The New Guy (15 page)

As usual, on Monday I’m the one to open the boxes of fresh copies of the
Crest
. This is one of my favorite parts of the week.

But as I’m flipping through, I see something unfamiliar. “There’s a printing error! Check all the copies! I repeat, check all the copies!”

“Jules, calm down for a moment.” Mr. Wheeler walks up behind me and takes another copy. “Everything looks fine to me.”

“That’s not a printing error,” Carlos says while looking over my shoulder. “That’s layout tampering.”

“But we saw the proofs on Friday! We approved them on Friday! They were fine on Friday!”

“Jules,
please
.”

Ms. Wang, who teaches creative writing in the next classroom, leans into the room. “Is everything okay in here? We heard a lot of yelling.”

“Things are fine,” Mr. Wheeler says as other staff members
crowd around me. The headline to the guest post for the week isn’t “Why I Love the E.V.A. Library,” which is what we approved for the issue, but “New Media Is Our Future.”

And the guest writer’s photo is Natalie’s incredibly sleek head shot.

I have two questions immediately: First, how did this get into the paper, and, second, do I need head shots?

“We didn’t approve this,” I say. “This was supposed to be that piece on the library.”

“Natalie’s such a good writer,” Marisa says, softly, but I hear her. After scanning the first few sentences of the piece, I can’t deny this truth, though of course that isn’t the point.

“Oh, geez,” Mr. Wheeler says, because apparently it’s taken him a bit longer than the rest of us to realize this is TALON’s doing. “Could you guys all knock this off? I thought we were past this.”

“We didn’t do anything!” I say.

“Yelling, Jules,” Thatcher says softly.

I adjust my tone. “Mr. Wheeler, this was their doing and not ours. Obviously. We wouldn’t disgrace our own paper with their biased viewpoint.”

“Well…” Mr. Wheeler looks over Natalie’s article. “It’s a good essay. No one sneaked in anything about butts, ha-ha! Don’t worry about it, guys.”

“How did they even do this?” Carlos asks.

“They must know someone at the printers,” Thatcher says. “They’ve got a man on the inside.”

A whimpering sound erupts from somewhere in the crowd.

“
You?
” Amanda shrieks.

“I’m sorry,” Tessa says through tears. “I’m so sorry. Natalie promised me—”

“What?” I ask. “What did she promise?”

Tessa’s now crying so hard she can’t answer. Amanda talks to her quietly for a few moments.

“Natalie said she’d do everything in her power to get Tessa on air next year,” Amanda says. “And also you never published her eagle essay or pushed to have the school adopt a real live eagle.”

“That was
never
going to happen!”

“Anyway,” Amanda continues, “Tessa got the files to someone at TALON. And they overrode what was in the system somehow.”

“Well, it’s not that locked down of a system,” Mr. Wheeler says, very casually if you ask me. “Let’s get to work. Tessa, why don’t you take a break and join us when you’re feeling up for it.”

“We need to discuss this further,” I say. “Including disciplinary actions—”

“Jules, that’s for me to deal with,” Mr. Wheeler says. “For now, let’s worry about next week’s issue.”

We begin outlining the next issue instead of dealing with the situation. Once the bell rings, the freshmen minus Tessa head out to distribute the paper, and the rest of us wait for the pizza to show up. Mr. Wheeler calls me over to his desk, a
few feet away from the rest of the staff, and I work on keeping my face set in a non-panicked expression.

“What do you need?” I ask.

“Jules, one reason I selected you as editor this year is your leadership ability,” he says. “The other students, especially the freshmen and sophomores, really look up to you in this room. So I need you to calm down and keep things in perspective, okay?”

“Keep things in perspective?”
I pause and lower my voice because now people are looking. “Mr. Wheeler, Natalie bribed a staffer and sneaked unauthorized material into our publication. I don’t think I’m angry enough.”

“Jules, you’re plenty angry,” he says. “These guys wouldn’t be so riled up if you took it down a notch or two. That’s all I’m asking. Be a good role model.”

