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Mrs. Alvarez looks fantastic in a black dress and high heels. Her hair, normally restrained in a bun, is blown out in a smooth shoulder-length bob that makes the gray slice all the more striking. As I watch, she walks away from a man in a wheelchair and joins my mother and sister. The expression on Grace’s face is a combination of disgust and terror, but when Mrs. Alvarez rests her hand on Grace’s shoulder, she doesn’t shrug it off.

In one corner of the lobby, Turnbull’s jazz band strikes up, the signal for teachers and the mayor’s staff to disappear into an office with the drop boxes.

Rachel and Izzy emerge from the crowd to join Dan and me. Izzy’s hair has turned a rich mahogany since I saw her yesterday. It’s the first sign that she’s getting over Carson; I can only hope I recover as quickly.

“We’ve been scouting the competition,” Izzy says. “Tyler is hanging around that Chicago Bulls player along with Mac and the rest of the jocks.

“Nervous?” Rachel asks.

I nod. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the media.”

“You won’t,” Izzy assures me. “Besides, they’ve got all the fool footage they need.”

She points to the three cameras currently trained on Mariah, who has managed to cut Solana off from the herd and is auditioning a new routine for her. Solana’s eyes widen and she looks around for help.

I start to walk over, but I don’t get far before Grace swoops down on Mariah. She gives her a glare that would be followed with a good slap if the cameras weren’t rolling. Instead, she leads Solana away.

A few minutes later, Mr. Sparling arrives to take me to the wings. Solana and some other guests are already there. Beyond the curtain, the mayor is calling for silence.

“It’s showtime,” I say to Solana. “Do you still have your speech?”

She holds up her note cards. “Do you have yours?”

“I memorized it.” My voice is higher than usual, betraying my nerves.

Mrs. Alvarez turns and shushes me before stepping out on the stage.

Over the microphone, the mayor is welcoming the guests and praising the city’s public school system for raising nearly a million dollars in the Literacy Challenge. I squeeze Solana’s hand and find it’s just as sweaty as mine.

“The three schools we’re honoring today have outshone all others,” he says as the applause subsides. “I stand here with three very proud—and dare I say surprised?—principals.” A laugh ripples through the audience. “Warwick Central, Colonel Dunfield High, and the Turnbull Academy each raised close to two hundred thousand dollars for this very special cause. For a while it looked like we might have a three-way tie, but thanks to some generous donations this afternoon, my staff informs me that one school has clearly taken the lead.” There’s a rustling as the mayor opens an envelope. “Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to announce that the winner of The Literacy Challenge is…
Colonel Dunfield High
!”

A good portion of the crowd erupts into cheers, but even more groan. There are boos and demands for a recount.

“Now, now,” the mayor says. “Dunfield won the vacation fair and square. But I’m so proud of Warwick and Turnbull students that I’m going to give them a prize too.” He waits for the murmur of excitement to abate and announces, “I’m sure you’ll be proud to display this fine plaque at your schools.”

Solana and I snicker as even more booing ensues.

The mayor moves on hastily. “It’s now my privilege to introduce you to two spirited young columnists from Colonel Dunfield, whose friendly sparring helped put their school into the winner’s circle. ‘The Word’ is now syndicated in five—”

“Six!” a familiar voice rings out, provoking another laugh.

“My apologies, Principal Alvarez,” the mayor says with a chuckle. “The column appears in
six
school papers and online. Without further ado, I present today’s hosts: Newshound and Scoop!”

As the crowd cheers, Solana gives me a gentle shove and wishes me luck.

I push through the curtains and step onto the stage, blinking in the bright spotlights. Before my eyes adjust I start walking toward the podium. I make out a guy approaching from the other side. He has a familiar gait, familiar hair, and broad shoulders. If I could focus I’d see two crooked fingers.

My feet stop of their own accord. What is Joey doing here? Did he come to surprise me? If so, why is he onstage? My mind races but doesn’t come to any reasonable conclusions.

Mrs. Alvarez takes my arm. “Come and meet your fellow columnist, Luisa.” My shoes actually skid across the wooden floor as she pulls me toward the podium. “Joseph Carella, meet Luisa Perez.”

Joey stares at me, and I notice his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. I stare back at him, still trying to process what I’m seeing.

Finally Mariah’s voice breaks the silence. “Oh my God! Coconut is the Newshound!”

