Perry’s grin slipped when he registered what I’d said. “Well, it’s not going to drop right now. I wanted to give you my ‘atta girl, way to go, cub reporter’ speech. You should be riding high on your first story. What’s wrong?”
I ran my index fingers through the film of dust on the chair arms, not meeting his eyes. If I couldn’t tell Devin and Maddy about my suspicions related to the Warheads—and the real reason for my continued worry about Anavi—then I definitely couldn’t tell Perry.
I settled on, “Just . . . today was a little overwhelming. That’s all.”
Perry’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward.
Great, I just lied to my editor, a man who’s been nominated for a Pulitzer. Smart.
“Get used to it,” he said. “Your story was solid work, but it’s only a start. You need more. We need more, if the Scoop’s going to prove viable.”
“Yes, sir.” I rubbed the dusty fingertips of each of my hands together.
“Sir? Now I know something’s wrong. But hey, I’m familiar with the type who doesn’t go in for praise. I don’t care that much for it myself. Go. Get back to work. That’s the only thing for reporters like us.”
Like us. I wanted to accept that as the truth, but I’d never been gladder to be dismissed from anyone’s presence. I practically jumped out of the chair.
When I reached the door, Perry said, “Good job, though, Lane. I knew my instincts about you were right.”
Uh-huh. And I’m pretty sure my instincts are also right.
The others had migrated back to their own desks. Devin appeared to be hard at work moderating the ever-lengthening comment thread, but he looked up when I reached him. “Don’t let Anavi’s reaction get you down. I’m sure she’ll be fine tomorrow.”
I grunted in response.
“And don’t worry that we’re feeling lazy,” James said. “Perry already told us we need to pull in another half-dozen stories like that in the next few weeks. No pressure.”
I sat back down at my own desk, nodding. Why did I feel like the firing squad was still waiting? I survived my encounter with Perry. Devin might be right about Anavi—maybe she did just need time, space.
This sense of foreboding wasn’t logical.
But it was real and I couldn’t seem to shake it.
I considered asking Devin to borrow his holoset, see if I could find Anavi in the game right now. That might make me feel better, to see her behaving normally. But he was busy, and I had James’s game set up at home waiting. I could try later, see if SmallvilleGuy would meet me so I didn’t have to go in alone.
Maybe he could help me figure out why I was so uneasy.
But I made no move to log on to the computer or take out my phone to ping him. I sat, waiting, for what I couldn’t have said.
I didn’t have to wait long.
A burst of screeching guitars blared from Maddy’s general direction. Of course she’d have an old punk song for a ringtone. It stopped when she answered her phone. “Mom, what is it? . . . Um, I don’t know what you’re . . . Mom, no. I’m sorry, I . . .”
Maddy stopped talking to listen. I could hear the voice she was listening to from five feet away, because Maddy’s mom was shouting.
I couldn’t make out the words, but no parent called to yell like that without a reason.
Next came a loud buzzing from James’s vicinity—he took out his phone, the latest model, the same he’d whipped out at us earlier. He glanced down at the screen and frowned, answered quietly. “Mom, is everything okay?”
“Weird,” Devin said to me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his own vibrating phone.
“Your mom too?” I asked him.
“Nah, Mom’s on a big case this week. She’s a public defender.” He gaped a little, then set the phone on the desk. “A text here from my grandma, tipping me off to a message on the machine. She says I have detention. Because I work here.”
I swiveled back to James and Maddy, who were both talking on their phones. They wore expressions that could be classed as Unhappy. Extremely Unhappy.
James said, “But I didn’t even participate in the article.”
My own phone trilled then, the word HOME popping up on the screen. I’d saved the number the night before. The Lanes had to be the only household in America that kept a landline, but my dad insisted backup communications were essential, even for a family.
Not in a case like this.
I hit ignore, postponing the inevitable.
“Nothing about the reason except that it involves the Scoop?” I asked Devin.
But before he could answer, Perry interrupted, shouting, “Lane, get back in here now!”
Right. The firing squad. Here it is.
Maddy was fast-talking back at her mom, and James continued to argue innocence to his. Devin watched the unfolding drama like he was in a theater and missing only the popcorn.