The Last Reporter (11 page)

Go away? What was this? If anything, she owed him an apology for ducking him and acting mean for no good reason. He was about done being patient with her. Why was Jennifer doing this? She had never been like this before. He was just going to have to level with her. She needed to grow up. Someone had to tell her the hard truth.

“Look,” he said, “I’m starting to get pissed. I’ve tried to be patient with you on this. I’ve racked my brain, and I sure didn’t do anything that — I hate to say this, but I think you’re just jealous because I did so well handling Phoebe. You know, you don’t have to be in control of everything and everybody, Miss I’m in Control of Everything and Everybody. You have to learn to let go sometimes. Jealousy is a very ugly trait.”

Jennifer smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile you hope for or could build on. It was really smirky and nasty.

“Adam Canfield, the problem with you — you are so clueless, you don’t even know what you do to people. You are unbelievably oblivious. A total spaceman. My mom told me. She said the most dangerous people in the world are the ones who don’t know what they don’t know and, you . . . you, Adam Canfield — as far as I’m concerned, you are the champion of not knowing what you don’t know. You, Adam Canfield, are at the very tippity top of the list of most dangerous people. From now on —”

“Fine,” said Adam. “I’m done trying to be nice.”

“Fine,” said Jennifer.

“Well, fine,” said Adam. “And I mean fine. As far as I’m concerned, we’re done being . . . From now on . . . no more . . . I’m not going to . . . any kind of special . . . It’s not . . . We’re just . . . coeditors. That’s it.”

“Fine,” said Jennifer. “Coeditors.”

“Fine,” said Adam. “OK, then . . . as your coeditor, I’m asking you for the list of people who got iPod downloads. I figured out how I’m going to do the story. If that’s OK with you, coeditor.”

“Fine with me, coeditor,” said Jennifer, and she went into her backpack and pulled out the list and winged it at him.

“Fine,” said Adam.

“It is perfectly fine,” said Jennifer, who was gathering up her stuff and throwing it in her backpack. She tossed the pack over her back and marched out the door.

“Fine,” he said, watching her disappear.

And then, even Adam noticed. Everyone else was gone, except Mr. Landmass, who was looking over papers at his desk.

As Adam rose to leave, Mr. Landmass glanced up. “You should be ready for the big meet,” said Mr. Landmass. “I appreciate all the extra time you put in this afternoon. You don’t have a game to get to?”

“I’m fine,” said Adam. “I’m really fine.”

Their schedules were getting easier. Most activities in their overprogrammed lives — Quiz Bowl Gladiator, Math Olympiad, Geography Challenge, before school/after school mandatory/voluntary prep for the state test, baseball, tennis, band, jazz band, marching band, baritone horn lessons, cello lessons — were either over for the year or soon to be. That meant he wouldn’t have to be bumping into Jennifer every stinking second, which was fine with him. He was just going to report his stories and not talk to Jennifer.
Write
his stories and not talk to Jennifer. He was going to put his head down and be on his way and definitely not talk to Jennifer unless it was official coeditor business. And then, he was going to try to keep it under twenty seconds.

She was going to be sorry when he nailed her big Stub Keenan iPod download story. Of course Adam was the one who had to do the hard-core investigative reporting. Her secret source? Big deal. Her hush-hush list? What good was it if she couldn’t get it into the paper? She wouldn’t be the one getting her hands dirty.
Noooo.
He was the one who’d have to hit the hallways of Harris and squeeze the bloody truth out of people. He was the one who’d have to get them to admit their filthy lies. Fine. He’d do it. He, his lonesome self. And when the story ran on the top of the front page of the
Slash
— the first independently funded edition of the
Slash
in the history of Harris Elementary/Middle School, a true kids’ newspaper — Jennifer would be mighty sorry. She’d be begging him to go back to the way it was before. Unfortunately for Jennifer, it would be too late by then.

They’d just be official coeditors. Period.