A murmur travels through the audience. Mrs. Alvarez’s head swivels from me to Joey and back, and then she initiates damage control. “I know you two have had your differences, but you wrote in the spirit of fun, right?”

“Fun,” Joey echoes.

“Fun?” I repeat.

“Yes, fun,” Mrs. Alvarez says firmly. “Now shake hands and let’s move on with our program.”

Neither Joey nor I make a move, so Mrs. Alvarez takes my hand. Then she grabs Joey’s and pulls it toward mine. Each of us leans back, trying not to touch.

“Don’t be silly,” she whispers. “Hundreds of people are waiting. Do I need to remind you you’re representing Dunfield now?”

The spotlight is making me hot and dizzy, and I look up at my principal desperately. “We were… together,” I choke out. “He said I was easy.”

Joey finds his voice too. “And she made me out to be a—”

“Eunuch,” Mac Landis supplies. “With a small—”

“Mr. Landis,” Mrs. Alvarez says.
“Keep your mouth closed.”

There’s laughter throughout the lobby, and I realize that the microphones are broadcasting the entire drama. Still, I speak to Joey directly. “I was trying to make you sound
nice
, whereas you told the world you got me into bed.”

“You go, Coco-
slut
!” Mariah says, louder now. “Way to carry on the family tradition!”

I turn to see her pretending to rock a baby in her arms. Standing just behind Mariah is my mother, whose mouth drops open in shock.

“Mariah Mendes,” Mrs. Alvarez begins, “I would like you to leave.”

“But she lied to all of—”

The last word is cut off as a hand appears on Mariah’s shoulder and yanks her backward. I see Grace’s blond head, some thrashing, and suddenly Mariah is gone.

Tears sting my eyes as I glance from my mother’s face back to Joey’s. My stomach heaves, and I know if I don’t leave now I am going to add to my humiliation by throwing up, fainting, or both.

“Luisa,” Mrs. Alvarez calls after me as I hurry toward the wings on Joey’s side of the stage. “Come back.”

“I can’t,” I say, “I
hate
him!”

Seconds later I’m out the front door and running through the parking lot, the December wind freezing the tears on my cheeks.

I open the door quietly and creep into the darkened apartment.

The light switches on, and I stop, caught in the spotlight for the second time today.

My mother is sitting alone on the sofa, and she doesn’t look happy. “Luisa, I was worried to death about you. I thought you were running around without a coat or dime on you, but I see you haven’t frozen to death.”

I’m wearing Dan’s old plaid jacket over my halter dress. “Dan left his car unlocked. There was enough change in the ashtray for bus fare and coffee.”

Mom sighs. “But not enough for a pay phone?”

“I’m sorry. I should have called, but I lost track of time.”

“Well, Grace is covering your shift at Dan’s.”

I’ve never missed a single shift, not even for illness, but today I completely forgot. “Aren’t you supposed to work tonight, too?”

“I couldn’t go anywhere until I knew you were all right.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I repeat. “I’ll make up the money by taking extra shifts.”

“It’s not about the money, Lu.” She pats the sofa beside her, and I sit down. “Today’s event wasn’t my proudest parenting moment. I got all dressed up to watch my girl host a big gala, and instead I saw her run off the stage when the going got tough.”

I’m shocked that she can be so cold. “Mom, in case you didn’t pick this up, Scoop was Joey.
My boyfriend.
What else could I do?”

“Well, as Grace would say, you could suck it up. You had an anonymous column. You wrote some edgy things. He wrote some edgy things. But all masks come off eventually, and you have to face up to what you’ve said.”

“I didn’t say anything bad,” I say, crossing my arms.

“You don’t think so, but from where I stood, Joey had another take on it.”

“Well, he told six schools he’d hooked up with me.”

Her hand on my shoulder tightens. “Did he?”

“Hook up with me? No.”

“Are you sure?”

I slide away from her on the couch. This is my time of need, and it’s not fair to interrogate about something that can never happen now anyway. “I think I’d remember that.”

“My point is, you don’t want to get into that situation too soon—at least until you get to know the real person behind the column.”

“Joey and I are through. And I’m not stupid, Mom.”

“I know that, but I also know how easy it is to get carried away. I made that mistake with your father—as Mariah kindly pointed out today.”

“I hate her almost as much as Joey.”

