The New Guy (21 page)

I hope that by fourth period, we can just get back to normal, but Mr. Wheeler’s anger is so palpable that even the freshmen know to slink in silently.

“I’ve already spoken to Jules,” Mr. Wheeler says, “but I’d like to say that I’m disappointed in all of you. I’m sure many of you had absolutely nothing to do with this article, but I’m also sure that many of you did. There’s no one in this room who should think that this is the type of story we should feel proud of publishing.”

“It’s gotten national media attention,” Marisa says. “Isn’t that good?”

Mr. Wheeler sighs. “For you, Marisa, I guess that it is. You’ve got something to put on your college applications next year. But for a school paper founded with intramural information and communication as goals, national media attention shouldn’t have really been what we were aiming for. Marisa, you won’t be writing any articles for two weeks. Jules will also
be suspended from her duties for that time, as will Carlos, as that layout work is clearly his.”

Mr. Wheeler shakes his head. “I wish I could discipline all of you, but obviously I can’t write and design this entire thing on my own for two weeks, so that’ll have to be it.”

The class moves on to normal topics, but it’s Mr. Wheeler collecting information, not me, and it’s Amanda working in the layout program, not Carlos. Marisa keeps raising her hand with story ideas and then very quickly putting it down. The three of us aren’t built to do nothing, and yet that’s all we’ll have for two weeks.

I don’t even attempt to walk to the cafeteria for lunch, but Em and Thatcher spot me on my way to the library and strong-arm me into walking with them. No one looks as severe as they did yesterday, though no one includes me in conversation either. All I want to do is write note upon note for Alex,
I love you
s and
I’m sorry
s and
I still want this weekend
s, but I can’t stand the thought of my words crumpled up again in his hands.

Em leans over and scribbles into my notebook.
Don’t worry, Jules—it’ll all blow over
, she writes, amid doodled curlicues of wind. I try glancing up at Sadie. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t look angry either. I decide to take it as a positive sign, because it’s all I really have. But after school, no one texts or
emails me, and lunch is exactly the same the next day, and the day after that. Maybe Em is right about the anger blowing over, but I worry everything else is here to stay.

On Friday, Natalie is seriously addressing the camera when TALON starts. I admit I’m jealous of her navy pin-striped blazer and the way her hair manages to be sleek and yet full of volume. I guess I might be jealous of less shallow aspects of Natalie too, like that she created this from nothing, and that people chose to follow her.

“Hello, TALON viewers. This week at Eagle Vista Academy, there were serious accusations made by the
Crest
against the validity of TALON’s success on VidLook, and possibly beyond. I’d like to address these accusations on behalf of the entire TALON staff.”

Natalie’s voice-over runs over screenshots of the comment sections of their VidLook page, as well as responses from journalists on Twitter to promise to check out TALON. There’s no direct proof that TALON didn’t doctor their numbers, but it seems extremely unlikely.

They’re exactly as successful as they claim to be. Natalie built herself something that works, and works well at that. I’m clinging to a crumbling empire past its glory days.

When Alex’s segment begins, I’m relieved that he looks like himself and not like the shell of his usual self who’s been
in classes and across the lunch table from me this week. He’s genuinely so good on camera. It’s not just that he’s cute (though of course he is) but he looks so comfortable, as if he was built just for this. In person, he’s just a boy—an attractive and funny boy—but he’d probably blend into the crowd if not for Chaos 4 All. On-screen, though, he has all the confidence and charisma in the world. I realize my opinion could be biased, but I also see how other students lean forward in their chairs, watching Alex closely.

Of course, maybe the extra attention this week is my fault.

“Today on Alex 4 All,” he says, and still grins like he’s in love with this reference. I’m proud of how strong he is for not being embarrassed, though I guess I have no right to pride anymore. “I’m on the set of
The Beautiful Scourge
with fellow E.V.A. student Sadie Sheraton-Hayes.”

The camera pans out, and Sadie is standing next to him. I stare at her—Sadie at her desk, that is, not on the screen—but she won’t make eye contact with me.

“Sadie,” I whisper, and then, “Sadie,” I say in my real voice when she doesn’t respond.

“Miss McAllister-Morgan, be quiet during the presentation,” Ms. Cannon says.

When Alex’s face popped up the first time TALON popped up, I didn’t think anything could feel worse.

This is definitely worse.

TALON ends, and I have to just sit there in my desk, next
to Sadie, as if I care about women’s history when all I care about, right now, is
our
history.

Sadie and I have fought before, of course. Neither of us remembers it very well, but apparently when we were four, we had some heated battles about which Powerpuff Girl was the best (for me it was always Blossom, and for Sadie it was Buttercup). In fourth grade my feelings got hurt because Sadie got invited to Shauna Weber’s birthday skating party and I didn’t, and then in sixth grade Sadie acted strangely threatened when I got my period before she’d gotten hers.

All of that was kid stuff, though. Literally.

