There really should have been a warning sign on the door. A ribbon or a flashing light or maybe a tiny electric shock, something to alert them when Emmie was inside and Angeline was about to enter or the other way around. They’d both become fixtures in Cat’s newsroom since the completion of Operation Red, Blue, and Violet.
Today, thankfully, Angeline and Leo were just leaving as Emmie came in to grab the camera to take photos for her latest story. Angeline patted Cat’s shoulder, and Leo fist-bumped Ravi, whose artsy surfer soccer player vibe held its own against Leo. They looked good together, the four of them in front of the table with the ski pole leg, in the first and still only square on Cat’s Instagram. For now, it was the life she had and the one she wanted, and it was enough.
Emmie smiled softly as she tucked the camera in her backpack and left the newsroom.
Cat didn’t trust her. She wasn’t sure she ever would.
When Emmie had first come to Cat, asking to work on the paper, Cat’s gut had told her to say no. But Angeline had given Cat a second chance and vice versa. Was that only okay because they shared the same DNA? Or did everyone deserve a take two?
Angeline didn’t like Emmie working on the paper, but she’d supported Cat’s decision. Maybe because Angeline actually believed in second chances more than Cat.
She’d texted their dad. Cat wasn’t ready.
So now Emmie was a reporter, being schooled by Grady, whom Cat had promoted to assistant editor; he was in charge of all their social media accounts after he did a surprisingly stellar job reporting on the protest, live and in print. While Leo dug deep into every idea that reached Student Council 2.0, a name that had stuck no matter how much it made Angeline itch, Angeline had rebranded her #MoreThanOurParts to the less salacious and more empowering #MoreThan. And she was at Leo’s side when his mom nailed her interview with The Today Show and all but secured her congressional win.
Still Angeline found time to collaborate with Cat. Testing new online formats, like Instagram-style micro news stories and enhanced articles with links to source material so readers could see the evidence directly. Maybe journalists needed to meet readers halfway and evolve like the press had been doing since its inception. What better place for Cat to experiment than here, in this community she knew so well? And it had the makings of a kick-ass essay for her college applications.
Cat loved seeing the newsroom bustling again—no, not even again. With Angeline and Leo, Grady and Emmie, and Ravi— Ravi, who was at her side now, drawing letters on her forearm with his index finger, totally distracting her from the story she was editing—it was fuller than it had ever been.
This semester’s Fit to Print award was long gone, but they gave out another next semester. Cat wouldn’t be able to put it on her Northwestern application, but if she won, it wouldn’t just be hers, it’d be all of theirs.
Ravi treaded farther down Cat’s arm until the tip of his finger grazed the back of her hand. He flipped it over and traced.
“Uh, think I’m going to need that,” Cat said, goose bumps erupting under her skin.
“You’re so greedy. Seriously, isn’t two hands to type overkill?” He continued drawing. “I’ll stop when you guess right.”
She had so much to do: editing this article, writing her own, plus homework and cooking dinner because it was her mom’s photography class night, and yet this was a priority too. So she closed her eyes and concentrated.
“I’d love to go to Boston with you.” She faced him, seeing the book on female journalists of the modern era on the shelf behind him. He’d given it to her on their first date, remembering how she’d lingered on it during her first visit to Harbor Books. “Any exhibit you want.”
“Whoa, that was just Boston, question mark. The rest of that is wishful thinking.” He pressed his lips against hers. “Find me at the bookstore later? There’s a new beanbag chair that could use some serious breaking in.”
Cat’s temperature spiked. They’d been “testing” the chairs to find the most comfortable one each night as she helped him close. “Are you sure you can’t stay until the pizza arrives?”
“Mom’s got chauffeur duty for my sister and brother all afternoon. Bring me a slice.”
He walked out backward, and Cat inhaled, deep from the diaphragm, to steady herself.
She returned to Grady’s article on the peer jury system, which was the first thing Student Council 2.0 had acted on. It was scheduled to hold its introductory meeting before Thanksgiving break. She continued her edit until she came to the placeholder Grady had left for a comment from Principal Schwartz.
She texted him.
Cat: When are you coming back?
Grady: Mom’s dropping me off now. Sorry, ortho took forever.
Grady: Stupid retainers.
Cat set down her phone, and the smell of cheese and grease wafted into the newsroom. She turned, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose at the flash of green.
The green sweatshirt, worn by a guy holding a Frank’s Pizza box.
“Nine fifty,” he said.
But all Cat could concentrate on was the FRANK’S PIZZA written on the arm of his sweatshirt.
His lime-green sweatshirt.
“Right. Sure. Okay.” Cat fumbled for her wallet. This was the same guy she’d seen when she’d gone to Frank’s looking for the security camera footage. Except then he’d been wearing the wrong uniform. “You, uh, go to school here?”
“Not anymore. Graduated last year. But this is just a side gig. Once my gamer channel takes off, I’m sticking those cheese sticks to Frank.”
“Right. Sure.”
He left, but Cat’s mind stayed with him. With that lime-green sweatshirt. With the writing on it. Like they saw in Tad’s photo. Coincidence? Had to be.
Her phone buzzed with a text.
Maxine: Slothy is mine!
Cat: You got into the webcam?
Maxine: In and found this.
It was a photo, time-stamped around six in the morning on the day the Frankengirls photos appeared. Someone in a lime-green sweatshirt with the hood pulled low over their forehead, carrying a package from PosterPrinters.com. Cat couldn’t make out a face, but this time, the writing was clear. And exactly the same as the delivery guy’s.
Frank’s Pizza.