“Well, she might think twice next time, thanks to Grace. At least no one got arrested.”

I slide back toward her, and she puts her arm around me again. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you like that,” I say.

“I just want you to have all the opportunities I never had, Lu. Don’t throw your future away on a boy.”

At the moment it’s hardly a risk, but I am beginning to understand why my mother has never had a boyfriend and continues to avoid online dating. When I look at Paz, Joey, Carson, and Jason, it’s difficult to believe guys are worth the trouble.

“What happened after I left?” I ask, hoping that Joey was so racked by remorse that he gave an impassioned speech about me.

“Joey left the stage, too. And when Mrs. Alvarez called on Solana to give her speech, she’d also disappeared.”

“Oh, no!”

“Grace caught up with Solana, and she apparently said that if you weren’t committed enough to stay, she wasn’t going to put herself out there either.”

“That’s terrible. Solana could have done so much good with her speech. I’ve let everyone down.”

The Chicago Bulls star Joey enlisted also left before speaking, but Mom isn’t sure what happened after that, because she set off to look for me. “Rachel and Izzy will be able to fill you in, because I insisted that they stay.”

We sit in silence for a while, and then I ask, “What time is your shift tomorrow?”

“Late enough for me to make sure you get to school.”

“Since when do you worry about my attendance?”

“Since I have reason to worry.”

Rising rhythm and blues singer Solana G. deserted hundreds of fans at the Harold Washington Library Center yesterday. Ms. G. was set to perform on behalf of Colonel Dunfield High, one of 120 schools competing in the citywide Literacy Challenge.

Ms. G. refused to comment, but some speculate that the move was a publicity stunt perfectly timed with the kickoff of the young singer’s first national tour.

I drop the newspaper and let my head hit the table. “I can’t read any more.” Izzy pats my shoulder. There’s nothing she can say to make me feel better, and she has the sense not to try.

Eventually I find the strength to lift my head and stare at the photo beside the article. It shows Solana leaving the Library Center with Grace on her heels. As they both appear to be yelling at reporters, it’s an unflattering shot.

“They’ve got the whole story wrong,” I say.

Rachel pushes my caramel macchiato toward me, and I shake my head. This is a disaster even Starbucks cannot relieve, but at least I have my friends to help me through it. They suggested meeting here early so that we could walk into Dunfield as a united front, but that was before we knew about the article. Izzy’s father discovered it as she was leaving the house.

“Solana had the best intentions, and they’ve tagged her as a diva,” I groan. “Finding out that my soul mate’s a loser and a liar was bad enough, but this is so much worse.”

“Hold that thought,” Izzy says, preparing to read the rest of the story aloud:

The Literacy Gala gave the three top schools a chance to add to their funds through donations from some of Chicago’s most generous patrons. Colonel Dunfield had the strongest program, thanks to promised appearances by Ms. G. and Chicago Bulls point guard, Jordan Peters. This led to a surprise win for a school at which students traditionally miss more classes than they attend.

The event began unraveling when two Dunfield students who pen a popular syndicated column called “The Word” began bickering onstage. Their principal, Alicia Alvarez, tried to intervene, but heckling from the crowd prompted the female half of the duo, Luisa Perez, to flee.

Her male counterpart, Joey Carella, left shortly thereafter.

Mayor Grimsby attempted to get the show back on track by introducing the popular Ms. G., but by that time she had walked, too, taking most of the press with her. Mr. Peters also disappeared.

The show did go on eventually, with special guests of the Turnbull Academy and Warwick Central fulfilling their commitment.

Afterward, Dunfield donors complained that they had supported the wrong school. Mayor Grimsby responded by renouncing Colonel Dunfield’s win and awarding the grand prize—an extended winter holiday—to the Turnbull Academy.

“I hope people will forget one misfire in what was a very successful campaign and remember that Chicago schools have raised nearly a million dollars for literacy this fall,” Mayor Grimsby said.

“Oh, man, we lost the prize too,” I say. “I can’t show my face at school again.”

“That’s what your mother was afraid of,” a male voice says.

Paz is standing over us, wearing a black leather jacket and combat boots. His hair is squished on one side as if he just rolled out of bed.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, injecting as much contempt into my tone as I can. Paz and I haven’t really spoken since he scared Joey off, and while that turned out to be for the best, I still wish he’d stop meddling in my life.

