I gave myself another mental kick. Remember the plan.
But Principal Butler ignored me, turning to the amused man in the suit. “We should go. Ready to give your talk?”
The man hesitated. He pulled a business card out of his suit pocket. “I’m Perry White, an editor at the Daily Planet. I’m overseeing a new online start-up the paper is doing for teens. For students who want to be real journalists, all from this school to start. I’ve got a small staff already, but we have room for one more.” He extended the card to me. “Would you be interested in a job as a reporter?”
I accepted the card. Scanning it, I took in twin logos. The first was the familiar globe with thick lettering across it that said Daily Planet, but the other was a smaller, more stylized globe with a slash of sleek lettering that read Daily Scoop.
I looked back to the man who’d offered me a job. Maybe even a dream job.
“No background check necessary,” he said, fighting a grin. “Your permanent record shouldn’t be an issue.”
I instantly liked the idea of being a reporter. Able to ask all the questions I wanted, without anyone scolding me or scribbling in my file. The ability to look into things that were wrong and tell lots of people about them. This was my chance to find a place here.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll take it, Mr. White.”
“Great, but don’t call me mister,” he said. “Perry’s fine. Come by after school. We have a staff meeting on Mondays at four. I think you’ll fit right in.”
See, that was part of the plan, the fitting-in part. I hadn’t screwed up after all.
Principal Butler said, “Remember what I told you.”
Well, hadn’t screwed up everything.
“How could I forget?” I asked under my breath.
Butler swept out, and Perry White followed. I trailed behind them with Anavi. I wanted to talk to her, find out more about these so-called Warheads who were bothering her to the point of fraying sanity. But as soon as we left the front office, that creepy group peeled away from their spot and came toward us. Principal Butler steered the editor around them and up the hall. Leaving me to wait with Anavi for the group to pass by us.
There was something so alike about them. Down to their black clothes and the mocking expressions they wore, even the liquid way they moved.
A tall one at the front of the pack said, “Got your,” and another finished, “homework done,” a third adding, “Anavi?”
Aha. These must be the infamous Warheads.
They’d been waiting for her.
“Are they gamers or a performance art group?” I asked, frowning.
But she didn’t answer. She was busy bolting at the speed of light in the opposite direction. They kept moving, and I watched them until they were gone.
I’d track her down again later.
I had a job to do now.
CHAPTER 2
I might have a job, but I was still without a schedule. So I returned to the front office and sat in the waiting area, studying the Daily Scoop logo on the business card like it would disappear if I stopped. But it didn’t.
It was real.
I put the card in my messenger bag and took out my phone. After a second’s hesitation, I signed into the secure messenger app that I only used with one person, my one long-distance friend. I wanted to tell someone about this.
All right, I wanted to tell him.
I tapped out the message, and it popped up alongside my screen name.
SkepticGirl1: Guess what?
I waited, not sure if he’d be signed in or able to respond. He was probably in class.
SmallvilleGuy: You got kicked out of school already, setting a world record?
SkepticGirl1: Ha-ha. Nope.
SkepticGirl1: I got a job.
The door opened and a blond twenty-something in a pastel flower-print dress rushed in clutching a tall latte with the word “Skinny” scrawled on the cup.
I texted: Tell you all tonight. And re-stashed my phone.
The woman made for the hallway to the principal’s office.
“He’s off taking Perry White somewhere,” I said.
Her shoulders slumped and she turned. She set the latte down on the desk. “My life is over.”
I nodded at the coffee. “That was for him?”
She exhaled, blowing a fringe of bangs out of her eyes. “There was a huge line, and—”
“Then he should have been there to wait in it himself.”
Her eyes widened.
“Yes, he should have,” she said, low, as if he might overhear us. She shot me a smile that was the equivalent of a bright sunrise. “Ronda. What can I help you with?”
“I need a class schedule, locker assignment, the good stuff.”
“Name?” She was still smiling.
“Lane. Lois Lane.”
Her eyes widened again, and her smile dimmed. “Did you really doxx an art teacher who was living under an assumed identity?”
“No. I sent the cops some publicly available documents.”