No one remembered seeing someone in a green sweatshirt at Maxine’s party because that someone wasn’t a guest. That someone had been delivering a pizza.
Maxine: Looking for more.
Cat: I might have a lead.
Cat was grabbing her bag to go after the delivery guy when she heard a “Dude, missed you” from the hallway.
“Devon? What are you doing here?”
It sounded like Grady. Cat peered around the doorway to see him tugging at his dark curls.
“Delivery. And, dude, you ever wanna make some bank like you did this summer, you can be my runner again. Same deal. I drive, you pop in, we split the tips.”
“Uh, yeah, maybe.”
“I’ll text you.”
Cat’s heart beat double-time. Grady had worked at Frank’s Pizza?
He entered the newsroom, sweat dotting his upper lip that belied his nonchalant nod.
Grady? Grady?
He was tall, as tall as Tad Marcus.
His skin tone was light, like the hand in the photo.
He was a whiz with editing software.
But Grady, really?
Cat needed more. She breathed heavily as she exited the newsroom, rested her back against a locker, and called her sister.
“Just caught me,” Angeline said from behind the wheel of their hatchback. Cat moved farther down the hall for more privacy for their video chat. “I stopped by my P.O. box, and we were just about to head back out. Want me to swing by and pick you up?” Angeline set the phone in the holder on the dash, freeing her hands to open a package and extract something gold and shimmery.
Cat squinted at the screen. “Please tell me that’s not another bigger is better?”
“Okay.”
“Okay it is or it isn’t?”
“Okay I’m not telling you.”
Cat sighed. “Just don’t leave it in the back seat.”
Angeline peeked inside. “Certainly not. It needs the dark of a closet.”
Course it does. She refocused on the task at hand. “You helped Maxine clean up after her party, right?”
“Naturally, good friend that I am. Why?”
“Do you remember pizza boxes?”
“Loads. Frank’s. What’s this about?”
“Let’s just say I’ve got a hunch.”
Angeline’s eyebrow lifted. “Must be a good one. Touch base when you’re un-hunched?”
Cat nodded and hung up. She reentered the newsroom and attempted a casual smile, but Grady’s eyes barely darted to hers before shifting back to the computer. With trembling fingers, he punched in his password, and Cat committed the numbers to memory thanks to the skills Gramps had taught her years ago.
She worked and waited, said a “Sure” to Grady’s “See you tomorrow, Chief” when he pushed his chair in. Then she closed the door and logged in to Grady’s email.
Bo’s name, a few freshmen Cat recognized, his mom—a lot. She moved to his trash, the emails the system had yet to delete. In it was a receipt from PosterPrinters.com. A PDF proof, showing three images . . . one of each of the Frankengirls.
She heard the creak of the door, a gasp, and a “Cat?” in a whine she’d come to know—and like.
“I can explain, Chief,” Grady said. “It’s not what it looks like.”
A tightness gripped her chest. “Grady—”
“No, wait, just wait.” His glasses fell down his nose, and his eyes shone with guilt. “We needed a story—a big story. And I was reading your series from last year on all those pranks and started thinking. It was just supposed to be the one time and then . . . then you wouldn’t let me cover it, but I figured the next time, you’d see . . . you’d have to let me.”
He wanted to cover the big stories. And she wouldn’t let him.
Nellie Bly’s editors hadn’t let her cover the big stories either. Inventing one would have been a lot easier than ten days in an insane asylum. But truth mattered then. It mattered now. It would always matter. Without truth, people shouted past one another simply to be heard. Everyone became noise. And so they stopped listening. They stopped caring. Everyone was in everything only for themselves. That wasn’t the world Cat wanted to believe lay in her future.
“No. This isn’t on me, Grady. Your actions are your own. Same as the consequences for them.”
He protested the entire way, begging her not to say anything, and then, the closer they got to the principal’s office, to help spin it for him. A piece of her heart broke as she left him.
It looked like that peer jury system was going to have to kick into gear sooner than planned.
When Cat returned to the newsroom, she sat down, placed her fingers on her keyboard, and started to write.
Acedia Confronts Its Inner Sloth:
Controversy Surrounding Student Council Unprecedented in Charter School History
A SPECIAL REPORT
Part 6 of 6
The monthlong suspension of Grady Booker from Acedia Charter School marked the end of the Frankengirls and the first recommendation by the Acedia Peer Jury. The responsibility and accountability that had been missing previously was embraced by a student body finally pushed to its limit. Whether it was a move designed to steer clear of blame for the outcome or not, the administration’s decision to let the jury determine Booker’s fate allowed students to send a strong signal that they would not go easy on offenders, as one might assume.
“Why shouldn’t we decide?” said Goldberg, who is a member of the current jury. “This is our community. We feel the effects more than anyone. We know what’s actually hurting the school. And this did. It’s right up there with the vegan bacon. I mean, the way it impacted the election. Not the vegan bacon itself. There’s nothing wrong with vegan bacon. Some of my favorite foods are vegan. Eggs and cheese . . . Really? Those aren’t vegan?”
That sense of community was reinforced when a second protest brought students to the front lawn, this time in shades of gray.
“No way Slothy was leaving that roof, man,” Baker said. “Me and Jay Choi, we had the whole thing planned. They didn’t listen to us, we were gonna do that tree hugger thing and chain ourselves to him. Except we needed to find some chains. And a ladder. And fill a cooler because dudes gotta stay hydrated, right? So, yeah, had the whole thing planned. He commands that roof like a boss, and no one’s taking Slothy down.”