“Flashlight tag,” Ravi said. “Still time to play.”
“Oh, thanks, but I’ve got a deadline.”
“Ten thousand hours, right? Go for it, Cat.”
Angeline would have made a joke or scoffed at Cat for working at a party, if she paid her any attention at all. But Ravi acted like it was the most normal thing in the world to bring a computer to a beach bonfire, which she suddenly realized it wasn’t. She strained in the darkness to follow Ravi’s friends as they disappeared behind rocks and fire pits and paddleboards. Part of her wanted to hide right along with them. See what it felt like to be found.
“Another time, maybe?” she said.
“Definitely.” He smiled, and this time, Cat didn’t just notice that heart shape—she was looking for it.
* * *
Back at home, Cat put a pillow over her head to drown out Angeline, who was video chatting with Maxine. A wink, half wink, toothy grin, their inane debate over which smiley face emoji to put beside Angeline’s name in the voting app made Cat long for the days when she had her own room. She reached for her book on female journalists before remembering she’d let Emmie borrow it.
Before she overthought it, Cat grabbed her phone and sent Emmie a text.
Cat: Read any biographies yet?
Emmie immediately started writing back.
Emmie: Nellie Bly’s. What a total badass. After reporting on mental institutions and zoo cruelty, she travels the world alone? Just to prove a woman can do it?
Cat: 72 days, 6 minutes, just like Jules Verne’s character.
Emmie: Except she was real. Whose story should I read next?
Cat: Alice Allison Dunnigan. First black female correspondent to get White House credentials. President Eisenhower was so afraid of her tough questions that he avoided calling on her.
Emmie: Putting my bookmark in now. What are you doing? Studying?
As Angeline made her case for a monocle emoji, Cat replied.
Cat: Writing an article about the Frankengirls.
Emmie: Such a shame. Just like the candidates scooping up their cause and making it their own. Even if Angeline’s in them, she’s taking it too far.
Cat: Can I quote you on that?
Emmie: If you think it’ll help. I still believe in the election. At least I want to.
Cat: I know. My sister makes everything about herself.
Emmie: And how does that make you feel?
Cat: Spectacular .
Emmie: Not fun to talk about, totally get it.
Cat: It’s just how it is. How it’s always been.
Emmie: Makes me feel better that my dads decided I’d be an only child . . .
Cat: I can relate.
16
When Angeline Gets into a Scrap (or Two)
14 DAYS TO THE ELECTION
Suggestions, bitches!
A flowered tissue box with the words scrawled in permanent marker hung on the double doors to the cafeteria.
Leo’s response to Angeline’s Ask an Angel app. A campaign move. Just like the four dozen slices from Frank’s, all individually wrapped, stamped with “sample, not for sale” and his smiling face, that he’d handed out while standing on a chair in the cafeteria. Entirely indicative of his own brand, which, near as Angeline could tell, was mocking hers.
She knew it.
Could see what he was doing.
And why.
It didn’t make it feel like any less of a slap in the face.
Same as that last article of Cat’s.
She separated the braided straps of her tote bag ($99 with the 15 percent off Ask an Angel code!) and plunged her hand inside. She lifted the issues of The Red and Blue she’d been reading. What was up with Cat including that quote from Emmie? Scooping up the Frankengirls cause and making it their own? Angeline was giving them—she was giving everyone—a voice. Unlike Leo.
Angeline’s fingers curled around her phone. She unlocked and swiped to Instagram. Her last post had garnered her most follower engagement ever. See? A voice. People were touting her as an advocate for young women with her #MoreThanOurParts. Which honestly had never really been her brand.
She stiffened at the smiley face from tone-deaf Botox Wife and moved on to the rest of the comments. The female empowerment tags ran deep. If she kept this up, she could expand her base.
Angeline held up her phone to take a picture of Leo’s “suggestions box.” That “bitches” might have been plural, but it felt squared directly at her.
On the way to her locker, Angeline passed three Finding Nemo stuffies dangling from the ceiling, each being strangled by a straw. Her supporters’ response to Leo’s campaign platform. She smiled wide, keeping an eye on her comments until she heard two girls deep in conversation outside Ms. Lute’s classroom.
“I can’t afford two hundred and fifty for prom,” one of them said.
“Right? Ridic. Guess we better rise up.”
“Vote for Leo, then?”
“He does have a mom in politics. And that good hair. Seems like the right choice?”
What? Angeline whirled around, but the girls had already disappeared into the classroom. That was all rumor printed in The Shrieking Violet. And suddenly Angeline disliked the rival paper as much as Cat.
She turned back around and collided with someone’s chest.
Sammy.
Her breath caught in her throat. Sammy was less stocky than his brother, but the buzzed sides of his dark hair matched Leo’s. He trailed his hand through the long pieces on top that fell toward his ears as he fixed his brown eyes on Angeline. More intense than Leo’s in color and attitude.
“Sorry,” she said.