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Kami ignored this trifle. “Remember how I encouraged the kids to keep diaries, which turned into an exposé about the seamy underbelly of cricket camp?”
“I have found it impossible to forget,” Angela told her.
“And remember last year when I started the petition to get Miss Mackenzie fired, and she chased me around the pitch waving a hockey stick, and we had to speak before the school board?”
“Again, unforgettable,” said Angela.
“My point is, here we have an opportunity to champion truth that doesn’t involve sports,” Kami persisted. “It’s a step toward me becoming the greatest journalist of our time. You have to help, Angela, because Ms. Dollard has this notion that I’m a troublemaker and she’s only—finally—letting me set up a school paper because I told her you were on board.”
Angela rounded on Kami, her dark eyes blazing. “You did what?”
“I knew that once I explained the situation, you would understand,” Kami said, holding her ground despite Angela’s looming over her, alarming and overly tall. She continued swiftly in case Angela was considering beating her to death with her schoolbag. “I was hoping you would agree out of real enthusiasm for the project and because you are a true friend, but if you insist on being without vision—”
“I do,” Angela said firmly. “Oh, I do.”
“There is one other factor,” Kami said. “The office we’re being given to run the school paper has a sofa in it.” She paused for effect. “And we’re allowed to go to the office during free periods to tirelessly pursue truth and justice. Or, say—”
“Nap,” Angela finished, in the reverent tones of a knight who has finally spotted the Holy Grail. She stood lost in thought, her fingers tapping against the strap of her schoolbag. Then her perfect mouth curved ever so slightly. “I guess I do have a few ideas for articles.”
They walked into class in full accord, Kami beaming with victory. “I have more than a few. I’ve already started an article.”
Angela slipped into a chair one over from the window, and Kami took the place beside her. “About what?”
Kami leaned across the desk, keeping her voice low. “Yesterday I was at the sweetshop talking to Mrs. Thompson about the Lynburns coming back.” She glanced out the window of the classroom. Fields stretched to the south in a green blanket. To the north rose a hill steep enough to look like a cliff. On the edge of that rise stood Aurimere House, and below it were the woods, like a regiment of dark soldiers with a bright general.
She looked back at her friend in time to see Angela’s raised eyebrows. “So you were basically interrogating poor Mrs. Thompson, who is probably a hundred and twenty years old?”
“I was acquiring information,” Kami said calmly. “Also licorice.”
“You are shameless,” Angela said. “I hope you feel good about your life choices.”
Kami looked out at the valley again. There were stories to be found here, and she was going to discover them all.
“You know,” she said, “I really do.”
They were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Mackenzie, which forced both of them, Kami smiling and Angela shaking her head, to turn to their books.
It wasn’t until the end of the day that Kami and Angela had time to make their way up the stairs to the second floor and check out their newspaper office. The Sorry-in-the-Vale school building—the town was so small that there was no need to have more than one—was over a hundred years old. It accommodated all Vale kids from age five to eighteen, and there were still quite a few rooms in the school that weren’t used. Kami couldn’t wait to use this one.
“So tell me about the articles you have in mind,” Kami said to Angela on the first step.
“I was thinking I could write tips for people who are too busy to exercise but want to stay in shape,” Angela said. “People like me.”
Kami nodded. “You’re always busy trying to find a napping spot.”
“Exactly,” Angela told her. “I can’t be distracted from my search by having to do Pilates or whatever. Here’s one of my tips: always take steps two at a time.”
She demonstrated.
“I thought you did that just to mock my stumpy legs.”
“That too,” Angela conceded. “But the main thing is that taking steps two at a time is like a StairMaster workout. The result? Buns of steel.” Angela casually slapped the buns she referred to, proving her point.
Angela had a perfect body. She had a perfect face too, but at least she put some effort into that, her makeup always flawless and her abilities with eyeliner unnatural. Kami focused more on clothes than on makeup. She was always forgetting to put on lip gloss as she rushed out the door, but she felt the likelihood of forgetting her clothes was not high.
Kami slapped her own ass experimentally and made a face. “Buns of co
rrugated tin,” she said. “On a good day.”
