Circle of Silence. Carol Tanzman M.

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СКАЧАТЬ lowers his voice. “Don’t let me down, Val.”

      “I won’t!”

      The team piles into the director’s booth.

      “Way to get back what’s ours, sista!” Omar hoots.

      Henry and I fist-bump. Raul gives a short nod. Over in the corner, Jagger yawns. If I expected props from Voorham, I’m a fool. His short attention span hasn’t increased by much in a year. Screw him.

      “Let’s get organized. Jagger and I stay on the story since I just made a big deal about it. But we need help.”

      “I’ll anchor,” Raul suggests. “Frees me up to do whatever’s needed.”

      “Right on. I have all the footage shot and half-edited on the College Application story we didn’t air last time. If someone wants to finish that, it’s an easy second segment.”

      Marci speaks up. “I’ll do it. MP creeps me out.”

      Omar grins. “All mannequins are creepy. But naked ones are waaay better.”

      I roll my eyes. “The rest of us split into groups. Omar and Raul. Henry, me and Jagger.”

      “You don’t need three people,” Henry says. “I’ll help Marci.”

      “That’s sweet,” she tells him, “but we’ve got a week.”

      For a moment, he looks disappointed. Immediately, though, Henry cheers up. “We need more stories. I’ll stay here and think of a couple easy ones. Marci can help me shoot next week.”

      “Fine. Whatever. Got to get going,” Raul urges.

      The team piles into the main room, ignoring the resentful looks Scott and the rest of his team send our way. I head for the equipment cabinet. “Marci, sign it out for us?”

      “Aye-aye, ValGal.” She salutes.

      Expertly, I flip a case onto a table and pull the camera. “Jags and I shoot the yard. Raul, you and Omar get the inside stuff.”

      * * *

      Outside, at least, the plastic leg is untouched. Jagger and I set up in front of the trash can.

      “You’re awfully quiet,” I tell him.

      Jagger shrugs. “What’s there to say? Either you were going to get the story back—or not.”

      “Don’t you think we should follow up? You’re the one who wanted it in the first place.”

      He plugs the headphone into the camera. “All I said was that it would be a good story. Especially since Campus News is usually so lame—”

      “Thanks a lot.” I whip the mic cord out of the way. “Why are you even in the class if that’s what you think? You could have taken Mechanical Drawing or the Fine Art of Cooking Crap or whatever that class is called.”

      Jagger gestures to the trash can. “Ready?”

      “No. Me and Campus News might be lame, but you’re…awful. A terrible person. You hang out with me all summer. Then the night of Sonya’s party, I’m stuck babysitting the twins, so I say, ‘Doesn’t mean you can’t go.’ Every other boyfriend in the universe would tell me, ‘I’ll keep you company.’ Not you. When I finally show up, you and Dawn Chevananda are tonguing like crazy.” All the hurt bottled up inside gushes out. “You never said a word. Ever. Don’t you think I’m owed an apology? An explanation.”

      A curtain lifts and his Tortured Soul look appears. Last year, whenever that happened, it made me want to hold him tight, tell him it would be okay, whatever it is.

      “What’s wrong?” I would whisper.

      “Nothing,” he’d always say.

      So I’d let it go, thinking I was crazy. Or believing that my hugs—and kisses—would banish whatever problem he was having. Until I found out I wasn’t enough at all.

      “This is not the time to get into it, Val.” Footsteps sound behind us. Immediately, Jagger’s expression changes. Frustrated, he points to the leg. “Start talking or the bell will ring before we get a single shot off. Then you’ll really be pissed.”

      Like I’m not now—but he’s right. Mr. Orel heads straight for us, trash bag in hand. Stalking to the garbage can, I glare at the camera. To add to my rage, Jagger counts down as if he’s been in TV Production forever.

      “In five, four, three…”

      * * *

      Later that evening, after the twins are asleep, Mom calls me into her bedroom.

      “What did Bethany tell you I did now?”

      She laughs. “I don’t know. What did you do?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Good.” Mom looks pleased. As if by using Advanced Interrogation Techniques she’s managed to get something out of me. “I’m the one who wants to ask a question. About your sister.”

      “Go ahead.” I sit on the queen-size bed, the blanket a lumpy mess from the twins’ postbath read-aloud.

      “Does Bethany have a boyfriend?”

      “What? No!” That would be horrible. I haven’t had a boyfriend since Jagger. How could she?

      “You sure?” Mom asks.

      “Not really. How would I know? It’s not like Bethie talks to me. Ever.”

      “That’ll change when you get older. Blood’s thicker than water.” Mom gets her canny Interrogation look again. “Maybe you’ve seen her with someone at school.”

      “Mother! Are you asking me to spy on my sister?”

      She appears dutifully shocked. “Of course not. I was just wondering.”

      I prop up the pillows. “Now I’m curious. Why are you asking?”

      Mom laughs. “No big deal. Bethie wants to go clothes shopping. Asked if I knew where to get cute shirts.”

      “She said, ‘cute shirts’? Not tan shirts? Or baggy cargo pants? Boring brown sneaks…?”

      “You don’t need to go on, Valerie. But yes, that’s why I’m asking.”

      The idea that Bethany has a boyfriend boggles my mind. “If I find out anything, Mom, you’ll be the first to know.”

      Or not. Hoodie on, I wade through the dirty clothes and the rest of the junk Bethany’s tossed all over the floor. Grabbing my cell, I open the window beside my bed and climb onto the fire escape, pulling the pane back down so she can’t hear me. I have a private nest out here—three-inch camping mat and sleeping bag rolled up in a waterproof bag. It works great until the weather turns November nasty. I’ve got a few weeks of privacy until СКАЧАТЬ