That Sunday night was the start of the Jewish new year, a holiday called Rosh Hashanah. In Baltimore, that meant it was time for Rosh Hashanah Under the Stars. Ash usually dreaded going to synagogue, since it required dressing up, sitting quietly, and waiting until the service was over to eat crumbly, flavorless cookies. But she loved Rosh Hashanah Under the Stars. It was outside in a huge park with a small playground and an enormous hill. Everyone wore jeans and sweatshirts and brought a picnic dinner to eat before and throughout the prayers. The stage with the rabbi was broadcast on a huge screen, like at an Orioles game. There were people directing traffic in the parking lot like at an Orioles game too; Rosh Hashanah Under the Stars was that popular.
“Everyone has to hold something,” Dad said when they got out of their minivan. “I’ve got the blankets.”
“I’ll hold the sushi,” said Ash, slipping the bag of takeout onto her wrist.
“I’ll hold Beckett,” said Abba, strapping on a baby carrier, “and the drinks.”
“Hole keys,” said Beckett, taking the car keys from Dad and stuffing them into his mouth.
“No, you won’t,” said Abba, taking them out and putting them in his pocket.
“I’ll hold Bubbe’s hand,” said Sadie, waving at their grandmother, who’d just gotten out of a car nearby.
“We brought dessert!” said their grandfather, holding up a container of brownies.
They were all holding too much to give each other hugs, but they did lean in for kisses and say “Shana tovah,” happy new year, before setting off toward the park.
Ash was always amazed by the number of people at this service. There weren’t many Jewish people where she lived in Federal Hill, so the events downtown were always small, with the same four or five families. But there were a lot more Jewish people in this part of Baltimore, and Rosh Hashanah was a major holiday. Abba pulled up an article on his phone (which, Ash noticed, had an ad for sushi right in the middle) that said there would be more than six thousand people attending this service, a figure so big Ash could hardly wrap her head around it. But she especially couldn’t wrap her head around why, with six thousand people in a giant park, her family ended up putting their picnic blanket next to the one with the only other Jewish sixth grader at John Dos Passos Elementary School: Harry E. Levin.
“Shana tovah,” Dad said to Harry’s mom, Dr. Chan.
“Happy new year,” she replied.
The grown-ups started chatting. Ash busied herself with setting up dinner, hoping to avoid talking to Harry. But Harry came right over to her and started talking.
“Hey, Ash,” he said. “What are you doing for your portfolio?”
“What portfolio?” she asked, arranging the sushi containers in a line.
“Our quarterly portfolio. For school.”
Ash frowned at the spicy tuna roll. The quarterly portfolio wasn’t due for another month, at least. She had more important things to work on before then. “I don’t know,” she said. “Why?”
“Just wondering,” Harry said. He sat down on her blanket, making himself comfortable. Too comfortable, Ash thought.
“I’m going to put all my work in a slideshow with music,” he continued. “I’ve been working on it at home, trying it with different songs. Want to see what I’ve got so far?”
He pulled out his phone and opened the Van Ness Presentations app.
Tracking, Ash thought. If Harry opened his portfolio right now, would that be represented by a little dot on a map at the Van Ness Media headquarters? Would it be added to his unique user profile? Harry E. Levin spent Sunday night at Oregon Ridge Park celebrating Rosh Hashanah. What else did Van Ness Media know about him?
“What are you putting in your slideshow?” Ash asked as she opened small containers of soy sauce.
“All the stuff Mr. Brooks said. Classwork, projects, art. But you’re supposed to give it a personal touch. So I’m going to put really good music in the background, and edit it with, like, quick cuts.” Harry took a pair of chopsticks, split them apart, and starting using them like drumsticks on the side of a sushi container. “I’ve already got some footage of me drumming and anchoring The News at Nine. Let me show you.”
Harry was her rival. He had spied on her in the hallway and stolen her story about Lucy. But it still didn’t seem right that Van Ness Media was spying on him without him knowing. Ash couldn’t let him open the app and not say anything.
“Hang on,” she said. “Do you think the people at Van Ness Media know what you’re putting in your portfolio?”
“What?” Harry looked like Ash had just asked him to pay for all the sushi. “What are you talking about?”
“Like . . .” Ash fumbled for the right words. Maybe she should start at the beginning. “So, I saw the thing about young creatives to watch, and I couldn’t figure out why Van Ness Media picked you.”
She knew those were the wrong words the instant they came out of her mouth, even before Harry’s face confirmed it. But it was too late to put them back in. “That’s not what I—”
“Not what you meant?” Harry interrupted. “Yeah, right.” He scoffed. “What happened to you, Ash? You used to be kind of cool, but this year you’re so jealous of me, you can’t even talk about anything else.”
“What happened to me?” Ash said, incredulous. It was a good thing he’d interrupted her when he did. Had she really been about to try and help Harry E. Levin? “What happened to you? Ever since you became lead anchor, you’ve been mean and braggy and obnoxious.”
“Whatever,” Harry said, looking down at the blanket. “You’re just jealous.”
“I’m not,” Ash insisted. “I was, fine, but I’m not anymore. I have The Underground News now, and we’re investigating something about Van Ness Media that might be a big story.”
“You’re lying,” Harry said.
“I’m not,” Ash said again. She glanced at her dads to make sure they weren’t listening. They were still talking to Harry’s parents. Even so, Ash leaned closer to Harry and lowered her voice. “Maya and I went to the Van Ness Media headquarters in Harbor East, and we saw something important. It’s way bigger than you and the stupid News at Nine, okay? So don’t worry about me being jealous.”
Harry glared at her, clearly furious that she’d called his show stupid. Ash glared back with slightly less venom, like she knew she shouldn’t have used that word but was too mad to apologize.
“Shana tovah, everyone,” came the rabbi’s voice through the speakers. “We’re going to begin our service in five minutes.”
“We’d better start eating,” Ash’s grandmother said. “Excuse me, Ashley. I’m going to have some sushi.” She took a plate and some chopsticks and began to serve herself. The rest of Ash’s family followed, crowding between the rival anchors and their dueling glares.
“Come here, Harry,” Dr. Chan said from the next blanket over. “Let’s let them eat.”
But Harry stepped between Sadie and Abba to be closer to Ash. “Van Ness Media sponsors my show,” he said quietly but firmly. “And I was their number one news anchor to watch.”
Ash pressed her lips together and her arms to her chest.
“So, if you’re not lying, and there is big news about Van Ness Media,” Harry said, “you’re not going to break it. The News at Nine will get there first.”