ELI WALKED FAST, AND DIDN’T POINT out anything of interest. His tour kind of sucked.
I said, “I’ve never heard of a student guide before. What’s that about?”
“We get a lot of new kids,” Eli said as we made what felt like a random turn. “There’s an army base between us and the next city. Whenever new soldiers get stationed there, their kids will either go to Portside High or here. It happens so much the school started assigning people to show the transfers around. You an army brat?”
“Naw,” I said. It was all I said.
We stopped at a solitary door on a hallway where the ceiling lights flickered more than they actually lit. Eli said, “Here it is.”
“Here what is?”
“The most important room in the school.”
“Unless this is a secret entrance to the girls’ locker room, I call BS.”
He frowned, produced a key ring, and granted us entrance.
I wrinkled my nose. “The most important room in the school smells like mildew.”
“That is the smell of current events. Welcome to the J-Room.”
He paused, waiting for my reaction. No, he didn’t have to explain what the J stood for. I said, “Journalism.”
My student guide was a newspaper nerd.
The J-Room was the size of a large walk-in closet. Maybe. Enough space for one window, a couple of desks—the biggest propped up by two books because the front legs were too short—an ancient Apple computer, and a dot matrix printer. There wasn’t room for a bookshelf so all the reference volumes were arranged along the far wall in teetering stacks, some as high as my belt buckle.
Eli said, “I know it’s not much. But we’re doing some powerful things.”
“We? You have a staff?”
“Not exactly.” He rounded the largest desk, set his camera aside, and unlocked the bottom drawer, retrieving a laptop. Sci-fi decals—Star Wars and Legend of Korra and Fringe—adorned it, along with a large, blue crown decal that I assumed was his Lord of the Rings battle crest or something equally geeky.
He continued, “The Rebel Yell is more of a solo operation at the moment.”
“The what?”
“We’re the Stepton Rebels—our mascot. The paper is the Rebel Yell.”
“Like, from the Civil War?” I didn’t remember a lot of history, but I did remember that little skirmish. First a beat down from Zach Lynch, now a newspaper in the tradition of the Confederacy. We’d probably eat lunch in the Ku Klux Kafé.
“I know. Not very PC. I’ve lobbied to change the name, but you know how they are about their traditions here in the South.”
They. Not we. At least he recognized that the rebels his paper was named after probably wouldn’t have much more love for a Latino kid than they would for me.
“I’ve been recruiting new talent,” he said, not casually, while waiting for his machine to boot.
I bit. “How’s that going?”
“You tell me.”
That’s what this tour and the “I’m a man with significant influence” stuff was about.
I ran my finger across the old Macintosh and took off about eight years of dust. “I don’t know if this is really my thing.”
He got twitchy. “Sure. Okay.”
I probably should’ve left then. It would’ve been better for me in the long run. But where was I supposed to go? My next class? Next fight? Or the next town? I’d been doing that for three years. I was sick of next. “Let me think about it. I’m still getting used to things around here.”
Eli’s expression didn’t brighten, but shifted to an I’ve-heard-that-one-before kind of bland.
“It’s cool, man.” His focus shifted to his glowing laptop screen. “I’ve got some important stuff to work on, so . . .”
I looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the document header. “What’s Whispertown?”
Eli snapped the laptop shut. “That’s staff business.”
“Of which I’m not a part.”
“I just mean it’s boring. Really boring.”
“It’s not a good idea to tell your recruits how dull the work is.”
“Fine, not boring.”
“Let me see.” I moved in closer.
Eli leaned forward, curling his arm around the computer the way smart kids hunch over test papers to ward off cheaters.
“Bro, chill. I’m not going to take your stuff.”
He relaxed. Or tried to look like he was relaxing. “I know, I just . . . I lied, okay?”
“Depends on what you lied about.”
“Whispertown isn’t boring at all. It’s pretty big-time.”
Sure it was. The prom theme, or the title of the school musical. “So if I sign up as part of your staff, then I get full access. Is that how it is?”
“Don’t take it the wrong way. I can’t show Whispertown to anyone until I’m absolutely sure. I’m almost there, too. I just need to confirm some things. Okay?”
He’d misunderstood my last question, at least the feelings behind it. I wasn’t mad. Who understood secrets better than me? But he really didn’t want me to walk away from this newspaper thing. I saw an opportunity. “The whole secret-story angle . . . that’s how you sell a job. Makes it sound cool.”
“So you’re in?”
I raised my hand. “Didn’t say that.”
“Oh.”
“Do I get to play with any of the equipment? Like this camera?”
I reached for it hesitantly, gauging his reaction. He looked horrified, like I was reaching for his thigh, but fought his reluctance. “Sure,” he said, too loudly. “It’s really the school’s anyway. I just keep it most of the time.”
I picked it up, even though I knew he didn’t want me touching it. After his heart attack over his precious story, I figured he wouldn’t risk scaring me off over the camera, too. I’d been counting on it.
“This is sweet.” Pretending to scan the room, I stopped with the lens on Eli. “Don’t move.”
“Oh, I get it. Revenge for the shot I took in the gym.”
Not exactly.
The camera was in review mode. I clicked through the last few images. Me in a fight. Me walking into the locker room. Me talking to that girl. I paused on that for half a second too long.
“Do you know how to work it?” Eli asked.
“I got it.” I deleted all the pictures of me before taking a quick shot of him. Bertram applauded in my head.
Eli asked, “How’s it look?”
I turned the camera off. “I don’t think I’ll be shooting models in the Caribbean anytime soon.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period.
Eli gathered his laptop and camera as I stepped into the hall.
“You sure you aren’t mad about Whispertown?” he asked.
I couldn’t have cared less about Whispertown. Not at the time. “I’m sure.”
“As far as joining the paper . . . ? I could really use the help.”
“I’ll think about it. Seriously.”
Students trickled into, then flooded, the corridor beyond the lonely hall where the J-Room was located. Eli said some more stuff about the paper but I didn’t hear because I spotted Reya walking with friends, laughing, her hair bouncing like in those shampoo commercials. Again, I thought of those movies with the slo-mo and cheesy music.
It was insane. Bumping into that girl had copped me a beating during my first hour at Stepton High. Yet I was still drinking the Kool-Aid.
She stopped laughing when she looked my way. I smiled. Smooth. She grimaced, raised her fist, and extended her middle finger slowly.
Ever see somebody—like actually caught them in the moment—when they planted one foot into a steaming pile of fresh dog crap? Then you might be able to picture the look on Reya’s face.
Tiny, hot needles pricked my cheeks and forehead. I was glad Eli’s hall was deserted. I couldn’t tell if my embarrassment was noticeable or not. At least here, he’d be the only one to see, and he’d already seen me look worse.
When I turned from Reya, I found Eli flipping double birds in her direction.
He waved both middle fingers in a rhythmic taunt. I looked to Reya, then back to Eli, then back to Reya, and understood her obscene gesture was never meant for me.
Reya flicked her palm in a talk-to-the-hand motion before she proceeded to the next class.
Eli shrugged, double-checked the J-Room lock, then said, “The office gave me a copy of your schedule. I can show you where your next class is.”
“Dude, what was that?”
He shrugged. “Just how me and my sister say XOXO.”