One
Friday, September 6
There was something sacred about being on campus when school wasn’t in session. The desolate student parking lot, where a few hungry ravens pecked the asphalt for crumbs. The groundskeeper peacefully steering her mower in neat rows on the emerald front lawn. The hushed, dim halls that would soon be crowded and ringing with shouting and laughter. For now, it was only Posey Spade’s footsteps on the gleaming linoleum, her Mary Janes clicking as she searched for room 12B.
There it was: the one lit-up room at the end of the hall and around the first corner. Through the window in the door, Posey caught a glimpse of a pale white woman with a shock of red hair—not ginger-red hair, but fire engine–red hair, lipstick-red hair. Posey knocked twice and waited, smoothing her bangs, rehearsing her introduction in her mind.
“Hello, Ms. Moses,” Posey said when the door swung open. “My name is Posey Spade. We corresponded earlier this week?”
“Of course! Come on in.”
Ms. Moses held the door open for Posey. She tried not to stare as she stepped inside the classroom, but it was hard not to—Ms. Moses was a sight to behold. The crow’s-feet peeking from her smoky eyeliner suggested that she was more than twice Posey’s age. But with her punky hair color, tight jeans with a studded belt, and a faded shirt with a skull on it, Ms. Moses didn’t strike Posey as a grown-up. She was also short, at least an inch or two shorter than Posey, and she had a wild grin that was so wide, a silver molar shined back. She was a bit breathless, a bit sweaty.
The room itself was in an unfinished state. Desks were haphazardly pushed to the center of the room, a heap of rolled-up posters on one of them. The walls were blank except for letters pinned to the wall that spelled Multimedia.
“Have a seat, friend,” Ms. Moses said, plopping behind her desk. “Sorry about the mess. I’ve got my work cut out for me.” She kicked her boots up on the desk and leaned back in her chair as Posey took a seat across from her in a wooden chair. There was a warm tickle at that word, friend. Posey could already tell within a minute of meeting her that Ms. Moses was no ordinary teacher. “So you’re new in town, huh? How are you liking Wild Pines?”
“It’s very . . . rural,” Posey answered, folding her hands on her lap.
“That it is. You said you were from San Francisco?”
Posey nodded. The open spaces and trees were a far cry from the crowded city of SF. It was still taking some getting used to.
“Quite the culture shock,” Ms. Moses said, tying her hair into an explosive little topknot. “I’m from San Jose originally myself.”
“Oh! What drew you out here?”
“The beauty, the quiet. It’s pretty different from city life.” She snickered. “I guess I wanted more nature, less human nature.”
“There’s definitely more of that. My dad almost hit a deer on the way over here. We swerved so hard we almost went off the road.”
“Be careful driving on these roads in the mornings and at night. Even on sunny days, there can be ice.”
“Okay,” Posey said with a nod, grateful for this stranger’s concern. She made a mental note to discuss the icy roads with her dad later. “Will do.”
“So what was it you wanted to talk about?” Ms. Moses asked, fanning herself with her hand. “Sounds like you’re interested in joining the AV Club?”
“I am! I do have some questions about what to expect, though.” Posey glanced around the room, at the crates of equipment pushed against a far wall. Intimidating, those nests of tangled wires, the many black zipped-up cases that held mysterious devices she
had no idea how to operate. “Honestly, I’m more of a writer. I’ve never done anything with multimedia.”
“Right. You said you were at the school paper? Too bad for you we don’t have one here for you to join.” Ms. Moses opened a desk drawer and pulled out a tin. She shook it. “Mint?”
“No thank you.”
“Well, anyway, the AV Club welcomes beginners.” Ms. Moses popped the mint into her mouth. “I can tell you’re a go-getter and we certainly need a little more of that when it comes to the club.”
Posey let that statement settle in her mind before nodding and then pulling the folded paper out of her bag. It was the AV Club mission statement. She laid it on the table and smoothed it with her palm.
“Before joining the club, I just wanted some clarity on what you all do, to make sure it’s a good fit.”
