Front Page Face-Off (2 page)

Jenner read over my shoulder and snorted.

I scanned the note several times and felt reality slipping further and further away. “I could
never
be one of them.”

Jenner nodded in agreement. “You're smart
and
you have a good personality. Where would you fit in?”

I laughed and reached into the locker for my Thought Box, filing the invitation behind a cardboard divider labeled
Unexplained Phenomena
. “Congratulations, Paige. You've earned a coveted spot in my weirdo file.”

“Shh. Listen.” Jenner cupped her hand around her ear. “You can almost hear the cries of all the girls who couldn't score an invite.”

In that moment of mock silence I actually
did
hear something: a commanding voice growing closer and clearer, punctuated by the
tap-tap-tap
of heels hitting the floor.

“And make sure the area's secure,” said the voice, which I recognized as Paige's. She spoke in a nasal tone, as if she were pinching her nostrils to block out the smell of commoners. “I
don't
want any rejects trying to sneak in.”

“Oh, that won't be an issue. We've got Aaron and Travis
on freak patrol.” Another voice giggled, slightly out of breath.

“Good.” There was no matching joy in Paige's voice. “And the pledge packets?”

A third voice chimed in, speaking at a rapid clip. “We've got pens, pins, forms, folders—”

“I didn't ask for a complete inventory,” Paige cut in. “I just need to know if the packets are ready.”

“Yes, totally” was the rapid response.

By this point, Paige and friends were passing the locker bay, and I realized the other voices I'd heard were Friend 1 and Friend 2, speed-walking to keep up with Paige's brisk pace.

Suddenly Paige paused mid-march and swiveled in my direction. Her blond hair swung around her shoulders like a shining silk curtain, and her eyes, one shade from violet, fixed on me.

“Delilah James.” Her tone was neutral, devoid of the invite's glitter and confetti, and I wondered if one of her officers had sent it as a joke. But then Paige's lips parted into a smile broad enough for me to count every one of her perfect white teeth. “I'm so glad we ran into you!”

I looked to her friends, half expecting one of them to offer me a juicy, poisoned apple. Instead, they clutched at their clipboards and mirrored Paige's expression, toothy grins and all. “Um. Okay.”

Paige waved just her fingertips at Jenner. “And good to see you, too …” She trailed off until one of her companions whispered in her ear. “Beatrice.”

“I go by my last name, actually,” said Jenner. “Beatrice is more for prune poppers.”

Paige nodded while her companion whispered in her ear again. “Well, then,
Jenner,
it's good to see you, too, but you might want to rethink that fashion statement.” She pointed to the lone piece of blue candy still hanging around Jenner's neck.

“Sorry. Let me get rid of it.” Jenner brought the necklace to her mouth and crunched on it until the candy disappeared.

“And … now you're just wearing a piece of spit-soaked elastic.” Paige's lip curled. “Even better.”

Jenner winked at her. “I aim to please.” To me, she waved and stepped back. “I'll see you in the courtyard.”

“Strange girl … but cute,” Paige commented, watching her go. “Too bad we didn't invite her to join the Debutantes.”

“She's a surfer,” commented one of Paige's friends. “And you're allergic to seaweed.”

“Oh.” Paige wrinkled her nose. “Never mind, then.” She turned back to me. “So, you got our invitation.”

I was still trying to make sense of their bizarre reason
for excluding Jenner. “Um … yeah. I did
not
see that coming.”

Paige smiled and nodded at the confetti littering the ground. “Are you excited or what?” She held her arms open, as if expecting applause or a bouquet of roses.

“You made a mistake,” I said.

Paige's arms snapped back to cross over her chest. “Interesting. I never make mistakes … but go on.”

“Don't you remember that article I wrote last year? The one where I said less than stellar things about the
Little Debbies
?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but Paige smiled and relaxed. “Of course the
Debutantes
remember. That's exactly the reason we want
you to join.”

I glanced at her friends again, but they still stood with clipboards in hand, awaiting her next instruction. “I don't get it.”

“Let me explain.” Paige smiled sympathetically and plucked a stray hair off my blouse. “Jesus once said, ‘If you can't beat 'em, join 'em—'”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Jesus didn't say that.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Confucius, then. Whatever.” She gripped my shoulders. “The point is, Delilah, you have the power of the pen, and if you want to continue spreading
horrible
lies about us”—I opened my mouth to object, but
she held up a palm—“we're powerless. So, since we can't beat you, we ask you to join us.”

I frowned. “But that quote means
you
should join
me
… since you can't beat me.”

Paige's expression darkened for a moment, but she forced a smile. “That's another reason you'd be an asset. You're so clever … and bold. You don't mind pointing out people's mistakes in front of others, even if it embarrasses them!”

Not even a machete could have hacked through the sarcasm hanging in the air. “Well, sorry, but I can't join,” I said.

A clipboard hit the floor with a loud smack, and its pink-cheeked owner bent to pick it up. Paige scowled at the girl, then looked at me with an amused smile. “I … don't think I heard you correctly. Can you repeat that?”

I knew she'd heard the first time. This was just her way of offering me a second chance to keep from executing the biggest blunder in Brighton Junior Academy history.

“I decline your invitation to join the Debutantes,” I said in my most formal tone.

Paige took a step back, as if I'd spat on her. “Seriously.”

“Seriously,” I said.

“But
nobody
declines!” exclaimed the girl who'd dropped her clipboard. She jabbed at it with her finger. “Out of thirty girls, you're the
only
one!”