This is something new. I’ve known for a while that our talking-every-day best-friend-ship had the expiration date of going off to college, but with me busy in Providence and her in Manhattan, we’d have other stuff to keep us occupied from missing each other. We’d see each other at Thanksgiving for the annual Sheraton-Hayes/McAllister-Morgan meal, and over Christmas breaks. We would have been fine.

But now I have to see her constantly, and she’s already gone.

I’ve somehow managed to make it this long without telling my parents about, well,
anything
that’s going on, but I’m never going to make it through the weekend. During dinner I try
bringing it up about a hundred times, but I can never fully form the words. Before I know it, the dishwasher is loaded and my parents are getting ready to watch TV.

I take a seat across from them before they have a chance to start watching whatever show’s on tonight about solving crimes with forensic evidence.

“I have to talk to you guys,” I say, and then something dawns on me. “Wait, has Mr. Wheeler already told you?”

“Told us what?” Darcy asks.

“There was a story in the
Crest
,” I say. “About Alex.”

“What about Alex?” Mom asks.

“We broke up again,” I say. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

“Well, honey, it isn’t that we don’t care,” Mom says, “because of course we do. But you really don’t have to apologize. We’ve been seventeen. My senior year boyfriend—”

“Matt Hale?” I ask.

“Matt was sophomore year. Junior year was… oh my god. Darce, do you remember who I went out with junior year? Oh, but, right, senior year was when Paul and I broke up at least three times.” Mom smiles. “And obviously Darcy had a lot of breakups to manage to date so many—”

“This is serious,” I say.

“We’re sorry,” Darcy says, though she’s still smiling as she rests her chin on Mom’s shoulder. “What happened with the
Crest
?”

I explain the full situation, from when it came up at an
after-school meeting to Marisa’s email, to the things Alex had said about Chaos 4 All to my decision made with Mr. Wheeler far away. I try to rush through it, because like with horror movies, the scariest parts are when everything’s moving slowly.

“I’m so sorry.” I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “I didn’t mean to destroy the reputation of a one-hundred-and-four-year-old tradition.”

“I can’t believe that’s the worst article the paper has had in one hundred and four years,” Darcy says.

I take a deep breath. “Also Sadie’s really mad at me for the article, and I guess even more so for not telling her about being back together with Alex. And… maybe she was already mad at me for being a terrible friend.”

“You aren’t a terrible friend,” Mom says very quickly.

“Maybe I am.” I have to wipe my eyes on my other sleeve because the first one’s already all wet. “I disappointed everyone.”

“Honey, not everyone,” Mom says. “Obviously Joe wasn’t happy, and clearly Alex… but people screw up.”

“I’m not supposed to let you down,” I say.

“We’re not let down,” Darcy says. “And best friends fight. Sadie will be fine soon. Why are you still crying?”

“Don’t make her defend herself for crying,” Mom says. “Is there more going on, Jules?”

Darcy gets up from the sofa and crowds into the chair with me. “I know you’re feeling a lot of pressure now, with your
admission status hanging out there. But you’ve worked so hard. No matter what Brown says, you should be really proud of yourself.”

“Right now the last thing I should be is proud.” I lean my head against her. “I wanted to make it all worth it for you guys, and right now I haven’t, at all.”

“You wanted to make what worth it?” Mom asks.

“
Me.
I know you had to spend a lot of money for me to exist.”

They do the thing where they exchange a look I can’t decode. Being together for thirty years gives you communication superpowers.

“Julia McAllister-Morgan,” Darcy says with a sigh. “We weren’t in need of some return on our investment.”

Mom gets up, and I’m afraid she’s going to attempt a third person in this chair meant for one. Luckily she sits down in front of us and takes my hands. I wait to hear how they love me no matter what.

“When I was seventeen, I just wanted to get stoned and hang out with the drama kids,” she says. “And Darcy—”

“I know, I know, dated twenty-five girls.”

“I would
not
say ‘dated,’ and I’d definitely not say ‘
twenty-five
,’” Darcy says. “But you get the gist. You are definitely the most together anyone in the immediate family’s been at seventeen.”

“You told Paige and Ryan you couldn’t have another kid because it was too expensive.”

“Honey…” Mom laughs. “That has nothing to do with how you were conceived. You’re in your thirteenth year of private school, after two years of private preschool. You’re planning on attending
an Ivy League school
.”

“Kids are really expensive,” Darcy says. “And our life is great. We didn’t want to mess it up with dividing our time and money more. Of course we could have made it work if we wanted to.”

“Do you promise?” I ask.

“We also say that to Paige and Ryan about anything we don’t want to do,” Darcy says. “Haven’t you figured that out? It always shuts them up.”

“They never stop otherwise,” Mom says. “We’ve gotten out of so many things by claiming poverty.”

“Anyway, you’re my favorite thing we’ve spent money on,” Darcy says. “Well, you or the espresso machine.”