Ms. Moses pointed to the paper, crunching the mint between her teeth. “May I?”
“Yeah, it’s from the Wild Pines High website.”
“Mmm.” Ms. Moses squinted at the paper and then, with a nod of recognition, put it back down again. “Probably needs updating.”
“I was hoping to discuss how some of the ideas I sent you—might fit in?”
When Posey had searched the school’s website and learned there was no school paper, no journalism classes, nothing that aligned directly with her skills and interests, she had been disappointed. But with Posey, disappointment never lasted long. It became fuel for problem-solving. She conducted a solo brainstorming session to determine where she would put her extracurricular energy this year, and that’s when she came across the AV Club—and set to work trying to come up with project ideas where she might be able to fit in. She had outlined some bullet points and sent them to Ms. Moses, and now, well, here they were.
“Yes, yes, thank you for your email.” Ms. Moses picked up her coffee, which had countless red half-moons across the rim from her lipstick. “Very impressed by your accomplishments. You sound like you have a lot of ideas for content you’d like to produce. Profiles, interviews, news . . . which is great. But. I mean, you want the truth? Really?”
“Always.”
Ms. Moses drank the last of her coffee and tucked the cup into her enormous purse. “It’s . . . a bit beyond our capacity at the moment.”
Posey nodded. She wasn’t surprised to hear this. But she knew from years working on the school paper in SF that capacity was something
you could find if you looked hard enough.
“And look, I get you were very active in your journalism department back at your old school, but you know, Wild Pines is not San Francisco. This school’s small. Our resources are limited. We don’t even have a journalism department.”
“Yes, I noticed. But that’s why I’m so excited to join the AV Club instead.”
“This club was only formed in March,” Ms. Moses said. “Six months ago. Three of those being summer. So we’re still finding our footing. For now, it’s been a lot of playing with equipment, watching documentaries for inspiration. I’m trying to get them out there more, but the school year ended before we could do much of anything. You have some wonderful ideas. It just, you know, might take a bit to get those ideas going is all I’m saying.”
“Heard and understood,” Posey said with a nod.
Ms. Moses took a tube of lipstick from her pocket and applied it, no mirror required. “If you’re looking for something with more resources, more structure, I’d recommend trying out for the theater department. Our theater department is one of the best in the state of California.”
“I appreciate the suggestion, but I’d like to be a journalist, not an actress.”
“Well, there’s a lot more to theater than acting, but okay.” Ms. Moses gave her a wide scarlet smile, eyes twinkling. “Heard and understood.” She sat back in her chair. “I consider the AV Club right now to be a bit more of a . . . a playground. You know? A place where some of my most creative students can hang out and tinker with their ideas. Sal—Salvatore Zamora, he’s the director and founder, great kid—he’s got an incredible eye, and I’ve been trying to steer him toward documentaries, since that’s where his interest is. What do you think about documentaries?”
“I like them.”
“These students in the club are amazing, I’m telling you. Artists. Each and every one of them.”
Posey nodded and smiled and tried to ignore the flutter of insecurity she felt thinking about the students in the club. The ideas and journalism didn’t frighten her, but there was one thing that did: her fellow students. If they were as amazing as Ms. Moses implied, would they like her? Would she fit in? Would they find her annoying like people in her old school did? Posey hoped not. That was what she was excited about: starting over. Getting to be new, getting to shed the reputation she had as a know-it-all.
There was a quiet knocking at the door.
“Speak of the devil,” Ms. Moses said, smacking her desk. “Come in, Yash, come on in.”
A boy walked into the room. He was so young-looking to Posey, she could have mistaken him for a sixth grader—she hoped it wasn’t mean to think that, but it was true. He wore a bleached button-up shirt that matched his smile. His hair was gelled and styled and his skin was brown. There was a kindness in his round face that simply radiated, as if a human sun had just strolled into the room.
“Hi, Ms. Moses,”
he said, waving.