“Your mom asked me to pick you up here and take you to class,” he says. “And don’t give me attitude, because getting up early to visit Dumpfield isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“I do not need a bodyguard.”

Paz crosses his arms. “You might, actually. This vacation was a big deal for a lot of miserable students. Some might want to show you how pissed off they are.”

The attitude drains out of me pretty fast. “Well, maybe I should stay home for a couple of days.”

“Not an option,” he says. “Your mother’s wish is my command, Shorty. So grab your things and let’s get going.”

“Wait,” Izzy says, leaping to her feet. She digs a hairbrush and clips out of her bag and starts putting up my hair. “Rachel, get the rest of the stuff.”

“Izzy, what are you doing?” I ask. “It doesn’t matter how I look if I’m going to be torn limb from limb.”

Rachel pulls out Izzy’s mother’s rabbit fur bomber jacket, a floppy hat, and sunglasses.

“Now, if you could just add a couple of inches to her legs,” Paz says.

Izzy dangles a pair of steep platform shoes. “Done.”

After Paz sends the girls on ahead, I ask, “Is it really going to be that bad?”

“Probably not,” he says, pulling the hat over my face. “But if I have to take out a couple of Dunfield dweebs, I’m ready.”

He reaches for my coffee, and I don’t even complain as he chugs it. What’s a four-dollar macchiato between in-laws?

***

“You look like a ’ho,” Paz says amiably, as we turn the last corner and Dunfield comes into view.

“No risk of my
acting
like one, with you around.”

He snorts. “I talked to Carella, that’s all. If a guy on my crew has his mitts all over you, I feel responsible for making sure he isn’t getting out of line. No one is going to disrespect my family.”

“If Joey’s mitts were on me—and that really isn’t any of your business—it was just as much my doing as his. He was always a gentleman in person, Paz. He only dissed me in print.”

“That was just showing off. Guys are idiots, remember?”

“Now you’re taking his side?”

“I’m just saying that when the column started you weren’t seeing each other, and by the time you were, the tone was already set.”

What is wrong with the world when Paz starts to sound like the voice of reason? “He got a lot worse
after
we started seeing each other,” I point out. “And he knew by then that his identity would be revealed, which would make the girl he was writing about a laughingstock.”

“Whereas no one was going to laugh at Prince Newshound? I’d kill Grace for making me look like such a sap, and I’m a sensitive guy—practically a feminist.”

I fight the urge to return his grin. “I don’t want to talk about Joey. We’re over.”

“Give him a while to cool off, and I bet he’ll accept your apology.”

“
My
apology!” I look at him and find the grin has expanded. “That will
never
happen.”

“‘Over’ doesn’t always stay that way,” Paz says. “I’ll have another talk with him.”

“Don’t you dare!”

He offers me his leather-clad arm as we approach the main staircase at Dunfield. As usual, the stairs are lined with students who can’t bear to enter until the last possible moment. Some of them are smoking openly, although it’s against the rules.

“Isn’t that her?” someone mutters.

One guy steps forward and says, “Luisa Perez?”

Paz stops walking. He is several inches shorter than the thug, but there’s no question, he has presence. “Who wants to know?”

And that’s all it takes. The guy fades back into the crowd, and we continue up the stairs. Paz turns at the top to give everyone a last look and remind them that I have friends with muscle.

After he delivers me to homeroom, however, I’m on my own.

I never thought a summons to the principal’s office could be a welcome reprieve, but today it is. I take my backpack with me in the hopes that I don’t have to return to class. Being expelled would be a reprieve too.

Clattering toward the principal’s office on Izzy’s platforms, I replace my hat and shades, but the few students in the hall seem to have X-ray vision, because heads swivel as I pass. The Luisa Perez who wanted to be noticed was a fool.

“Good morning, Luisa,” Mrs. Alvarez says, directing me to a seat. “Hat and glasses, please.”

I sweep them off and get straight to the point. “I’m sorry about what happened, Mrs. Alvarez.”

She gets straight to the point, too. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Wait it out?” I suggest. “People will forget what happened by next year.”

“I mean about Solana. She’s taken the brunt of this unfairly, Luisa. I’m sure you realize how difficult it was for her to agree to speak about her experiences.”

I hang my head and stare at the gray carpet, worn thin by so many delinquent feet. “I already called her, but she didn’t pick up.”

