I’d intended to approach Principal Butler again today, so in some ways, this was convenient. Despite how weirdly dismissive he’d been before, I believed confronting him now would box him in, make him take action against the Warheads and protect Anavi.
Which would mean my first story for the Scoop would be slightly less awesome, as the school administration wouldn’t be completely inept in it. But it would also mean the plan—my plan for Metropolis—wasn’t completely scrapped, either.
Being good did not come easy for me.
But I couldn’t regret anything I was doing. This was a story, an important one, with a girl’s mind in the balance, and I would tell it.
Still. Rash might be my middle name, but I’d promised my dad—and myself—that I’d try to be different here. No need to get into trouble Dad would hear about, something that might make him change his mind about the Scoop. No need to engage in Worlds War Three against General Lane. Not yet.
“Besides,” I said, “I need to see Brown-nose Butler to get his official statement for my story.” I got up, ready to go do just that.
“You might want to refrain from using that particular name with him.”
Anavi had tried to make a joke, despite her wan face and dark-circled eyes. She gnawed at her bottom lip.
Something was still bugging her, even though she was safe here in cafeteria-land for the moment.
I hesitated. “What is it?”
“You’re not planning to mention me by name in the article, correct?” Anavi asked, with a hint of discomfort.
I inhaled sharply. The question stung.
After what we’d been through together in the last twenty-four hours . . . I wanted to be trusted. I was trustworthy. But you had to know people to trust them, and I hardly ever got to know anyone because of how often we moved. It wasn’t like I thought Anavi and I were close already, but I’d believed her when no one else would. I not only wanted to help her, but I liked and even admired her, not just for the mystifying gift she had at spelling, but the way she’d felled that troll. The way she was fighting to hold on to herself.
But she didn’t trust me.
SmallvilleGuy trusts you.
Yeah, and he probably also thinks I’m ticked off at him because of the way I signed off last night.
I sighed. “Look, I made you a promise. I’m helping you. Worry about staying away from the Warheads, but don’t worry about my end of the deal. This will all be over soon enough.”
The PA crackled and I was summoned again. Time to face the principal’s obnoxiousness.
“Lois, that’s not what I intended,” Anavi stopped me. “I . . . I want you to use my name. It will lend more credence to the story. And I thank you.”
I nodded, not quite able to speak. I’d misunderstood. She was trusting me.
As I left, I let the cafeteria door bang shut behind me, once again on a mission. There was no one in the empty hallway to notice the noise. I could not under any circumstances—whether it was attack by brain-stealing jerks or troll-pocalypse—fail Anavi.
I didn’t meet a soul until I arrived outside the office. When I was a few steps away from the door, it opened and who should come out but the one and only James the Third.
James the Third just happened to be in the principal’s office when I was called to it? Uh-huh.
What if he’d ratted out the way we hacked into the school system to take a look at the Warheads’ schedules? I didn’t like silver spoon guy, but would he do something that vile? Betray his fellow staffers, even Devin who’d told me to cut him some slack? And, if he had told, could he prove it?
His expression was almost unreadable, but not quite. What I saw there was a hint of apology.
“What did you do, the Third?” I asked as I passed him.
He held the door, always with the polite manners. He said, “Nothing, but be careful with—”
But his suggestion was cut short by the appearance of Principal Butler. An oily smile oozed across his face. “Ms. Lane, it’s about time you showed up. Ronda, when did you call for her, again?”
“Ten minutes ago, sir,” she answered. Her voice squeaked on the final word.
Sometimes a first impression was wrong. Most of the time, it wasn’t. I remembered just how much I had disliked Butler the other morning. By now, if anything, that amount had doubled. He might pretend to be nice, but you could always tell what kind of boss someone was by how their assistant acted around them. He had poor Ronda walking on eggshells, which must have been uncomfortable in high heels.
“See you at the office, old chum,” I said to James, “and we’ll catch up on tricks.”
I said it so I wasn’t hopping to Butler’s command, and so he’d know that James and I worked together. If he didn’t already.
James would also get the message that I wouldn’t let it go if he’d played the part of rat. Bonus.