hauled me into her closet with him. The closet was good. Better than the behind-the-desk I was shooting for. Unless, of course, Ms. Maple had come back for her coat.

The pitch black of the closet didn’t exactly make me happy. I’m not claustrophobic or afraid of the dark, but I was actually glad I wasn’t alone, even if it was Foster with me.

We’d pointedly ignored each other most of the day, not wanting rehash the whole couples’-skate fiasco. We shared one brief moment during lunch when we caught each other wincing as we sat down in the newsroom, reminding us of our mutual roller-skating injuries. I offered to track down a doughnut pillow for him to sit on, and he offered me a box of tissue to stuff my bra with.

So things were pretty much back to normal.

Except for the fact that we were hiding in a dark closet. There were boxes or something on the floor to our right, so we had to mush together with me in front and both of us facing the same direction. We could hear Ms. Maple ratting around in her desk drawer for something while she talked on her cell.

“Oh there it is!” she exclaimed. She jabbered on, her voice getting closer and closer to our hiding spot. Foster and I both pushed back farther. We heard her hand on the door handle, so I squinted my eyes closed and turned my face into his chest.

We were so busted. And what the hell was that pushing into my backside?

My eyes popped open and I gasped. Foster covered my mouth with his hand. Just then, Ms. Maple said to her phone, “If my head weren’t attached I’d have left it here too. You are not going to believe what I just did. I almost looked in my closet for the coat I’m already wearing.” She laughed, and then her voice got quieter and the office door closed behind her.

The lock clicked and we both let out our breath. We spilled out of the closet and I swung around to confront him.

He flashed me the universal don’t-say-it hand sign. “Not a word.”

“I can’t believe you. You had a…a…a stiffy!”

He blushed furiously, reminding me he really was redheaded. “Look, I’m a guy. Your ass was touching my groin. Of course I’m going to pop a boner. It’s a natural reaction.”

“Yeah, but…” But what? He was right. I just assumed he’d be immune to that sort of reaction when it came to me.

“Can we just finish this secret mission now?” he asked. “Why are we here?”

“
We
are here because you were spying on me again.
I
am here because Ms. Maple was acting very suspicious during our meeting today. She is hiding something.” Striding to her desk, I plucked her memo pad from its hiding spot, vindicated that it was still there. “She didn’t want me to see whatever she had written on this pad.”

Foster joined me at the desk with a keychain flashlight, and I pulled a pencil from my pocket. Just like Nancy Drew, I rubbed the lead over the paper to reveal traces of the note left behind.

“B-i-k,” Foster read aloud. “I can’t make it out. What does that say?”

As the words revealed themselves, I dropped the pencil like it was hot. Ms. Maple wasn’t being blackmailed into enforcing the stupid phone rule. She wasn’t hiding the location of a secret treasure or dead body either. She was getting a bikini wax on Wednesday at four.

Personally, I could have gone my whole life without knowing Mrs. Garrett’s evil twin waxes.

“My stiffy is gone.”

I snorted when I laughed. “Do you suppose she gets a landing strip or the Elmer Fudd?”

“Could you never ask me that again?” He rubbed his face. “Are we done now?”

“Yeah. I think I have all the information I need.”

Since I knew Foster was coming anyway, I accepted his offer of a ride to my date. We did not speak of bikini lines or woodies on the way to Abby’s Diner. Though we did have an interesting conversation about fonts and typefaces. Well, it was interesting to us anyway.

Mr. May revealed himself to be Steven J. Morten—at least that was how he introduced himself to me as we met across the diner table. His handshake was firm, but his skin felt on the clammy side to me.

Other than that, his appearance was unremarkable. Not quite matured yet, he carried himself like a freshman maybe. His face still had that baby-soft look to it, and behind his glasses, his eyes seemed boyish. A nice change from the last date, who thought he was more man than he really was.

Abby’s Diner was a retro 50’s joint and famous for their pies. Steven and I both ordered peach ala mode which gave us a great conversation starter.

I offered, “Peach is my favorite.”

He replied, “I just got it because you did.”