“Mr. Wheeler, I think that someone who cares passionately
is
a good role model.”

He sighs. “There’s a line between caring passionately and maybe going a little too far. Can you think hard about what side of the line you’re on?”

I feel that we have very different feelings about this figurative line, so I don’t say anything. The last thing I need is for him to report in again to Darcy and Mom about how I’m taking this too seriously. So I manage a smile.

The intercom buzzes. “Mr. Wheeler, your pizzas have arrived. We’ve sent them down to your classroom.”

“Jules?” Mr. Wheeler says. “Everything understood?”

“I, um, I hate to bother you,” I say, which isn’t true but feels like the polite way to check in. “But you said you’d write a letter of—”

“
Yes
,” he says as the pizzas arrive. I’m afraid he’ll forget we’re in the middle of this conversation, but after he pays the delivery people, he grabs a slice of pizza and sits back at his desk facing me.

“Jules, I’m happy to write your letter of recommendation, and I’m working on it. I promise I’ll send it in time. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I’m trying to get into Brown,” I say. “I have
everything
to worry about.”

He chuckles. “Jules, you stress me out on your behalf. Go get a piece of pizza, okay? This is your senior year. You’re supposed to have fun.”

“That’s not what your senior year is for; I can have fun later,” I say. “I will get a piece of pizza, though.”

There’s a note in my locker before last period. Handwriting is so much more personal than words on a screen.

Since you missed lunch, can we hang out later?

I manage to smile at him when I walk into American lit. Sadie’s not in the room yet, so it feels safe to have just a moment.

“Yes?” he asks.

I have homework, of course, but I find myself making a
tiny nod, just as Sadie walks in. I take my seat as if the conversation never happened. Sadie and I have actually barely talked today, as she arrived in women’s history right as the bell rang, and I was in Mr. Wheeler’s room during lunch. All of that’s normal for a Monday, but after Saturday I’m not sure if everything is okay.

“I’m sorry about my phone,” I say, though I’ve read multiple times that you shouldn’t remind people of your past failings by apologizing too frequently or even at all.

“It’s fine,” Sadie says without looking at me.

“I was irresponsible with charging,” I say.

“Phone-charging responsibility is very important, Jules. Everyone knows that.” She takes her usual seat next to me, though there still isn’t much eye contact. “Did you see Deadline today?”

“I don’t really keep up with Hollywood news during class,” I say. “So, no. Why?”

“Guess who’s in that new movie trilogy based on those dragon books?”

“I have no idea.”

“
My mom.
My mom has a job again! She’ll be getting out of the house! She’s even going on location for a few weeks.”

“Congratulations?”

“My life will be so much easier, trust me.”

“Your mom’s great,” I say.

“Great, but a lot to deal with,” she says. “And I keep telling you that.”

“I just know your parents really well,” I say. “That’s all.”

Sadie sighs. “Probably not as well as I do.”

Alex leans forward in his desk as Mr. Wheeler begins his
observing the classroom
attendance taking. “Have you guys read those dragon books? They’re actually pretty good.”

“Alex, you know you don’t get to be in our private conversations anymore,” Sadie says to him, and I realize that for a few moments it slipped my mind to pretend to hate him.

Alex glances back and forth between Sadie and me, and I try to explain with a look that Sadie doesn’t know. Shouldn’t he
just know
, though?

After school I drive to Alex’s and wait, parked on his block, for his mom to bring him home. There’s something about waiting in a parked car that reminds me of illicit affairs, and I wonder if what’s going on counts as an affair. Am I having one? It might at least count as illicit.

Alex walks up to the car and knocks on my window.

“Hi,” I say, letting him into the car. He leans in and presses his lips to mine, and in this moment I feel the whole day we couldn’t share with each other. “I can’t believe you tried to talk to us in American lit.”

“I got distracted,” he says.

I laugh. “By dragon books?”

