Laney and I both have first period free. We usually spend it in the newspaper office, which is located on the second floor of the school, next to the display case that features our three Spartan Press Awards. I stop in the library on the way to return the copy of Moby-Dick that I checked out three weeks ago. After this I only have one book left on the “25 Books to Read Before College” list. It was published by the San Francisco Chronicle ten years ago. I found it online when I was twelve and Googling “How to Get Accepted to the College of Your Dreams.” The only title I have left to read is Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, but I haven’t been able to find it in our school library. The computer says there are three copies on the shelf, but they all seem to have magically disappeared and the librarian insists she doesn’t have enough money in the budget to replace them.
I check the shelf once again before leaving, even wandering from the Ds into the Es and Cs, but there’s still no sign of those alleged three copies.
I guess I’ll have to get it from the public library.
Laney is working hard at her computer station when I bust through the door of the newspaper office. “I only have two hundred more words to write,” she says without looking up from the screen. “Then I can put this section to bed.”
“Excellent,” I say, taking a deep breath. I love coming into this office. It feels like my second home. The sound of computer keys clacking, the smell of the ink from the small printer we use for our proof pages, our past issues decorating the walls. But I also always feel ten pounds heavier the moment I walk through the door. The stress cloaks me like a wet blanket.
“Did you come up with an idea for your last piece?” Laney asks.
“How about locker doors that fall off when you close them?”
“That’s not news.”
I slide into the computer station next to her, mumbling, “I know. Did Horace create the graphics yet?”
She shakes her head and goes back to typing. “Does Horace ever do anything around here?”
I let out a groan, grab the keyboard, and bring it up to my forehead, banging twice. “Ugh.”
Laney expertly pats me on the back with one hand while the other keeps typing. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to finish this and then, after it’s sent to the printer, we’re going to strap Horace upside down to the flagpole … by the balls.”
Despite myself, I let out a laugh.
I don’t know what I’d do without Delaney Patel. She’s my rock. She always knows exactly what to say to make me feel better.
And she loves saying balls.
I log in and take a deep breath as I wait for the machine to boot up. That meditation book my dad gave me said something about oxygen being Mother Nature’s remedy to everything. But I honestly don’t think Mother Nature ever had to put out an award-winning school newspaper every month.
I suck in another deep inhale and scowl. I can still taste Austin’s coffee on my lips.
No, wait a minute. That’s not coming from me.
I sniff at the air. “Do you smell … coffee?”
Laney immediately covers her mouth. “Oh, sorry. I went to Peabody’s this morning. It must be me.”
I look over at her, tapping furiously to finish her story. “That’s weird,” I say. “Austin went to Peabody’s this morning, too.”
She stops typing as an unreadable expression blankets her face. “That is weird,” she says flatly.
“Did you see him there?”
It takes her a moment to respond, like she’s trying to remember. She must be more stressed than I am if she’s having trouble remembering the face of a guy she’s known for three years. “No,” she finally says. “I must have just missed him.”
The computer finishes booting up and I click on the file for this month’s issue. Thankfully, it opens and all the work we did yesterday on the new layout is still there. I let out the breath I’ve been holding since last night and stare at the front page. Last night I was happy with it. Now everything looks wrong. What is the story about the new science teacher doing on the front page? That’s not front-page news.
I start shuffling things around, but stop when I get the strange sensation that someone is watching me. I look up to see Laney staring at me from the next terminal. “What?” I ask, smoothing down my hair.
She blinks a few times and shakes her head. “Nothing. Do you want me to email Horace and ask him to come down here after first period?”
I grunt. “No. I’ll make the graphics myself. Like always.”
Laney nods for what feels like a lifetime and then goes back to typing.
“Lanes,” I say, studying her curiously. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” she says, but her voice is unusually high. “Everything’s great. I’m just stressed about the issue.”
I sigh. “I know, me too.”
She rubs my back again. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be good.”
I shake my head. “It can’t be good. It has to be great.”
“It’s going to be amazing! First class! Genius! And the balls of every member on the SPA committee are going to fall right off when they read it.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
Laney grins and goes back to working on her story.
Seriously. Thank God for Laney. She’s the only person in my life who can keep me sane.