He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was always doing that, which is why he usually looked like he’d been electrocuted by fourth period. “It was a valid story, Pres,” he finally said. “Something was definitely wrong with you that night and I think the student body of the Grove has the right to know if their golden girl is hiding something.”
“No, they don’t,” I fired back. “What was going on that night was none of your business!”
“I was involved that night too, Harper.”
“Um, you held my hair while I puked. I don’t think that exactly makes you a major player in the night’s events, David.”
“You held her hair?” Chie asked. She had slid down into one of the desks, twisting around to face us.
He glanced over at her, his mouth turning down with impatience. “Yeah, but that’s not the point.”
He turned back to me, and he didn’t look even a little bit sorry anymore. “When I see a story that affects the school, it’s my journalistic duty to report it.”
I laughed. “Your journalistic duty? Look around you, David.” I snatched up the paper from the desk, gesturing around the tiny, hot room with its posters of famous dead journalists and lame quotes. “You write for the tiniest school paper ever. This”— I rattled the paper—“is a glorified newsletter. You don’t even send it to a real printer. You just print copies off the secretary’s computer! Don’t you get it? No one wants you to dig up corruption in the SGA, or uncover health violations in the cafeteria, or write nasty stories about a girl who works hard to make the Grove an awesome place for everyone, even total jackasses like you. I can’t believe you would do something like this when—”
I broke off. I was breathing hard, and the paper was crumpled in my hand. Michael had gone to one of the computers, his back to us, but his shoulders tight and his ears nearly as red as his hair. Chie was still sitting in her desk, stunned. Truth be told, I felt kind of stunned, too. I mean, I hardly ever lost my temper, and I’d certainly never done it in public. But here I was, panting, sweaty, my hands smudged with ink. My face was on fire, and I could feel some of my hair sticking to my cheeks and neck.
Was this part of being a Paladin/superhero? Was I like the Hulk, only sweaty instead of green? What was wrong with me?
Okay, I mean, obviously I was freaked out that David’s little exposé might get me, um, thrown in jail forever, but my anger seemed to run deeper than that. What had I been about to say to him? I can’t believe you’d do something like this when . . .
When you were nice to me that night.
That’s what I had been about to say. I was angry because David Stark had hurt my feelings. I took a deep breath and dropped the paper onto the nearest desk. Then I carefully smoothed my hair away from my face and willed my blood pressure back to a non-stroke level. I straightened my shoulders and looked at David with haughty disdain.
“Anyway,” I said, “I expect a printed retraction and apology in the next issue.”
David folded his arms over his chest and grinned, clearly deciding to battle haughty disdain with snarky nonchalance. Well, his posture was snarky nonchalance at least, but his eyes were practically burning. “Expect it all you want, Pres. I stand by that story.”
If I hadn’t already been so rattled, I wouldn’t have said what I said next. But David had pushed so many of my buttons that I just smirked back. “Retract it, or I am going to file a formal complaint with the school board.”
The grin faltered.
“It would be the second one, right? Didn’t someone on the debate team file in September after you accused him of cheating?” I rolled my eyes upward, like I was trying to remember something. “And didn’t your aunt say something like if you got one more demerit, she was making you resign from the paper? I seem to recall her mentioning it to my mom at Cotillion practice.”
The look of naked fear that skittered across his face made me feel sick. So did the sound of my voice. I sounded so much like Leigh-Anne.
He made me do it, I told myself. You’re not a mean girl, but he made you be one.
David recovered quickly, but his grin was ugly now. “Fair enough, Pres. Next issue.”
“Thank you.”
I cleared my throat and picked up my book bag. As I turned to go, David called out, “Harper?”
“What?”
He took a minute, like he was trying to decide if he should say whatever it was he wanted to say. I wondered if he felt like I had, like he didn’t want to say something hateful, but I’d made him.
“You know, all the articles aside, I actually thought you were better than this,” he finally said. “Nice to know that you are just another high school bitch.”
Maybe it was that his words were so close to what Dr. DuPont had said right before he nearly murdered me. Maybe it was because a little part of me felt like David might be right. Or maybe it was because I just really didn’t like to be called names. Whatever the reason, my right hand shot up to slap David Stark across the face. I didn’t even consider my new superpowers, and if those new powers would mean David’s head would go flying off.
But it didn’t matter. Half an inch from David’s cheek, my hand stopped in midair. And it wasn’t because I had some crisis of conscience, either. It was like my hand hit an invisible wall right by his head.
He had flinched in anticipation of the slap, but now he opened his eyes and looked at my palm as it hovered next to his face. I wasn’t sure which one of us looked more surprised.
I drew back my hand a little, then pushed it forward again. Again, my hand stopped like there was Plexiglas between my hand and his head.
I tried the left hand, making David raise his shoulders and shut his eyes again, but the same thing happened, so now I was standing in front of him with my hands poised on either side of his face.
This time when he opened his eyes, he looked at my hands in confusion. “Um . . . Harper? Are you gonna hit me or not?”
I stood there, looking at my hands and at his face between them. I still really wanted to hit him, but it was obvious that I wasn’t going to be able to.
So I dropped my hands and raised my chin. “No, I’m not.” I let my tone say, Because I am totally a better person than you and hoped he hadn’t noticed the fact that my hands didn’t seem to work when it came to slapping his face.
“Ooookay,” he said slowly, and I heard someone stifle a giggle behind him, so I had a feeling this bizarre little story would run right next to my apology next week.
“I’ll see y’all later,” I mumbled, grabbing my book bag and trying not to run out of the room.
The bell rang as I ran down the hall, passing the bathrooms. There was no police tape across the doors, so that was a good thing. As I turned the corner to go down the history hall, I glanced in Dr. DuPont’s room. Mrs. Hillyard, a substitute teacher I’d had a few times, was standing at the front of the class. All the stuff in the garden had pretty much convinced me that my fight with Dr. DuPont had been real, but I was still super relieved to see Mrs. Hillyard. There had been a tiny (okay, not that tiny) part of my brain that had been terrified of coming to school and finding Dr. DuPont and Mr. Hall there like nothing had happened.
But they were definitely gone and I was definitely a superhero . . . er, Paladin. Hadn’t that thing with David proved it? If I was guardian and protector of the Grove, I couldn’t just run around slapping people in the face. My body actually wouldn’t allow it; that’s how good I was now.