“Cool.” I peered at the clipboard. “Do I get a special trophy for that?”

Paige jerked the clipboard out of the other girl's hands and tucked it under one arm. “You don't want to turn this down, Delilah. You'd benefit as much as we would.”

“How?” I asked. “By getting to call myself a Little Debbie?”

“Most people are grateful just to be called
Debutantes
,” said Paige, stressing the last word so hard, I thought she might pull a muscle. “But we can help you achieve your heart's desire.” She reached into her backpack and held up a teen magazine.

I read the headlines. “Well, I
would
like clearer skin in five days … but that's not my heart's desire.”

The magazine crinkled under Paige's fingers, and she pressed her lips together before speaking in a quiet, girl-on-the-edge tone. “I'm talking about being a journalist, Delilah. That's your big dream, isn't it? To write long, boring articles about world affairs and the grayhouse effect someday?”

“Greenhouse,” I corrected. “Your point?”

“You have to start somewhere,” said Paige. “And we have access to information that would make
US Weekly
jealous.”

I tried to appear uninterested, but Paige had a point. If anyone knew what was happening at Brighton, it was the
Little Debbies … and they didn't share their secrets with just anyone.

I cleared my throat. “Out of curiosity … what sort of information are we talking about?”

Paige shrugged, but the corners of her mouth curved upward. “I guess you won't know unless you become a Debutante.” She leaned closer to me. “But I can tell you this. One of our classmates is about to be spending a little time in juvie for her sticky fingers.”

“Shoplifting,” translated Friend 1. She immediately quieted after a look from Paige.

“And not even
good
shoplifting,” continued Paige. “In a roomful of Coach, the girl went for Nine West!”

I bit my lip and fought for calm. “Oh. Is that all?”

A lead-in like
that
almost wrote its own story, and I had no doubt Paige already knew who the girl was. If my first article as lead reporter could be about preteen shoplifting and its consequences from an actual offender …

Daydreaming wasn't my thing, but I allowed myself a hypothetical. In it I was holding the Junior Global Journalist Award, thanking my mom for her support and my late father for his inspiration.

My dad had died when I was still in grade school. He'd been one of the best journalists in the country, always praised for his original stories and attention to detail in his research.
He was my idol; I wouldn't exactly be following in his footsteps if the Little Debbies fed me all my information.

I sighed and shook my head. “It's tempting, but I'd rather do this on my own.”

Paige stared at me for a moment before nodding. “I understand.” She gestured to Friend 1 and Friend 2. “We'll see you in the lounge during study hall tomorrow.”

“Wait.” I waved my hands. “Didn't you hear me? I'm not interested.” I thrust the invite at her, and she regarded it with an amused smile.

“Keep it. I've seen your future.” She arched one eyebrow and turned to walk away. “By tomorrow afternoon you'll be holding on to that invitation for dear life.”

Paige has seen your future? She can't even see her
own
future as a Macy's perfume spritzer.” Jenner let out her trademark laugh that was part hyena, part mule, and altogether terrifying to children and woodland creatures.

We were walking home from school, and I'd just filled her in on my discussion with Paige, including the mysterious shoplifter, but Jenner was focused on one thing.

“Wait!” She grabbed my arm and gazed at me with wide, dramatic eyes. “I'll bet the Little Debbies have a time machine!”

I
did
crack a smile at that. “Man, the rich kids get all the best stuff.”

Jenner unwrapped a lollipop ring and slid it on her finger. “You should have Major build one for
you
,” she said as she popped the ring into her mouth.

Major was Major Paulsen, my soon-to-be-stepfather, a tall man with perfect posture and a salt-and-pepper buzz cut. When he wasn't caught up in nauseating romance with my mom, he worked on government defense technology.

“With the projects his team handles, they probably
could
build me a time machine,” I said. “Then at least I'd know what was coming.”

The candy ring popped out of Jenner's mouth. “Don't tell me you actually believe Paige.”

I pointed to a group of squealing girls ahead of us, one of whom was clutching a familiar red envelope. “They
all
want to be Little Debbies, and if they think it'll help their chances, they'll give up any secret they know.”

“But about
you
?” Jenner cast me a dubious look. “No offense, but you're not that interesting.”

I shoved her playfully. “It doesn't have to be
about
me, dummy. It just has to
affect
me.”

Jenner sucked on her ring and looked thoughtful. “Something with the newspaper?”

I nodded. “Paige knows it's the only thing at school I care about.”

“Well, she's crazy if she thinks
that'll
go wrong
.”
Jenner smiled around her emerald-colored candy. “Not while the editor's smooching your sneakers, anyway.”

I gave a modest shrug, but I knew she was right.

Ben Hines, the student editor, had been crushing on me since I'd saved him from the Swirlie Bandit in sixth grade. He was the shortest kid in our class and let his mom wipe his face with saliva-soaked Kleenex. Naturally that made him a prime target for attack.

At the time, I'd been trying to unmask the Swirlie Bandit, but nobody in the boy's bathroom would say anything to me except “Get out!” When I finally managed to sneak in, the Swirlie Bandit showed up to dunk Ben, and I exposed him in person
and
in the paper. The boy had been smart enough to hide his face … but not his jersey with the name “Marcus” on it. Nowadays he was probably serving time in juvie with kids named Knuckles and the Impaler.

“I should try and find Marcus for a follow-up article,” I said.

Jenner snorted. “Somehow I doubt he'd talk to you.” She tugged my hair. “Weren't his last words ‘I hate you, crazy redhead'?”