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“I am not pushing you away,” I said shakily. Gladdie had accused me of doing the exact same thing.

“Oh, yes you are,” he said, louder this time, placing his large, calloused hands on my shoulders to keep me in my place. “You are doing your best to push me away. And you know what? I’m finally going to do you a favor and not push back. You want me out of your life? Consider me out.”

Then he walked away.

“Omigod!” Sara screamed. “Holy shit! I knew something was up with you two! The quote Class Brainiac and Krispy Kreme unquote.”

I ran down the hall, out of the building, across the campus, past my house. I ran as far, as fast, and as long as I could. But it wasn’t far, fast, or long enough to escape his words repeating themselves over and over again inside my head.

the fifteenth

Ever since Marcus’s very public declaration of whatever he was claiming to “feel” for me, I’ve become the subject of countless finger-pointing rumors.

I heard he’s taught her everything he knows, so she can do every position in the Kama Sutra at college.

They meet every morning at her house for a pre-homeroom hump.

He’s turned her into a nympho.

Bridget and Pepe assure me that there is no such talk going around school, that it’s all my imagination, but I know better. As long as Sara is alive and in possession of vocal chords, such bullshit is an inevitable part of the Pineville High experience.

At any rate, I thought for sure that Pinevile Low would have something to say about Marcus and me, which is why this Marcus-related item was so bizarre.

WHAT FORMER DREG AND ALLEGED GENIUS FINALLY THANKED THE JUNIOR WHO CONFESSED TO FAKING HIS DRUG TEST BY MAKING HER HIS LATEST DOUGHNUT?

HUH?! Marcus and Taryn?!

I didn’t buy it for one second. (And not for any reasons that had anything to do with me and whatever “feelings” Marcus was allegedly having about me.) No, I didn’t believe it for this reason: Why would anyone bother to write about Taryn, someone so insignificant? Even if it was—against all odds—true, why would anyone care, really? Why would the Mystery Muckracker, who, up to this point, only chose high-profile students to out in her column, suddenly shift gears and write about someone who would make little to no impact on Pineville High’s psyche? Any salacious interest generated by Marcus would be negated by Taryn’s minus-zero status. Not to be cruel, but really. The Dannon Incident proved that no one cared about Taryn Baker. So who would care now, nearly two years later?

Then it hit me with the force of a Sumo wrestler after an all-you-can-eat buffet binge. I suddenly understood what Paul Parlipiano had meant when he made that strange comment about getting back at his stepsister. It all made sense: The only person who would write about a nobody was the nobody herself.

I cornered Taryn in the library.

“Pinevile Low.”

When she shriveled like a Shrinky Dink, I knew I was right.

TARYN BAKER IS THE MYSTERY MUCKRACKER BEHIND PINEVILE LOW.

“Why?” I asked.

“Paul,” she said, in her typical one-word fashion.

“What?”

“Paul,” she repeated, cowering down in shame. “And you.”

“What?! Me?!”

“You.”

“You’re going to have to give me a lot more than that,” I said.

Taryn sat hunched over in her chair and stared at a stain in the carpet as she spoke.

“Paul was always getting on my case about not taking a stand against anything,” she said. “He can be very—”

“Pushy,” I added.

“Right,” she said, brightening a little. “I also admired how your articles took a stand and make a difference. You told it like it was. And I wanted to do that, too. When you stopped writing, I wanted to take your place, in a way. I knew I needed another forum, so I sent e-mails instead. Only I wasn’t as brave as you because I couldn’t bring myself to take credit.”

I’d never really thought of myself as brave before. I always saw myself as more obnoxious than brave.

“If you admire me so much, why did you write about me?” I asked. “Why didn’t you just stay out of my business?”

“I do admire you,” she whispered. “That’s why I only wrote stuff I knew was true.”

“The