“Meet Yash Berman,” Ms. Moses said. “Absolute genius. Can do anything. He’s taught me skills with Final Cut Pro. Also the sweetest person you’ll ever meet. Yash!” She beckoned him to her desk. “Meet Posey Spade. She’s going to be your new buddy. She won the Junior Muckraker award at her previous school.”
“The Junior Muckraker!” he said, eyes lighting up. “Wow. I—I hope to enter that one day.”
“Yep, that’s why I thought you’d get excited about this fabulous addition to the team,” Ms. Moses said.
Posey’s mouth dropped, stunned that Yash actually knew and was impressed about the Junior Muckraker award, since most people had never heard of it. She was also surprised that Ms. Moses was breezing forward as if Posey had already joined the club.
“Oh, okay,” he said. “Really good to meet you, Posey. I was—well, I came to check the equipment?”
“Right, I know, sure,” Ms. Moses said to him, then, to Posey, she added, “He’s meticulous.”
Posey loved meticulous. She got up and shook Yash’s hand, unable to help but notice she stood a whole head taller than him. “Nice to meet you too.”
“How about you take her down to the basement and show her the space—you can take inventory together?” Ms. Moses asked.
“Um, sure,” Yash said.
Ms. Moses threw a set of keys at him, which Yash failed to catch. He picked them up off the floor.
Now? Posey hadn’t come prepared to get straight to work—she was feeling the club out, discussing her ideas with Ms. Moses—but she was swept up in the moment and automatically answered, “Sure,” and then followed Yash out of the room into the hallway.
“Are you a freshman?” Yash asked as they left the room together and Posey followed him into the dim hallway.
“Me?” Posey asked, a bit insulted. Didn’t he notice how she towered over him? Her obvious maturity? But she let it slide. “No. Are you?”
“No, sophomore.”
“Junior.”
“But you’re new?”
“Yes. Just moved here from San Francisco.”
“Wow!” He said it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
They reached the end of the hall, where Yash pointed down the stairs.
“We meet in here,” he said. “Every day at lunch, in the basement.”
She followed him down a short, dark set of stairs, where the air chilled like they’d entered a haunted house. It took a few tries and some mumbling, but Yash finally got the door open and soon there they were, in the basement. He flipped the light switch and they stepped inside.
It was a narrow, gray
basement with no windows, carpet so stained its origin color was indeterminable, and eye-twitchingly fluorescent lights. She took mental inventory of the equipment against the far wall: tripods with spidery legs, cameras in cases either well-cared-for or barely used, a shelf with outdated laptops, a crate full of tangled headphones.
“I volunteered to take inventory today,” Yash said. “I just wanted to make sure we’d be set up to actually do something this year.”
“Right.”
“Because last year it was, like, hard to get anything done,” Yash said. “I mean, everyone’s super nice and smart in the club, don’t get me wrong. But most of our projects were left unfinished, you know? Everyone ended up just watching documentaries. It was boring.”
The thought of unfinished business always made Posey’s heart sink. “What are you hoping to do this year?”
“I don’t know, make content for our YouTube channel?”
“What about news content?”
“I mean, sure, anything.” He widened his brown eyes at her. “Is that what you want to do? News?”
“It’s what I know how to do,” she said, walking over to the crates and pulling cords out, surveying the contents.
Yash joined her, unzipping a case to examine the camera inside. “Oh. You, like, did a news show at your last school? That’s how you won the award?”
“Newspaper.”
Posey started writing for the paper as a freshman, mostly interviews and profiles. By her second year, she moved to features, including the story about the impact of underpaid teachers having to purchase their own school supplies. That story won the Junior Muckraker award for student journalism—one of her proudest achievements. After that, she filled in for the front-page editor when backup was needed. She’d had her sights set on editor in chief, but then her dad got his new job and they moved.
“Newspaper,” Yash repeated. “I’ve heard it’s a dying industry?”
“My dad works at a newspaper.”
“Oh. I mean, not dying then. Just, um—” He zipped the case back up, his cheeks flushing. “Well, the idea of a news show—I think it’s cool. I’d like to work on something like that.”
Victory! She had someone on her side. Posey smiled as she studied the tripods and ring lights.