Adam kept staring at the list of names. He needed to track down some of these kids, ask them face-to-face if they got free downloads to vote for Stub. He knew he had to proceed cautiously. Think it all out. Catch them off-guard. He didn’t want them to see him coming — they’d have time to think up a lie. Or they wouldn’t answer his questions. No one
had
to speak to a reporter. And why would they want to? Who wanted to admit to a reporter: “Yes, I’m a lowlife who promised to vote for Stub Keenan in exchange for a crappy little two-hundred-and-fifty-song iPod download. Yes, put my name in your newspaper, and you can say I helped Stub rig the election.”

Right.

Somehow, Adam had to get a few of them to tell the truth without knowing they were doing it.

He figured the best time to catch people off-guard was in the morning before homeroom. Kids were still half asleep. In Adam’s experience, if you could get a kid early enough in the morning, he might give you all his Christmas stuff.

But how did he find these kids? A few on the list he recognized a little from playing ball or clubs, but they’d probably know he was a reporter and be on their guard.

He had to talk to kids on the list whom he didn’t know.

How do you find people you don’t know?

He didn’t want to ask around — too suspicious.

And then he had the beginning of an idea.

Step One. He needed to get a list of all middle-school students at Harris arranged by homeroom. That way he could match the homeroom list against his list of free downloads. He’d know the homeroom for every kid who got a download.

Step Two. He had to figure out what these kids looked like. He didn’t know how he’d do Step Two.

So he’d work on Step One and hope his brain would save him when it was time for Step Two.

He needed the master homeroom list and had some ideas about getting it, including sneaking into the main office when no one was around, like he’d done in Mr. Buchanan’s room for the science fair story. The only thing was, that was very risky, and he’d rather find an easier way.

He thought there was a good chance he’d be able to get the list just by asking.

“Adam, hello, how are you? You’re here awfully early.”

It was Mrs. Rose, the secretary in the main office. He’d wanted to get in before there were a lot of people around.

She gave him a soft, friendly smile. It was amazing. So much had changed in six months. When Mrs. Marris was principal, Mrs. Rose had been his mortal enemy. She seemed like a vicious guard dog protecting a wicked troll. The Head, they’d called her, because, looking up at her standing behind the counter, all you could see was her perfectly round, white, permed head, as if she was just a living skull someone had left on the countertop.

But since the evil Marris had been replaced by friendly Mrs. Quigley, Mrs. Rose had turned out to be really very rosy.

“Looking forward to summer?” she asked.

Boy, Adam was. Diving off the raft to swim in the Tremble River. Visiting his grandparents’ cottage by the ocean. Wakeboarding 180s. Picking wild blueberries and raspberries and eating them right off the bush. Boogie boarding. Plus he really wanted to learn to surf. Slowing down. Living the unprogrammed life.

He couldn’t wait.

“Need to see Mrs. Quigley?” she asked.

He hesitated. He didn’t think so. It might make sense to ask Mrs. Quigley. And he would if he needed to. He just felt like he wanted to save up Mrs. Quigley for when he was really in a tight spot. Like a secret weapon. He was going to try to get this out of Mrs. Rose.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Adam. “I have a question: When they do attendance, do they have lists for each homeroom?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Rose.

“And they have like last name, and first name?”

“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Rose.

“And it’s alphabetical?”

Mrs. Rose nodded.

“And so if you had all the homeroom lists, you’d have basically a list of all the kids in the school?” asked Adam.

“Adam, do me a favor,” Mrs. Rose said. “I’m very busy. Just tell me how I can help.”

Adam said he’d like a copy of all the middle-school homeroom lists if that wasn’t too much trouble.

“Does this have something to do with the
Slash
?” asked Mrs. Rose. “Or are you taking over the attendance office, which I must say — strictly off the cuff — might be an improvement?”

Adam wasn’t sure if he should tell the truth, but he didn’t have a better plan, so he just said yes.

Mrs. Rose was happy to make copies. Just like that. “Knowing your work,” she said, “I’m going to trust that you’ll put that list to good use. I can trust you, right, Adam?”

