The Last Reporter (9 page)

“What’s Miss Trunchbull feeling in this picture?” asked Mr. Willy.

Shadow stared at the picture and at Mr. Willy but didn’t say anything.

“Remember how we talked about reading people’s feelings from the expressions on their faces? How does Miss Trunchbull feel in this picture? See her eyes? See her eyebrows slanted down. She’s . . .”

Shadow studied it again. “The principal runs the school,” he said.

“That’s right, but is that a feeling, Shadow?” asked Mr. Willy. He told Shadow to open his binder to the page with the list of feelings and find one for Miss Trunchbull in the picture. Shadow looked down the list, looked back at the picture again, and said, “Sad?”

Adam was surprised; this was baby stuff. This should have been so easy for Shadow.

“How do you feel about Adam being here today?” asked Mr. Willy.

“Like Adam’s my friend,” said Shadow, glancing over and giving Adam a wave.

“And how does having your friend here make you feel?”

“Like I’m his friend, too,” said Shadow.

They were sitting two to a table. Shadow was sharing a table with a boy named Ronald, who was round and had a very thick neck, thick arms, stubby little fingers, squinty eyes, and a sweet, sweet smile. In the center of each table was a huge pile of earphones like the kind they give out on airplanes. They were small, only a couple of inches long, and each was individually wrapped in plastic. On the floor beside each table were a bunch of boxes, neatly stacked. The smallest boxes were orange, the next size up were white, and the largest were plain cardboard cartons.

Mr. Willy explained the rules to everyone while Miss Patty, the aide, walked around giving each of them a large sheet of paper with numbered squares from one to twelve. Mr. Willy said this was a game, but for some of them it was also one of the kinds of jobs they might get in the summer, or when they got out of school, so it was good practice for that, too.

Shadow raised his hand. “I already have a job, working for Mr. Johnny Stack at the Rec, doing what needs doing. I make four dollars an hour, cash on the barrel.”

“We know that,” said Mr. Willy. “That’s wonderful. But not everyone is as far along on their independence goals as you are —”

“Mr. Johnny Stack says independence is my middle name,” said Shadow. “That’s why July fourth is my favorite holiday. Independence Day.”

“Right,” said Mr. Willy. “So this will be more of a game for you, Shadow. No more hands —”

Shadow raised his hand. “Except if it’s an emergency,” he said, and he gave Adam another little wave.

“Right, right,” said Mr. Willy. He explained that they were supposed to take a plastic earphone packet, place it on the number one square, take another, place it on the number two square, and keep doing that until they’d filled all twelve squares on their sheets. Then they were supposed to reach down and pick up the smallest box, the orange one, and put the twelve earphones into the box and close up the box. They were supposed to repeat that until they had six orange boxes. When they had six orange boxes, they were supposed to put them into a bigger white box. And when they had ten white boxes, they were supposed to stack them in the large plain cardboard carton.

Mr. Willy held up a stopwatch. “All set? . . . OK. . . . Go!”

Shadow was fastest. He’d grab a handful of earphones, drop one on each numbered square, scoop them up when he filled twelve squares, stuff them in the orange box, then start on the next orange box.

On the other hand, Ronald, his table mate, looked like he was on vacation. He would take one of the earphones wrapped in plastic, place it on the number-one square, then take the next earphone and put it on the number-two square. Pause. Then he’d go back to the first square and make sure the earphone packet was straight, then make sure the second was straight. Pick out a third . . .

Adam sat transfixed. In the time Shadow would finish a carton, Ronald would be lucky to do two orange boxes.

It was as if Ronald had forgotten the purpose of the game. They were supposed to go as fast as possible, but Ronald was being as neat as possible.

At one point, Adam looked up for a moment and noticed that Mr. Willy was watching him watch Shadow and Ronald.

Mr. Willy called time after Shadow finished a carton. “Good job, everyone,” he said. He walked around the room. “Looks like Shadow’s our champion,” said the teacher. “Let’s give him a round of applause.”

Shadow nodded to acknowledge the applause.

“Speech, speech,” called out Ronald.

Shadow just shrugged.

“How does it feel to win?” said Mr. Willy.

“I did sixty orange boxes,” said Shadow. “Ten white boxes and one carton. Sixty orange times twelve is seven hundred and twenty. Ten white times seventy-two is seven hundred and twenty. One carton times seven hundred and twenty is seven hundred and twenty.”

Ronald clapped again. “That was a good speech,” he said. “I love speeches.”

The bell rang. The period was over. The kids in 107A stayed in the room, but Adam had to get to his next class. As he put his reporter’s notebook in his back pocket and headed toward the door, Derek grunted to him.

Shadow started to translate, but Adam interrupted.

“I will come back, Derek,” said Adam. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you, too. And I’m sorry I almost knocked you over.”

Shadow looked at Derek, looked at Adam, and said, “It was nice meeting me, too.”

Adam nodded. “Always. See you at the
Slash
meeting.”

As Adam walked out, Mr. Willy caught up to him. “You know,” he said, “if you really want to write a complete story about Shadow, you need to meet Mr. Johnny Stack.”

“I know,” said Adam. “Shadow talks about him all the time. His boss at the Rec.”

“Oh, he’s a lot more than that,” said Mr. Willy.

Adam did not see the bike again. He did see the chubby kid, several days later, in the hallway. This time, Adam had the serial number with him — he carried it everywhere now — but the kid said the bike was gone. “I told you I just borrowed it,” he said.

Adam had been checking the bike rack daily; the kid might be telling the truth.

“Who’d you borrow it from?” Adam asked.

“Don’t know his whole name,” said the boy.

Adam said he’d take half a name.

“Well, it’s James,” said the boy. “But it wasn’t his bike. He told me he borrowed it from another kid.”