“But good luck getting everyone else in on it,” he said, pulling a laptop out of a case and putting it back in. “It’s like herding cats. They don’t listen to anyone.”
That statement fizzled in Posey’s mind like bubbles in mineral water. A flicker of disappointment, followed by a stubborn determination. If there was one thing Posey loved, it was a challenge. She looked behind her, where the desks were, where she assumed she’d soon be sitting with these mysterious other students, these cats to be herded. She could imagine their ghosts in the chairs.
Yash finished looking at the equipment and announced, with surprise, that everything was there. “We’re ready to hit the ground running.”
“I’m glad I met you, Yash,” she said as they headed back upstairs.
“You too, Posey,” he said. “Welcome to Wild Pines High.”
The quiet, long hallway seemed to gleam with promise, with a little bit of magic. Posey couldn’t wait to start the school year.
As they approached the classroom again, they could hear a low, hushed conversation. Posey and Yash hung uncertainly in the doorway. A short white woman in a pencil skirt and heels was talking in a dead-serious tone to Ms. Moses, who sat hunched at her desk looking like a student being reprimanded.
“That’s Ms. Vance,” Yash whispered. “The principal.”
As if she could hear his whisper—surely she couldn’t, unless she had supersonic hearing—Ms. Vance snapped her head to attention and stood back.
“Yes?” she said, turning to Posey and Yash.
“Um . . . I was just returning these,” Yash said, jigging the keys in the air. “Basement keys? Checking inventory?”
“Why are there students here today?” Ms. Vance asked Ms. Moses.
“They’re helping me get ready for Monday,” Ms. Moses answered in a flat tone.
“Not a good look, especially for you,” Ms. Vance said, then turned her laser-sharp attention to Posey. It wasn’t the type of energy she’d like directed toward her ever again. “School is on Monday. Please vacate the premises.”
“Bye, kids, thanks, see you Monday.” Ms. Moses waved from the desk, but Posey could tell some of her fire had been snuffed out. The temperature of the room seemed to have dropped since Ms. Vance came in.
There was a story here, and when there was a story, Posey itched to know it.
“What was that about?” Posey whispered to Yash as they hurried away from the room and toward the front doors.
“I don’t know the specifics. Ms. Moses is in some kind of trouble.”
“How so?”
“There’s an investigation—it’s complicated.”
“What kind of investigation?”
“I—I don’t know enough to tell you.” Yash pointed to a minivan. “I’ve got to go, my mom’s here. You need a ride?”
To say the minivan was packed would be an understatement. It looked like it was not only bursting with yelling children, but the back was teeming with what looked like sports equipment, and two bikes were in a rack on top of the vehicle. Posey couldn’t imagine fitting in there and didn’t want to impose, so she shook her head.
“I’m going to take the city bus on a practice run,” she said, waving. “Bye, Yash!”
He returned her
smile brightly, so fixed on her he stumbled on a sprinkler head and then recovered. “Bye!”
The bus ride home was majestic: thick emerald curtains of trees, long dark hushes of shade, violet spills of wildflowers in meadows. It was so different here. Different was scary, but different could also be good. She closed her eyes and practiced positive thinking. She was not going to end up a loner here, she was going to be accepted, she was going to have friends. See how easy it was, how sweet Yash was to her, how Ms. Moses listened to her ideas? Everyone here was going to love her and she wasn’t going to irritate everyone and she was going to get so many amazing things done. She pictured the trophies twinkling and audiences standing to give her an ovation as she accepted an imaginary award. But in the back of her mind, there was one word throbbing in her mind, invading those positive thoughts. A curious word, a word that made her brain prickle. She tried to ignore it. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t her business! She didn’t want to be nosy. But—
Investigation.
Why on earth was Ms. Moses under investigation?
Two
Monday, September 9
Despite all the positive thinking, despite how many times she rehearsed in her mind, sometimes life didn’t turn out how Posey had expected, and this was one of those days. She showed up to the first AV Club meeting five minutes late with ketchup splattered on her turtleneck. Why was it always like this? She pictured it in her mind, she did her best to plan ahead, she worked to have a neat appearance, and somehow she still always felt like she came across as a freak.