Adam was wondering whether sneaking up on kids outside their homerooms to find out if they got free iPod downloads was trustworthy, but he just nodded. It was a good reporter trick: When you’re on the verge of getting valuable documents, shut up as much as possible.

“Do you want to come back or wait?” she asked, and Adam said he’d wait. That was another good trick: If a person was in a generous mood about giving away secret information, get it right away. When it comes to secret documents, moods can change.

Adam took a seat. A few teachers came by, collecting messages from their mailboxes. On the other side of the counter, Adam saw Mrs. Quigley rush past, but she didn’t notice him.

In five minutes, Mrs. Rose reappeared and handed Adam a plain manila envelope.

“Thanks,” said Adam. “You’re great.”

She seemed to be waiting for him to leave. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Mrs. Rose, if you wanted to know what a kid looked like at the school but you didn’t know him, what would you do?”

“Oh, Adam, I’m surprised — a great reporter like you,” she said.

“I know from the time I was mugged that some security guys have handhelds with a photo of every kid in the school,” said Adam. “Do you have one of those?

“Oh, no, I’m not important enough for that,” said Mrs. Rose. “But there’s another —”

“You mean like looking on MySpace or Facebook or YouTube?” said Adam. “I thought of that, and it would probably work for the high school, but not that many middle-school kids have profiles —”

“Adam, I don’t even know what Youtoot is, but there’s a much simpler way. Think. You’re in clubs. You play sports. You know how they take your team photo? What do they do with the photos?”

“I don’t know, print them?” said Adam.

Mrs. Rose looked at him. “Adam, I’m going to say something to you that my grandchildren say to me —
Duh!
The yearbook?”

Of course, the yearbook; how could he forget? What an idiot. There were tons of photos of kids on sports teams and clubs, and candid shots, too.

“I’m surprised,” said Mrs. Rose. “That’s an old newspaper trick. Before I came here, a million years ago, I was a secretary at North Tremble High. And we hated when a newspaper called, asking for a copy of a yearbook. Usually it meant that some kid died in a car crash or was killed in a war or was arrested for something, and the paper didn’t have any other way of getting a photo.” Mrs. Rose had a faraway look. “I remember this one boy — Oh, never mind. Adam, no one died, did they?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Rose, no one that I know of. That’s not why I need it, but thanks.”

“Sure,” she said. “You take care, honey. And how’s that’s sweet coeditor of yours? Jennifer. You’re such a cute team.”

Adam felt his face getting hot. “Fine, I guess,” he mumbled.

“You stick with that girl,” said Mrs. Rose. “She’s special.”

“Yeah, fine,” mumbled Adam.

And then Mrs. Rose’s hand suddenly appeared above the counter to slap her head, which startled Adam, who was used to thinking of her as only the Head. “Oh, God, I’m an idiot,” she said. “I forgot.” She told Adam that Mrs. Quigley had set up a meeting for him and Jennifer to interview Dr. Duke, the deputy superintendent who was the testing expert. Mrs. Rose disappeared, then quickly returned with a hall pass that had the time. “Don’t forget,” she said.

“Ah, Mrs. Rose, you don’t have to tell Jennifer. I’m doing this story myself.”

“Really?” said Mrs. Rose. “Because Mrs. Quigley insisted that Jennifer be invited, too, and she is the principal, so will that be OK?”

Good lord, what could Adam say? The last thing he wanted was to work on a story with that . . . that . . . that . . . Jennifer. His head hurt thinking about it.

“OK?” Mrs. Rose repeated.

“Fine,” said Adam. “Really fine. Just fine.” He turned to go. Nothing was easy. So much was out of his control. His vital fluids felt like they were leaking out his feet. His shoulders sagged; he looked draggy. He didn’t even have the strength to pull out his jawbreaker for a sugar suck.

“Adam?” said Mrs. Rose. “I think it’s great the way you guys are keeping that paper going on your own. Most kids — most adults even — would give up. A lot of us grown-ups are pulling for you. It’s very brave what you’re doing. You ask for help if you need it, OK?”

“Fine.”