“Us kids at Acedia are her guinea pigs,” our mystery (even to us!) source said. “Which, like, goes against her whole ‘save the cows’ thing, doesn’t it?”
However many cows may be saved by eating vegan bacon aside, the decision of what to consume and when must remain an individual choice, many students believe, same as our student council presidential hopeful Leo Torres.
Cows.
Cows.
“Bacon comes from pigs!” Cat tossed back the first page and read the second.
Hear Us: A Shrieking Violet Editorial
As if this whole thing weren’t an editorial?
Prom, bacon, what’s next?
The whispers tickling our ears tell of a planned live-streamed streaking event at homecoming that has the administration in hush-hush consideration of canceling the whole shindig.
Which makes us think . . .
Hmm . . . maybe we shouldn’t say.
But maybe we *could* say . . .
If you pinky-swear promise to keep it just between us?
You do?
Okay then.
Go.
We mean now. Bend those little pinkies, Acedia!
Good job.
Now then, in a race where one candidate’s saying “don’t” and one’s all about the “do,” who do you believe will save homecoming?
The one with the better hair?
Us too.
Yes, yes, we’d all rather be lounging around, hanging upside down in our trees, but sometimes you gotta get on those long-clawed foots and stand! Tip for ya, dearies, the hard thing about doing nothing’s that you never know when you’re done. So take it from us and do SOMETHING.
Rise up, Sloths!
Student council is yours because your students. You’ve got two things to do this semester: read The Shrieking Violet and vote (for Leo!)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
One, two, three, four . . . twenty-nine. Twenty-nine exclamation points?
Cat’s pulse nearly exploded out of her temples. She flipped through the stapled pages. No name. “Where did you get this?”
Riley shrugged and passed her bottle to Sonya, whose nose scrunched upon smelling it.
“You have to know where you got this,” Cat said. “It didn’t just materialize out of thin air.”
“Oh, I see,” Riley said, propping her phone in her lap.
“See what?”
“Nothing.” Riley leaned toward Sonya and whispered, “Attitude. Angeline’s totally right.”
Cat gripped the edges of the . . . the . . . what the hell was this? “Riley . . . can you . . .” Cat forced a breath. “Would you mind thinking about where this came from?”
“Stacks in the lunchroom. Didn’t you see?”
“I was in the newsroom.”
Riley used her phone’s camera app as a mirror as she wound her hair into a messy topknot. “Of course, all alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. Ravi was there.”
“Ravi?” Riley’s eyes widened. “The artsy dude? Angeline didn’t say anything about a Mr. Cat. About time. Plus he’s pretty cute in a dorky camp counselor way.”
Sonya frowned at Riley.
“He’s not dorky,” Cat said.
“Way to defend your man,” Riley said.
“He’s not my man,” Cat said quickly. “There’s no Mr. Cat.” Did she actually say “Mr. Cat”? “Lunchroom, that’s where this was?”
The bell rang, and Riley and Sonya finished stowing their clothes and bags. Cat hung back and pulled her phone out of her locker.
Cat: Have you seen The Shrieking Violet?
Grady: Seen and read. Hilarious.
Cat: It’s in the lunchroom?
Grady: Lunchroom, bathroom, locker room, hallway, where u been? Insta and Snap too. My bud texted me a pic before I snagged my own.
Grady: They’re eating it up. This is the kind of newspaper we should be doing, Chief.
This? This printed-on-a-home-printer, photocopied, error-riddled . . . thing.
Cat: If you think this is a newspaper, you haven’t been paying attention.
Cat shoved her phone in her locker and slammed the door shut.
Rumors, false statements, unnamed sources, inflammatory statements. This was no newspaper. This wasn’t journalism. It was such a mockery of everything Cat had ever been taught. And students were devouring it? Snapping photos and sharing it on Instagram?
No freakin’ way.
She crumpled The Shrieking Violet.
Those were her readers. She’d worked hard to get them. And they liked her paper. The town . . . the advertisers liked her paper.
But how could those same readers like this?
No, no, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t just inflammatory, it was outright lies. Something done by Baked Baker or Tad Marcus or someone selfish enough to not care about what they said and who it hurt. She wouldn’t let them. She’d find out who was responsible and have them stopped under the school honor code. Lying had strict consequences—it said so right in the student handbook.
Cat flung the wrinkled ball into the trash and marched past the row of lockers.
She paused inside the entrance to the gym and hurried back into the locker room. She pulled the pages out of the garbage and set them on the bench to be recycled later. She had standards.
14
When Angeline Becomes an App
15 DAYS TO THE ELECTION
Angeline’s arm throbbed from holding her phone at such an awkward angle. But if she didn’t, all her viewers would see she was filming alongside the outdoor track behind the school rather than in her room with her LED light wand that gave her videos their softer vibe.
“Hey, hey, that’s all for today, my angels!” She ignored the bored look on Maxine’s face. With all the time Angeline had been spending on the election, multitasking like this was the only option. “So the key fly-aways are to never mix a flowered print with plaid, listen when your BFF says you’ve been spending all your time locking lips with that new hottie, and never try to remove a pea from your little brother’s nostril without wearing a full hazard suit. Until next time, flutter your wings, my angels!”