“Hi!” She waved at everyone, hoping her giant smile would make up for the mess. “I’m Posey Spade. I know it looks like this is blood spatter, but it’s not, it’s ketchup. This morning I grabbed breakfast in the cafeteria and the bottle combusted all over me.”
She watched as the students of the AV Club, each in mid-sentence or mid–sandwich bite at their tables, stopped speaking or eating. Yes, she was the new girl—ketchup-smeared and all—standing in the doorway, working up a cheerful smile, with her long brown hair tucked in a neat headband, wearing an outfit she knew would not be out of place in a Catholic boarding school. Her turtleneck was a Halloweenish disaster. Yash was the one person she recognized. She smiled his way, but even he seemed thrown off by her alarming appearance.
“And that,” a white girl in a bandanna said to the group, “is how you make an entrance.”
“The ketchup bottle was clogged,” Posey continued explaining, walking into the room and sliding behind one of the empty desks in the club’s haphazard circle. “And I tried to hit it from the bottom and then it was all over me.”
“I’m sorry,” said a boy with light brown skin and dark hair to his shoulders, who wore all black. “Who are you?”
“Posey Spade,” she repeated. “I’m new here. And I want to join the AV Club.”
Posey took out her reusable lunch bag and surveyed the room. It looked different than it had the other day—somehow smaller with all these new people inside it. Then she scanned the club members. Five of them. They were quite a random array at first glance, but all shared the same general misfit vibe. She waved at Yash, who waved back and gave her a nod. Posey was an expert at reading rooms and quick assessments. Hers? These people (Yash excluded) were judging her. It was as if she had interrupted a private conversation and her presence had silenced them. But that was okay. Like the long, dim room she sat in, the wall of silence only reminded her of potential.
“So what’s on the agenda today?” Posey uncapped a purple ballpoint pen and opened an empty brand-new notebook. She took a moment to smell the fresh paper, closing her eyes to take in its splendid scent, then wrote the date at the top. The club members observed her, eyebrows scrunched.
“You are aware that it’s only the first day of school and we’ve literally been sitting here for five minutes, right, Ketchup Girl?” the girl with the bandanna said.
“We’re about to watch Tiger King,” Yash told Posey.
“Tiger King,” Posey repeated. She then noticed the large screen mounted on the wall, frozen and paused. “I’m sorry, why Tiger King?”
“It’s a documentary,” said the boy with the shoulder-length hair.
“I still can’t get over that you look like you just stepped out of a horror movie,” sneered a white girl with square glasses, a round face, and a CLIMATE CHANGE IS REAL T-shirt.
“I second that emotion,” Bandanna Girl said.
Posey put her pen down. Clearly her entrance had made a shocking first impression. She couldn’t blame them; she looked a mess and was trying hard to push through and ignore the embarrassment. By their wild, worried looks, she could tell that she was doing what she often did—she was moving too quickly. She wasn’t
listening enough.
She really didn’t want to end up a loner again.
This was supposed to be a new beginning.
“I’m sorry, I feel we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Posey said. “Would you all be open to an icebreaker?”
Boy in Black groaned and Bandanna Girl put her forehead to her desk and stayed like that.
“How about no?” the girl in the glasses offered.
Posey’s heart broke just a little. There was truly no bond in life more sacred than the unexpected joy an icebreaker could bring to an awkward room full of strangers. But you had to be receptive to it. And these people were anything but.
“I feel like we’re being punked right now,” said a lanky boy with glittery eye shadow and an afro, speaking up for the first time. “Like Ms. Moses sent this girl in here to teach us something.”
Bandanna Girl sat up. “Or . . . is it performance art?”
“Can we go back to the movie?” Boy in Black said, pointing to the screen where a blur of a tiger remained frozen.
“In the absence of a more formal icebreaker, may I at least learn your names?” Posey asked in a softer voice, ...
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