“I need more time,” I said. “Not much, but a little. A day?”
“What can you do in a day that you haven’t in the last few?” Perry sat back in his chair, skeptical. “Legal will have my head if her parents sue. Or if Butler makes too much noise about the story being inaccurate. Or if your dad registers a complaint. In fact, tell me a way this doesn’t go wrong.”
“I will. There’s more going on here, Perry,” I said, noting how his eyebrows ticked up at my use of his name. He’d told me to use it. “I have—well, we have, all of us—uncovered evidence that Butler is in bed—figuratively, not literally, because I do not want that image in my brain—with a company called Advanced Research Laboratories. And that Anavi is only asking for the retraction because she’s been added to an experiment they’re doing with the students who were bullying her. It’s why Butler lets the Warheads get away with . . . murder.”
“What kind of experiment?” he asked. “It better not be another charity thing the company is doing if you’re asking for more time.”
“Did I say experiment with? I meant experiment on.”
His eyebrows rose. “Keep talking.”
“I don’t have all the details yet, but I can tell you that I’m sure it’s not harmless. And it’s not the kind of thing that should be happening, with or without the principal’s support. Give me one more day.”
“Listen,” Perry said, “my dad wasn’t a fan of my decision to become a journalist either. But this is a calling.”
“I know. I hear it. Loud and clear.”
“One more day?”
I nodded.
“I’ll smooth it over with Legal. But at the end of tomorrow—no, by this time tomorrow—we’d better have something to cover us. The retraction must be gone or we have to present proof that the request came in on illegitimate grounds. A new related story like the one you’re working on would do it.”
I was smart enough to get out while I was ahead. I stood. “Thank you, Perry.”
“Good luck, Lane.”
The one thing I could never count on. Oh well.
“How’d it go?” Maddy asked in a loud whisper when I neared the desks. Her space-age quality headphones hung around her neck, faint music audible from them. James was waiting for my answer too.
“He’s giving us a little more time. A day.”
Devin said nothing, staring at his monitor. I wanted to believe there was something on it. I was afraid if I checked and there wasn’t, I’d lose my nerve. That would mean they had Devin too. Or that they were close to it.
All the more important for me to finish this.
So I went to my desk and pulled out my laptop instead of logging onto the Scoop’s.
“What’s the plan?” Maddy asked.
James was watching me, his eyes narrowed speculatively, like he wondered what I was up to. He might be a decent reporter after all.
“Wait and see what they do tomorrow at school,” I said, knowing it was weak. “What else can we do?”
Neither of them looked convinced. I needed to change the subject and go back on distraction detail. “I forgot to tell you that I really liked your playlist, Maddy. But how come the bands on it weren’t the ones whose shirts you wear? Were the bands on the playlist your favorites or are those different and you didn’t think I’d like them?”
Maddy said, “Oh yeah, they’re different,” and mumbled something that might have been “you’re welcome,” then slipped her headphones back on. She went back to typing away.
I had meant to distract Maddy, maybe get her talking about bands. I hadn’t thought that she’d be that thrown off by the question. It worked out, though.
James glanced from me over to where Devin remained lost in his own little world. “Lois,” James said, pitching his voice low, and looking back at me, “I’m not here because of my dad. At least, not because he wants me to be. I’m here because the journalists who took him down were the heroes of the piece. And I need the paycheck. There was a reason he was embezzling. He made a lot of bad investments, and it didn’t leave much left for Mom and me. I need this to last, so you need to keep your promises.”
I blinked at him. James was here because he wanted to be here? He needed the money?
(We were getting paid?)
My mind was officially blown.
He didn’t say anything more and didn’t seem to expect me to answer. He returned to working at his computer, typing away. Leaving me free to write Dirtbag Jenkins, CEO, a lovely email and send it, telling him that I’d be at his offices at 12:45 the next day as promised by Principal Butler, and I looked forward to meeting him.