Alex sets his hand on my bare knee and squeezes just a little. “By your skirt. And also dragon books. But… also I figured that Sadie knew. Aren’t you guys best friends? I thought you told each other everything.”

“Alex, we’re at war,” I say. “If anyone knew… I thought you understood that.”

He’s silent a moment, but then he laughs. “I missed all your declarations.”

I feel special that there are things about me someone could miss, and not just someone.
Alex.

“I have to go take care of the dogs,” I say. “And I have to start dinner at some point. Is that okay? Is this the most boring way to hang out? I realize I’m not cool.”

“I’m having fun,” he says. “And, Jules, you get that I’m not cool either, right?”

“You have residual manufactured cool,” I say with a smile.

“I’ll take that.” He sits back in his seat and buckles his seat belt. “We need to walk the dogs, yeah?”

The dogs can clearly barely believe it that Alex is at the house; they circle him frantically, and after a quick sniff in my direction, they’re back to basically assaulting him with affection. We leash them up and take off from the house down High Crest Avenue. I know it’s pretty public, and therefore risky to be out in my own neighborhood with Alex, but I think danger is unlikely off the main streets.

“Did you get both of these guys at the shelter?” Alex asks me.

“Daisy we did, two years ago,” I reply. “The shelter wasn’t there when we got Peanut, which was when I was in fifth grade. We had another dog then, Rochester, who my moms got before I was born. But he was getting really old by then, and I think they knew we wouldn’t have him for much longer.”

“Oh, man,” Alex says. “Now I’m really sad for fifth-grade Jules.”

I smile at him. “She got through it. Clearly. Anyway, we were at this farmers’ market to get fruits and veggies for the week, and a rescue group was there, and I fell in love with Peanut, and Mom and Darcy adopted him on the spot.”

“Were people ever weird to you?” he asks. “Having two moms? Not that it’s okay if they were, or that I assume it—”

“Alex, I know.” I place my hand on his forearm for just a moment. “In general it hasn’t been an issue. When I was little, I didn’t know I should have to worry that people wouldn’t be okay with it. I remember being in kindergarten and first grade, and when people said it was impossible I had two moms and no dad, I thought they were crazy. I mean, how could it be impossible? That was my life!”

A car passes us, and then stops. It doesn’t park; it just pulls to a stop right there on La Loma Road. It’s as this happens that I remember Thatcher and I discussing once how we don’t live that far from one another. Of course we’ve never been to each other’s houses, but I did have this knowledge.

I wonder if my brain conveniently let go of this knowledge earlier because it wanted this afternoon with Alex. It wanted a long walk in the afternoon sunshine.

Actually, that doesn’t sound like my brain at all. I worry other parts of my body might be at play here.

“So, hey,” Thatcher says, getting out of his old VW Golf. “What’s up, guys?”

“Stray Rescue,” I say quickly. “These dogs need homes.”

“Jules, those are your dogs,” he says. “They’re wearing designer collars, and you have photos of them all over.”

“I really like that Jules is a bad liar,” Alex—the traitor—says. And then
he laughs
.

And
then
Thatcher
joins in
.

“Stop it, you… you boys,” I say. “Thatcher, please don’t tell anyone. I’d be the laughingstock of my entire staff.”

“Whoa,” Alex says. “That makes me feel great.”

“I couldn’t care less about… whatever
dog-walking
situation this is,” Thatcher says. “I don’t think anyone else would either.”

“You know what I’m saying. You would too! No one would respect us anymore, Thatcher, and you know it. Maybe you would, because you’re so terminally chill, but that’s it.”

“Okay, whatever,” Thatcher says. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone, right?” I ask. “Like Em? Especially Em—oh my god, no, telling Carlos would probably be worse. But Em could tell Sadie and—”

“I’m not going to tell
anyone
,” Thatcher says. “But, seriously, no one would care.”

He gets back into his car and drives off. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, hoping that my heart rate returns to normal.