Front Page Face-Off (6 page)

“Well, if anyone needs me”—I cleared my throat—“I guess I'll be in the student lounge this afternoon. With the Little Debbies.”

I'd never considered a building capable of evil, but as the student lounge loomed before me, I almost heard its hinged shutters cackle with glee. Signs outside the building urged me to use my “inside voice,” which was unfortunate, as nobody outside would be able to hear my screams of terror.

A familiar guy in track pants stopped me from entering. “Name?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Aaron, you know my name. I sit next to you in history.”

Aaron waggled a clipboard at me. “Naaaame?” He dragged out the word, along with my patience, and I snatched the clipboard from him.

“Delilah James. Right here.” I jabbed at it with my index finger. “And next time you want help with homework, I'm going to forget who
you
are.”

I thrust the clipboard into his stomach, and he blinked, nonplussed. “Geez, Delilah. You don't have to be so mean. It's like you're already one of them.”

“No, I'm not!” I jerked open the door and glanced over my shoulder. “And you should really rethink the track pants, since you don't even exercise your
brain
!”

Aaron hurled a rude name in my direction, but I'd already pressed on, fighting my way through a thick bunch of purple feather boas that dangled from the ceiling like a curtain of bad taste.

When I emerged, feathers plastered to my clothes and hair, I saw a girl sitting at a card table strewn with paper gift bags in every pastel color imaginable.

“Name?” the girl asked.

I was
not
about to play that game again.

“I'm just going to grab a seat.” I pointed to a corner of the room crowded with folding chairs and girls pawing through gift bags.

“Fine.” The girl shrugged. “That'll be twenty-five dollars.”

I pressed my lips together. “Maybe I'll stand, then.”

“It's not twenty-five dollars for the
chair
,” the girl scoffed. “It's twenty-five dollars if you want to pledge the Debutantes.”

“What?!” At that moment, the “indoor voice” sign didn't apply to me. “You want me to
pay
for this nightmare?”

Paige was at my side in two shakes of a ponytail. “It's okay, Jamie,” she told the girl. “This one's taken care of.”

Paige grabbed a mint-colored bag with my name on it and pulled me away, smiling at everyone all the while. “You
do
like to draw attention, don't you?” Her lips barely moved as she spoke through her teeth.

“You didn't mention a torture fee,” I whispered.

Paige stopped and faced me, plucking a feather from my hair. “Delilah, I understand this is a difficult experience for you, but most of these girls are
proud
to be here.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Paige covered it with her hand.

“So,” she continued, “if you could avoid using words like ‘nightmare' and ‘torture' and ‘soulless creatures of darkness,' that would be great.” Her eyes pleaded with mine for the briefest moment.

“All right.” I took a deep breath and tried to relax. “What's in these bags, anyway?”

Paige smiled with relief. “As you know, the Debutantes are
the
most noticed student body group, and as such, we need to set a positive example.” She grabbed my hands and forced them palm up as she removed a laminated card from the bag and held it up for my inspection. “This is a fashion card with all the brands you should and
shouldn't
wear, and … repeat after me.” She held up one hand, as if taking an oath. “Getting caught in plaid is a travesty.”

I stared at her. “I think you mean ‘tragedy.'”

“Same difference.”

“Actually—”

“New rule just for you.” Paige jammed her hand in my face to silence me. “No correcting the president.”

“Okay, okay.” I backed up until I could see her palm without crossing my eyes.

Paige flipped open a compact that held small trays of eyeshadow and blush. “Now, this is a makeup set based on your skin season.”

“My skin season?”

“You're an autumn,” Paige said firmly. “Don't ever let anyone tell you different.”

“Oookay.” I watched her take out a lip gloss, tin of mints, tweezers, pop-out hairbrush, nail file, sparkly nail polish, and acne cream. “Is that it?”

“Not quite. The last, and probably most important thing you'll need, is this.” She reached into the bag one final time and pulled out a purple whistle and chain.

“And this is for … ?”

Paige unraveled the chain and slipped it over my neck. “Protection against all evil outside the Debutantes. Blow on it three times, and the nearest Debutante will come running.”

“What if I'm out in the middle of the woods?”

Paige frowned. “Debutantes don't go to the woods.” She glanced at a clock on the wall. “It's almost time to start. Grab something from the refreshment table and take a seat.” She nudged me in that direction, but I veered to the right when I spotted Ava picking over the desserts. She noticed me at the
same moment and regarded me with a disdainful sniff.

“Attention! Attention, everyone!” Paige stood at a podium before the chairs, banging a gavel. “Could we please find seats and come to order?”

The largest game of musical chairs began as twenty-eight girls scrambled to find seats front and center. I chose one at the edge of the crowd, and Ava settled herself at the opposite end. As soon as every girl was seated, Paige cleared her throat.

“Welcome, pledges.” She did a quick glance around the room. “I hope you enjoyed the refreshments and had a chance to inspect your Debutante gift bags.” Her face took on a stern expression. “I expect you to put these items to good use.”

In response I lifted the whistle and blew three loud tweets.

Paige flashed me an annoyed look. “The Debutante social is this Saturday night at the Brighton Country Club. You're expected to attend and dress appropriately. Nothing plain, and no school clothes.”

She had just eliminated every item in my wardrobe.