“You’ll have to be more creative,” she says. “And I know how creative you can be.” She allows her glasses to slide down her nose and looks over them. “Columnists have to take responsibility for any damage they cause. So I’ll see you back here at the same time tomorrow with a progress report.”

Great, I’m becoming a regular, just like my sister.

By 11 a.m. I’m exhausted, and Izzy’s shoes are killing me. I walked over to Solana’s building and got spurned by the doorman. I returned half an hour later with two expensive cigars for him, which won me the privilege of leaving a box of Donner chocolates and a card full of groveling for Solana. Then I walked to Dan’s to catch Grace as she came in for the lunch shift.

“You’re blowing off school,” she says when she sees me. “Bad Luisa.”

All things considered, she’s being pretty decent. It must be kind of nice for her to see
me
in trouble for a change.

“Mrs. Alvarez practically gave me permission,” I say, telling her about our meeting. “I want to call Solana from your cell phone in case she’ll pick up.”

“I already tried,” Grace says, sighing. “We’re both blacklisted.”

“What am I going to do? I have to make it up to her somehow.”

Grace pours me a coffee and slides it across the counter. “You’re creative. You’ll think of something.”

I wish people would stop saying that.

Rachel, Izzy, and I regroup just before 1:00. Since the hall monitor made me doff the hat and shades, I enter the cafeteria to glares and hisses.

“Holy hostile,” Izzy says, glancing around. “Has it been this bad all day?”

“This is nothing,” I reply. “My homeroom class
booed
when I walked in.”

“Didn’t the teacher stop them?”

“I think she started it.”

I fill them in on the rest of my morning, but like everyone else, they’re out of good ideas.

Someone walks by and deliberately knocks my water so that it spills into my lap. The ripple of laughter proves that everyone really is watching me.

“This is brutal,” Rachel whispers.

It is, but I’m still glad I came back. If I want to graduate, I have no choice but to try to live this down. And as long as no one beats me senseless, I can take the hazing.

“Life was easier when no one except the other ten Luisa Perezes knew my name.”

“Nine,” Izzy corrects. “The one in my homeroom just announced she’ll be using her middle name so as not to be confused with you.”

“Ouch,” I say. “Add that to my two prank calls last night.”

We look up to see Jason Baca and Tyler Milano standing beside us.

“Well, I thought your column rocked,” Jason says. “And I’m sorry it got ugly at the gala.”

I smile up at him gratefully. “You’re the first student to be nice to me today—other than these two.”

“I’ll be number four,” Tyler says. “I enjoyed your column, too. When I designed the Web site for Mr. Sparling I read all of them.”

So
that’s
why he had copies of the column on his computer. “Thanks, Tyler. I’m sorry I blew it for everyone.”

“We’d never have made the top three without ‘The Word,’” Tyler says.

I stare at him, realizing that I should have stuck with Mr. Fantastic all along. Tyler might not be my soul mate, but he’s a hell of a lot closer to fitting the glass sneaker than Joey is.

As if sensing my thoughts, Tyler adds, “My girlfriend loved your column. But Scoop’s totally cracked me up.”

Okay, so he’s not my prince. But Jason might still be Rachel’s. He keeps staring at her when he thinks she won’t notice. “She still likes you, Jason,” I say. Rachel gives me an indignant look. “Well, you do. And he likes you too. Believe me, there are worse things than parental trouble.”

Rachel looks up at Jason and shrugs. “If he does, he can call me—on my cell phone—anytime.”

They exchange a smile, and Tyler and Jason walk away.

“At least one of us gets a happy ending,” Izzy says.

I point to Mariah approaching with Mac and the Understudies. “Mine is getting more tragic by the second.”

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Newshound, who left the party with her tail between her legs,” Mariah says. “Mac and I worked hard to win that competition, and you ruined it.”

I stand to face her. I deserve crap from some people, but not from her. “If it weren’t for ‘The Word’ and my special guest, we wouldn’t have raised nearly as much as we did, Mariah. And as for leaving the gala, it might not have happened if you’d kept your big mouth shut.”

“I could still call the cops on your sister,” she says, pointing out a bruise on her arm the approximate size and shape of Grace’s hand.

“Go ahead. But Grace never forgets a grudge.”

“The only reason anyone read ‘The Turd’ was to laugh at you and your loser boyfriend anyway.”