The Implosion Of Aggie Winchester Part 15

"Except it's not like Sylvia to want her fate in other people's hands," I said, thinking about how much she liked to be sure of things for herself.

We were silent for a second. "Can I say one thing without you flying off the handle?" Jess asked.

"What?"

"Are you sure your mom had nothing to do with the election? I mean, are you positive she didn't tell Mrs. Wagner to burn the ballots? Do we know for a fact that Mrs. Wagner acted alone?"

"My mom didn't do anything."

"Fine, but then you should know that for sure. If Mrs. Wagner did what someone higher up told her to do, that means the administration is involved in this. Sylvia may have forged ballots, but the school officials might have stepped all over the democratic process, too."

"The democratic process? What are you talking about? This isn't a presidential election, it's the prom."

Jess shrugged. Her collarbone stood out underneath her pink T-shirt. "You felt strongly about Sylvia not messing with the election, but I think it goes both ways. No one should mess with it. Period. I mean, here at school we vote because supposedly our opinion counts. If the administration doesn't think our opinion matters, then fine. Then they should just tell us who's queen. But if we vote, then it should matter. That's all I'm saying."

I sat back a little. Jess was right.

"You should try talking to your mom again," she continued. "Maybe tell her about seeing Sylvia with the ballots. I'm guessing she'll know what to do."

Just as I was about to try and tell Jess I didn't think that was a good idea, a commotion erupted by the lunchroom window. Kids started shouting and pointing, and pretty soon bodies started streaming in from everywhere.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Jess asked.

We both got up and managed to push our way to the front of the ma.s.s-Jess because she was small and could squeeze, and me because I was bigger and could barrel through.

Out on the school's front lawn was KBNT Television, St. Davis's TV station. Rhonda Pritchard, a local reporter with a helmet of blond hair, was directing her cameraman to focus on this angle or that.

I looked over at Jess, who reached out her deformed hand and grabbed my arm. Her lips moved, but I didn't hear what she said. The noise around us was deafening. Rhonda Pritchard was here. This couldn't be good.

Just then, three or four teachers came running forward, yelling and clapping their hands. "Break it up!" they hollered. "Get to cla.s.s, now!"

The ma.s.s of people started breaking apart, and I fought against the flow of them to get to Jess. But I stopped short to stare at the lockers along the hallway outside the cafeteria. SYLVIA NESS IS THE QUEEN was scrawled in thick black marker down the length of them.

This was getting insane. Where did any of us go from here?

Chapter Twenty-four.

FRIDAY, APRIL 24 / 7:25 A.M.

Friday morning, I caught a glimpse of the front page of the St. Davis Letter before I left for school. They'd run a small article, below the fold, on the prom. The t.i.tle read, PROM UNREST AT ST. DAVIS HIGH SCHOOL. The byline was Rod Barris's.

Allegations have surfaced accusing St. Davis High School administrators of fraud in this year's election of prom queen. St. Davis junior Marissa Mendez was crowned queen on Monday by school officials, but some students are arguing that their votes for a different junior, Sylvia Ness, went uncounted. Members of the St. Davis High School administration were not immediately available for comment.

For once I wished my mom was around so I could ask her more about the election, but she hadn't been coming home until late at night and had been leaving early in the morning. My dad had pretty much been doing the same thing, and a thick, awkward silence had settled over the house. No one was speaking, but everyone was saying the same thing: Don't bring up the prom. It'll all work itself out.

As I drove to school, I checked my messages and found out Neil had e-mailed me. Looking 4wrd to 2nite, he'd said. C u at midnite.

My hand had gone numb around my phone when I'd seen those words. I knew, like Kate Winslet's character in Sense and Sensibility, that you could pine after someone even after he treated you poorly. In this case, the person who'd done the hurting was asking for another chance, which made me wonder how Sense and Sensibility had ended. I'd stormed away before finding out. Had Willoughby shown up and professed his love, and did Kate's character take him back? I tried to picture her doing that, tried to imagine what Willoughby would say to convince her he'd changed, that things were different.

He'd probably say all the same things Neil had said to me. I love you. I want to be with you. My grandma Lou Belle always said a leopard never changed its spots, and I wondered if Neil's spots really were any different. I wanted to believe they were, but I just couldn't wrap my head around why Neil had picked now to get back together with me. Nothing's changed, I told myself. He's loved you this whole time. You just hit a speed b.u.mp.

Or a G.o.dd.a.m.n mountain was more like it.

I wanted to focus on Neil and let prom drama take a backseat for a few hours, but no such luck. The minute I stepped into school, I knew things were only going to get worse. Overnight, the Marissa supporters had bonded together and plastered the hallways with posters that said CONGRATULATIONS MARISSA! and WE LOVE OUR PROM QUEEN MARISSA!

When one of the Sylvia supporters tried to tear down a pro-Marissa banner, fists flew until the teachers came running. First period was a bust, since a bunch of kids decided to wage a sit-in. Before the first bell rang, half the junior cla.s.s had parked themselves in the hallways and refused to go to cla.s.s until the administration came forward with the ballots or made Sylvia the queen. The other half of the junior cla.s.s went to first hour and said Sylvia was a sore loser and a drama queen. It wasn't until the teachers had gone through the hallways, handing out detention slips to the kids who weren't in first period, that the protest stopped and cla.s.ses resumed.

I took a tiny bit of comfort in the fact that Fitz held his seat first hour, even though we hadn't really talked since he'd asked me to prom.

After what felt like a drama-filled morning, I was looking forward to seeing Jess in fencing (and wondering if Sylvia would be in cla.s.s), when my phone buzzed. It was Rod Barris.

"What?" I said, ducking into a bathroom stall so I could focus.

