“Smell them in the car.” Miranda pushed her daughters into the garage. “What time should I pick you up after the club meeting?”
“I’ll get a ride from the Arkhipovs,” said Lucy, hopping into the van. “Tex is joining the paper too.”
Miranda glanced at Lucy in the rear-view mirror. “Does he know that?”
“It was his idea.” Lucy was really starting to wrap her head round all the lying it took to dig out the Truth. Besides, she was sure Tex would be thrilled to join the paper when she got around to telling him about it.
As she buckled her seat belt, Willow shoved both her feet under Lucy’s nose.
“You want me to do WHAT?” said Tex.
He dug his heels into the linoleum as Lucy pushed him away from the cafeteria and towards the basement boiler room. The subterranean nerd-cave served as the newspaper club’s headquarters. It was hot, windowless and smelled funny, but it was the only room with enough space for the club’s printing equipment.
“We cannot join the newsies, Lucille,” said Tex. “All they do is write about school elections and publish poems about recycling. Plus, they never eat.”
The club was only supposed to meet twice a week after school, but the newsies were notoriously hardcore. Lucy understood the impulse to take a mission seriously, but these kids worked straight through lunch. Every. Single. Day.
“Lunch is sacred,” said Tex. “It is a time of contemplation, rest and renewal.”
“I know,” Lucy agreed, “but I need this, buddy.” She pulled him down a dank staircase that smelled like old cheese. “Maybe you can write video game reviews.”
“You think games are all I care about, is that it?”
“They’re not?”
“Goodbye.” Tex turned round.
Lucy scurried past him and blocked the exit, bracing against cement walls that felt inexplicably greasy. “Please,” she begged.
“I am more than just an alibi for your bonkers adventures, Lucille.” Tex leaned against the wall. “Ew,” he withdrew his hand. “Is that grease?”
“Maybe you can be the Sentinel’s new cartoonist?”
He looked intrigued, yet unconvinced.
“Plus,” Lucy added, “the editor-in-chief has a nose ring.”
“Gertie Lee is the editor of the school paper?” Tex ran his fingers through his unkempt blond hair, then grimaced as he realised his hand was still oily. “Well, I do like to draw.”
“That’s my guy.” Lucy linked her arm with his and led him downstairs.
The dank room echoed with the tippity taps of Sentinel writers typing frantically at obsolete computers set up on folding tables. A dozen or so club members ran around, writing on whiteboards covered in log lines, tag lines and headlines: “The Price of Cafeteria Meatloaf Rises Three Cents”, “What Your Spring Fling Attire Says About Your College Prospects”
and “Is Principal Pakuna Selling Our Old Homework at the Farmer’s Market? The Answer May Shock You!”
“If it isn’t Lucy Sladan.” Gertie hopped off a table in front of the rusty boiler. She was wearing a floral jumpsuit and combat boots. Tex’s soul is probably doing jumping jacks right now. “Have you finally decided to put your story on the record?”
“Actually,” said Lucy, “we’re here to join the paper.”
A small girl with wire-rimmed glasses ran past. “Just got a hot tip that the milk in the cafeteria is two days past its expiration date. Two days!”
“Go get ’em, Smitty!” said Gertie. She pointed from Lucy to Tex. “You two want to join the paper?”
Tex bowed. “You are looking at the Sentinel’s new political cartoonist,” he announced.
“Political?” said Lucy.
“That is right, Lucille. I am fascinated by the inner workings of power in this school. The Machiavellian teachers and administrators who play with the student body like so many cats with mice.”
Gertie took Tex in from head to toe. “I like your style. What’s your name, kid?”
“Alexei Gregorovich Arkhipov at your service, my lady.” He bowed again.
Lucy wrinkled her nose.
“Can you really draw?” asked Gertie.
Tex proudly pulled out his binder and showed off the intricate doodles adorning the cover.
Gertie raised her chin approvingly. “We could use an artist with some actual skills. Not that everyone doesn’t just love your ‘ironic’ stick figures, Dave,” she called over her shoulder.
A curly-haired eighth-grader glanced up from his computer. “None taken,” he said.
“What about you?” Gertie sized up Lucy. “Are you finally ready to dip your toes into the sea of reality?”
Tex snorted.
Lucy ignored him. “What you said at Joey’s party got me thinking,” she said to Gertie. “I’d like to try my hand at –” she leaned in conspiratorially – “investigative journalism.”
Gertie tilted her head. “And what would you like to investigate?”
“I need a four-letter word for ‘dishonest’,” shouted a boy from across the room.
“Wily,” Gertie called back. “Bent. Base…” She searched for more synonyms.
“Nu Co.,” said Lucy.
“Whoa.” Gertie’s eyes grew wide.
“Lucille,” Tex warned, “you cannot keep sticking your nose into Fisher’s business. Milo hates you enough as it is.”
“Then this won’t change anything, will it?” Lucy retorted.
Gertie contemplated Lucy’s offer. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.” She ushered her behind a cluster of creaking pipes, out of earshot of the other newsies.
Tex sketched a bobble-headed portrait of Principal Pakuna on the nearest whiteboard.
“All right, Sladan,” said Gertie, “you’ve got my attention. Shoot.”
“Word on the mitochondrial network,” said Lucy, “is that someone’s been sabotaging Nu Co.’s equipment.”
Gertie snapped her fingers. “So someone is fighting back against the expansion! Maybe this planet isn’t doomed by climate change yet.”
“The planet is just as likely to be doomed by a giant alien laser cannon,” said Lucy. “We are NOT prepared for first contact.”
Gertie looked unamused.
“The point is,” Lucy continued, “internal sabotage means that the workers have to put in extra hours. It’s why they’re all so miserable.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Proof’s what I’m after.”
“It’s a front-page story.” Gertie’s eyes twinkled. “But –” she shook her head – “I can’t let you do it.”
“Why not? You were practically begging me to write for you.”
“Yeah, about school stuff. The Sentinel isn’t allowed to report on anything off-campus, ever since the incident with the hot dogs at Buck’s Burger Barn…”
“That’s bunk!” said Lucy. “This story