“Your date must
also
be dressed appropriately and—”

I zoned out for the rest of the topic. Now I needed a dress
and
a date, and our mall didn't have a Build-a-Boyfriend store. I didn't dare glance at Ava, though I could sense her mocking laughter.

“Each of you will notice that you have something in common with
one
other person in this room.” Paige held up a finger in case we couldn't count that high. “There are two student athletes, two members of the drama club, two members of the school newspaper, and so on.”

Girls glanced around, trying to find their common denominator, and the volume in the room increased with each new pairing. Most of the pairs hugged each other and changed chairs so they could sit together, but Ava and I glared at each other across the room and didn't budge.

“Don't get too friendly,” Paige warned. “Because
no
group will have both its members selected.” She leaned against the podium and smiled. “You'll be competing against one another.”

This brought a second wave of commotion, and I watched the other girls moan with despair or gasp in shock. I glanced at Ava, who appeared as passive as I felt. There could only be one lead reporter. We'd known that before we arrived.

Paige banged her gavel on the podium, and the girls quieted as the officers handed out manila folders.

“You'll each be receiving a Debutante packet that includes a red envelope.” She gestured toward Friend 1, who was sifting through packets and searching for each girl. “Don't open it until I give the word. In each—”

“What's in the envelope?” someone asked.

Paige cast a sour glance at her, and I could tell she'd been planning a dramatic revelation.

“In each envelope,” Paige continued, “will be the task you have to complete in order to become a full-fledged Debutante. On Saturday night you'll be expected to give a progress report.”

As each girl accepted her manila folder, she removed the envelope and regarded it with an awed reverence. I received mine and used it to cover my mouth while I yawned.

When the officers finally stepped back from the crowd and nodded to Paige, she banged her gavel once, though there was no need. The room had fallen completely silent.

“Pledges”—she paused and smiled—“open your envelopes.”

The contents of my pledge envelope belonged in the hands of a secret agent, not a twelve-year-old reporter. Inside, a black-and-white photo had been clipped to a card with “Operation: Takedown” printed on it, along with my “Mission Objective.” Hopefully I'd have a chance to read the instructions before the card self-destructed.

I glanced briefly at the photo of a bored-looking girl with short, pixieish hair, then moved on to the details of Operation Takedown.

Target:
Katie Glenn, mastermind of Hot Stuff.

Overview:
Katie transferred to Brighton Junior Academy in the spring semester of last year. Since her arrival, she's formed a small following of influential students that threatens the power dynamic of the Debutantes. She's been warned of this behavior but laughs at our efforts to make peace.

Mission Objective:
Using your investigative journalism skills, uncover enough dirt on Katie to destroy her reputation and bring down Hot Stuff.

Deadline:
One week from date of mission assignment.

With a frown I returned the card to its envelope and studied Katie's photo. This would definitely be a challenge. On the few occasions I'd spoken to Katie, she'd pointedly checked her watch to let me know how boring I was, and I only had one class with her, so eavesdropping would be difficult.

Although … she did tend to wander away from her desk a lot, leaving her binder easily accessible. Her locker was in the same bay as mine,
and
she probably had one or two members in Hot Stuff who loved to talk more than they should.

And, of course, investigative journalism was what I did best.

I leaned back in my chair and watched the other girls absorb their tasks. Some looked utterly terrified, as if they'd been asked to catch rabid monkeys. Ava, however, appeared as indifferent as usual. She studied her reflection in the Little Debbie compact and fanned herself with the pledge card. I couldn't help wishing she'd wave the paper more slowly so I could at least see the name of the mission. With the way my luck was going, her assignment was probably something simple like “Operation: Sing ‘Frère Jacques'” or “Operation: Make Crepes.”

At that moment, Ava glanced in my direction, snapped her compact shut, and grabbed her book bag. Before she could get Paige's attention, I hurried to my feet.

“Are we free to go?” I blurted. “I'd like to get started on my task right away.”

Ava glared at me, but Paige beamed, no doubt appreciating my sudden change of heart. “Of course. The quicker you finish, the more dedicated you seem.”

The other girls took one look at her approving smile and scrambled to gather their things, elbows flying as they raced one another to the door. Since I'd already received my enthusiasm points, I hung back from the insanity, as did Ava.

“You are pathetic,” she whispered to me. “I will enjoy humiliating you.” She puckered her lips as if she were about to spit in my face, thought better of it, and, with a dramatic flounce, disappeared through the curtain of feathers.

Someone else grabbed my arm, and I spun around with fists raised.

“Drop your weapons,” said Paige, rolling her eyes. “I just wanted to give you this.” She thrust my gift bag in my hands. “And I wanted to tell you that you'd better beat Ava. Otherwise, I'll look
so
lame for inviting you.”

“Hmm. That
is
tempting.” I shoved the gift bag into my pack. “But if you wanted me in the Little Debbies, you shouldn't have invited Ava.”

Paige stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You think I had a choice? Even though they worship at my Louis V's, my officers still have minds of their own.” She held up a finger. “Don't comment.”

“I would never,” I said, smiling.

“They want Ava because they don't see what a threat you are,” she continued. “I have to prove them wrong, and I need
you
to do it.”

Her conviction and foresight impressed me, even if her motive was purely selfish. “What's Ava's task?”

Paige glanced at the other Little Debbies lounging around the dessert table before answering. “She received the same assignment as you. Just a different clique—the Angels.”

I snorted. “How can the Little Debbies already have two sets of enemies on the second day of school?”