"Hi, Aggie. You got a sec?"

"No."

"Listen, I know we kind of got off track about the prom story. I was wondering if we could try again. I really would like to talk to you."

"Too bad for you," I said, ready to hang up.

"Wait! Just hold on a second. I was insensitive when we first met. I admit that. I should have realized this prom issue is probably affecting you very personally. Your mom is on one side, your best friend is on the other. As a reporter, the least I can do is hear your side of it."

I was ready to tell him to screw off when I reconsidered. If I couldn't tell my mom the truth about Sylvia and the fake ballots because then I'd be a princ.i.p.al's b.i.t.c.h, then I could at least tell Rod. As a reporter, he could put all the information on the table-or in the paper, as it were-and let the chips fall where they may. Rod was a snake, there was no doubt about that, but even so, he could still print a story with the right information in it. Maybe the St. Davis Letter was the key to all of this.

"Fine," I said. "I can meet now. At Tickywinn's."

"You sure?" Rod asked. "Aren't you in school?"

"Trust me," I said, peeking out of the bathroom and checking for teachers, "it's not a problem."

"See you in fifteen, then."

With the coast clear, I made a run for the parking lot.

Rod sat at the same table we'd used Monday night. "So, Aggie," he said, "tell me a little more about yourself."

I studied his checkered shirt and tie, took in the thick hair on his forearms. "You don't have to do the 'let's get to know Aggie' dance," I said after a second. "I just want to talk about the election."

"Suddenly you're so forthcoming? What's changed?"

"I don't know. I just want you to know some things."

Rod nodded. "Specifically?"

"The truth."

"And you have a clear idea of what that is? Regarding the prom situation, I a.s.sume?"

"Yeah. But I have one question for you before we start. Will everything I tell you go in the paper?"

"Do you want everything you tell me to go in the paper?"

"Well, yes. I mean, I want the truth in the paper. But I don't want my name in the paper."

Rod nodded. "So you want to be an anonymous source."

"Yes."

"I haven't heard what you have to say yet, but if it's valuable, then I'll print it without using your name. Fair?"

I nodded. "Fair."

"Okay, then. So where do you want to start?"

A coffee grinder purred. I heard the clank of dishes. There was so much to say-and I had no idea where to begin. Rod spoke up after a moment.

"How about we start with you and Sylvia."

"Okay," I said, relieved to have a jumping-off point.

"Best friends?"

"Used to be. But she dumped me last week."

Rod scratched at the back of his neck. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how brutal high school friendships can be."

"Well, it wasn't just that we grew apart or that, you know, we totally had a fight or something. It's like she dumped me because she didn't want me close to what she was up to. Because of my mom."

"Because she was doing something wrong and she thought you'd tell your mom?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

Rod's forehead creased. "What was Sylvia doing?"

"Stealing ballots from the school and rigging the prom vote. I caught her with a whole bunch of ballots on Monday."

"How did she pull that off?"

I took a sip of coffee. My throat felt like it was on fire. "I don't know for sure. My best guess is that she had help from this girl, Beth Daniels, whose dad is a janitor at school. And maybe this other guy, Jefferson Talbot, who helped her swap out the votes. But it's not like I have proof."

"I see," Rod said. He pulled out the same notebook from the other night and scribbled a few words. After a second, he looked back up. "What's the hardest thing about this for you?"

I clenched and unclenched my jaw. I wasn't sure how to answer that. I wasn't sure if it was losing my best friend, or feeling like I couldn't be honest with my mom, or something else entirely.

"Let me try a different tack," Rod offered when I didn't say anything. "Where is your mom in all this?"

"She's busy," I replied.

"At school? Trying to get to the bottom of things?"

"Yeah. Probably. She says the school wants to handle it internally."

Rod tapped his pen against his notepad. "Listen, I can imagine it's been hard for you to communicate with your mom about any of this, but have you guys talked at all?"

"Well, she told me on Monday the ballots were missing. That Mrs. Wagner had burned them. I guess this cheerleader, Tiffany Holland, helped her count the ballots, which is practically its own story since Tiffany was a prom nominee herself. Anyway, she said there were more ballots for Sylvia than for Marissa, but before anyone could verify anything, Mrs. Wagner burned the evidence."

"I talked to Tiffany already, actually. She's very forthcoming and she's held fast to her position despite people questioning her motives. But there's one thing I can't figure out: why would she bust her own cheerleading coach?"

"Tiffany found out Marissa was. .h.i.tting on her boyfriend, and she couldn't stand to see Marissa win."

Rod shook his head. "Man, there are days when I am so glad I'm not back there."

"Tell me about it."

"Your mom, she just had cancer surgery. Is that right?"

I stared at Rod. "Yes. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Rod looked up from his notebook. "Nothing. I'm just trying to make sure I have all my facts straight."

"She had a lumpectomy, but it was outpatient. She's fine. They say she has 'clean margins,' and I guess that's good."

"Undergoing radiation?"

"No. Not yet. She needs a couple more weeks to heal before they do that. Or at least that's what my dad said."

I took another drink of coffee. Rod did the same.

"So, the part about Sylvia tampering with the ballots," I said. "Are you going to print that?"

Rod looked at the bottom of his mug, then at me. "Out of everything we've talked about, I'm not quite sure that's the most interesting."

I blinked. "Then what is?"

"Well, essentially you've confirmed that your mom has known about the ballots being burned since Monday, and she's done nothing. Not one thing. And today is Friday. Why do you think that is?"

I struggled to keep my thoughts ordered. "Well, not because she's guilty, if that's what you're thinking."

"I have Mrs. Wagner on record saying she was told by your mom to burn the ballots and crown Marissa queen."

"Wait, you talked to Mrs. Wagner already?"