Adam felt like a jerk; he should have grabbed the bike when he had the chance.

The newspaper staff looked forward to
Slash
meetings. To be at school in a room full of kids with no teacher always felt great — even when Jennifer was bugging them about getting in their overdue stories. To be able to flop on those dirty, iced-tea–stained couches again and sit on top of desks and tables and throw their backpacks anyplace and make loud burping noises and other gassy sounds that weren’t burps without having to say “excuse me”— that was about as grown-up as any middle-school kid could get.

Since Mrs. Quigley had secretly allowed them to use 306 again, everything was ratcheted up another level. They felt positively tingly, as if they were on this underground mission to change the world against all odds.

For all they knew, Tremble school security might come crashing through the door at any second and raid the place.

Everything seemed way braver and riskier than usual.

Unfortunately for Adam and Jennifer, this made meetings harder to control. They were all so psyched, especially Ask Phoebe.

Adam was ready to kill her. She was raising her hand every second, and while he kept shading his eyes as though the light coming through the windows was blinding him from seeing her wiggly hand, Jennifer was a far better human being and called on her.

Big mistake. “I may need three pages for my first Ask Phoebe column,” said Ask Phoebe. “So many people need advice. It’s unbelievable how confused everyone is. I’ve had to come up with ten tips on how to stay out of dramas. For the September issue, I’m going to have to do a special column for the new sixth graders on five ways to decide where to sit in the middle-school cafeteria —”

“Phoebe,” said Jennifer, “slow down. We’re just trying to get the June issue out. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves —”

“Christmas will have to be an extra-long column on gift advice. I already have seventy-three websites that can turn your holiday season around. And I never had a clue what a big issue hair is. Everyone’s being let down by their volumizing shampoos and fortifying conditioners. And Valentine’s Day, oh my gosh, you have to listen to these love letters. Until Ask Phoebe, I never knew that there were so many broken hearts —”

“Ask Phoebe!” yelled Jennifer. “Stop . . . just stop.” Jennifer called a time-out. “Calm down, Phoebe. Please, just take a breath and count to ten to yourself . . .”

“That reminds me,” said Ask Phoebe. “I’m going to be doing top ten zero trans fat —”

And then Phoebe stopped. She actually stopped. In mid-sentence. Jennifer had given her such a forceful glare that even Phoebe had noticed. The entire staff had noticed. The room went silent. Adam was wowed; it was as if Jennifer had put every last ounce of her face into that glare. Adam wished he had those kind of crowd control skills; all he could ever think of was throwing Phoebe out a window.

In the calmest of voices, Jennifer explained to Ask Phoebe that while it sounded like things were going great, the coeditors would still have to see a sample column before they made up their minds. Jennifer said they had to get on to the news stories; there was lots to do.

Phoebe nodded. “If there’s time at the end, can I read a letter out loud to you guys?” she asked.

“If there’s time,” said Jennifer. “One.”

“Just one?” asked Ask Phoebe.

Adam told them the exciting news about the Bolands being under investigation. “We did it,” said Adam. “It’s our story that got the state to investigate them. The
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! Little us!” They looked around at one another. Little them? Versus the mighty Bolands?

Adam explained that state investigators were looking into whether the Bolands’ plan — to buy up all the old houses in the Willows, tear them down, and put up Boland Estates full of new million-dollar mini-mansions — was unfair to poor families who couldn’t afford any other place to live in Tremble County.

“The Bolands are going to jail?” asked a photographer.

Adam shook his head. “I wish,” he said. “Long way to go.” He explained that just because someone is investigated doesn’t mean they’re guilty, even though in this case he was sure the Bolands were guilty to the stinking core.

Jennifer told them that she had talked it over with her dad, who was a lawyer. “He said investigations of high and mighty people like the Bolands can take a long time because even the investigators and the investigators’ bosses can be scared of them.”

Another kid asked if this meant the
Slash
would soon become the official newspaper of Harris Elementary/Middle School again.

“I think it could happen,” said Jennifer. “But not that soon. It’s definitely a little hopeful.” She said it showed that even if the school board had shut them down, other grown-ups — the state investigators — had taken their story on the Bolands seriously. And so did the
New York Times,
by publishing a front-page article about it. “It shows that we’re not just troublemakers,” said Jennifer.

“Well, we are troublemakers,” said Adam. “We’re just good troublemakers.”

All this meant that they still had to raise money to put out the
Slash.
Jennifer explained that she had good news and bad news on that front. “The good news is that Adam and I had a big meeting with the Ameche brothers, and we straightened out a few problems they were having.”

“Problems raising money?” asked Sammy.

“Um, no,” said Jennifer.

“They were actually too good at raising money,” said Adam.

“That’s a problem?” asked Sammy.

“Let’s just say they needed some ethics training,” said Jennifer. “They didn’t realize you can’t let people tell you what to put in the newspaper just because they buy an ad from you.”

“So we met with their boss,” said Adam. “And got it squared away.”

“This is the Ameche brothers from the
Talk Till You Drop, All-Live Except the Recorded Parts
webcast?” asked Phoebe. “They’re, like, really famous. They don’t seem like the kind of people who’d have a boss.”

“Actually, their mother,” said Jennifer.

“Anyway,” said Adam, “the good news is now they really know how to sell ads the totally ethical way, so pretty soon we should have money to get the
Slash
printed.”

Jennifer lifted a manila envelope and wiggled it in the air. “We’ve actually created a sales packet,” she said, explaining how the Ameche brothers would be showing it to potential advertisers. The packet included the last few issues of the
Slash,
plus the
New York Times
article about the
Slash
’s story on the Bolands, plus a little about Harris Elementary/Middle School. “We think showing how great the paper is should really help sell ads,” she said.

The staff members still wanted to know the bad news.