“Leo, she means Leo.” Angeline tore the paper from Maxine’s hand and let it float to the floor. “Who’s only doing this to get back at me. But thanks for the vote of confidence, sis.”
Angeline looped her arm through Riley’s and led them down the hall.
“Absurd as ever,” Cat muttered under her breath, and yet she stood where she was, watching, until they disappeared into the girls’ bathroom. Together.
* * *
Cat leaned against the bulletin board, trying to pry loose the end of a roll of tape. The sauna that was her newsroom had dried it out to within an inch of its sticky life.
Angeline.
She cursed her sister as she attempted to spend her lunch period taping back together the sign-up sheet.
“Schwartz, nine o’clock,” a girl’s voice said.
Cat jerked her head up and looked in the wrong direction.
“The other way,” Emmie Hayes said.
“Oh, right.” Numbers had always tripped Cat up. As did instant recognition of spatial issues like left and right. It was a thing, a real thing; she’d googled it a couple of years ago. She couldn’t read a clock with hands until she was twelve—and still now preferred her digital. Gramps had tutored her by understanding she thought about things differently. He’d not only helped ensure she wouldn’t be held back again but had been the one to recognize writing might be a good fit.
Cat rotated her head and saw Principal Schwartz in a suit two sizes too big eyeing them from down the hall.
“Let me.” Emmie slid the sheet out from under Cat’s arm and pressed it against the bulletin board, matching up the two halves. “Look contemplative,” she whispered.
“Got it.” But Cat’s finger traveled on its own and bounced against the side of her leg.
Northwestern wouldn’t look kindly on a record that included her destroying school property. She wouldn’t have risked being here now if it weren’t for Ms. Lute stepping in as adviser to The Red and Blue as well as student council when no other teacher would. It certainly had nothing to do with protecting Angeline. She knew from experience that her sister wouldn’t protect her if the situation were reversed—unless there was something in it for her.
Emmie bugged her eyes at Cat. “Contemplative, not constipated.”
Cat scrunched her brows together, only relaxing them when a wide smile overtook Emmie’s petite face. She was shorter than Cat, with reddish-blonde hair that skirted her shoulders, a plain, business-y blouse, and ironed pants. Perfectly groomed like she’d followed every rule in the textbook given to female politicians, except for the red, white, and blue friendship bracelet on her wrist that had seen better days.
“So, why president?” Cat said casually as Principal Schwartz’s shiny dress shoes clicked against the tiles.
Emmie’s blue eyes brightened. “Change requires a top-down mandate, and so if one’s desire is to effect change, there’s no other option.”
“And you want to do that here? No easy task.”
“Neither was being so far ahead that I’ve all but secured valedictorian and hence early decision to Harvard. I’m prepared for difficulties. I also believe in the people. But you have to believe in yourself before you can expect others to follow suit.”
Principal Schwartz slowed to listen.
“Lunch,” Cat said to explain them being in the halls. His eyebrow lifted, and she realized he probably thought they were sneaking out to grab a slice from Frank’s Pizza across the street. The “no off-campus lunch” rule had been instituted a couple of years ago. She pulled a pen out of her back pocket and handed it to Emmie. “Make sure you fill in your grade.”
“Certainly,” Emmie said, though she cringed as she accepted the pen.
Principal Schwartz nodded his balding head at them as he continued down the hall.
“Where was I?” Emmie gave the pen back to Cat and squeezed hand sanitizer out of the container clipped to her backpack.
Cat tried not to take offense, but it was a pen, not elephant dung.
“Oh, yes, the people,” Emmie said. “I believe informed voters make the right decision. If there is fault, it lies with the candidates for not crafting their message in a way that engenders understanding.”
“Nice work, but he’s gone. You can stop now.” Cat once again turned her attention to the tape. “Thanks for covering by making up that speech.”
“I wasn’t making anything up.”
“So you actually . . . care?” A flicker of hope quickened Cat’s pulse. This was exactly the type of candidate who’d make a real story. The opposite of Angeline and Leo.
“Why else would I sign up?”
As they put the sheet back together, Cat wondered if Emmie stood a chance. Honors classes, track, debate team—Emmie wasn’t unliked, but she also wasn’t particularly liked either. She was a bit of a loner.
Like Cat would be this year without Stavros and Jen.
“Thanks again,” Cat said. “I’ll try to keep my sister’s claws off this for the rest of the week.”
“Can I count on your vote?” Emmie said.
Cat eyed her sister’s perfect cursive, signing the sheet like it were an autograph.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sis.”
“I should probably stay nonpartisan. Since I’m reporting on it,” Cat said. “Speaking of, are you up for an interview?”
* * *
The iMac wheezed its last breath, and the screen went black.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Cat cried to herself in the newsroom after school.
She slammed her hand on the table. Miraculously, the screen lit back up.
“Whatever your superpower is, I want it.” Ravi Tandon strolled into the newsroom, messenger bag slung across his chest, wearing the shorts he only traded for jeans when it snowed. And even that required a two-inch minimum.
“Ravi! I didn’t know you were coming.” Her relief almost matched that of seeing the iMac come back to life. “Did I miss your text back?”
“Nah, gave yours a like.”
“Oh, sure, right.” But a “like” to a yes-or-no question conveyed nothing. Was two more taps for a “yes” and one more for an identifiable “no” too much to ask?
“First issue on Tuesday?” Ravi dropped into the chair in front of the other large monitor in the room. “Anything special in mind this year?”