Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [62]
Yet to disguise his/her identity, he/she might have outed someone she was friends with in a benign way. (“Like me,” Bridget said. “What was said about me wasn’t all that embarrassing. And Len’s sexual quest makes you look kinda good.”)
The perp is highly intelligent and/or has access to the kind of techie know-how that would disguise the sender. (“Hello, Class Brainiac! And your dad is a computer nerd,” Bridget said, with increasing Sara-variety know-it-allness.)
The perp has a way with words. (“You’re only the most infamous editorial writer in the history of Pineville High!”)
And a hatred for the Upper Crust. (“Hello!?”)
And needs a forum to vent. (“Who just lost her column in the school paper?”)
By the end of her analysis, I was half-convinced that I had indeed written it. But I didn’t. Unless I’ve developed a whole new dozing disorder to replace my insomnia. Maybe I sleep-write, like those sleep eaters who scarf an entire fridge worth of food without revving out of REM mode.
“Bridget,” I said. “I swear to you, it’s not me. I’d actually like to find out who it is.”
This is the truth. Whoever wrote it seems like someone I’d like to get to know.
the twentieth
Pineville High makes the news again! The Pinevile Low e-mail made the front page of the Asbury Park Press. Oh, I’ll be so proud to tell my fellow college freshmen next year where I’m from.
According to the article, an anonymous “concerned mother” was doing her daily snoop through her kid’s e-mail in-box, found it, then forwarded it to all the Pineville powers that be. Of course, this is the same group of technological geniuses who required almost a month to undo the hacked class schedules, so it’s no surprise that the sender of the e-mail has not been found.
“Omigod! I’m totally gonna prove it’s you,” Sara hissed.
“I’d like to see that,” I replied.
In related news, the Big Walk-Out was scheduled to begin after homeroom, and it would last as long as it took for justice to be served. Hundreds of PHS students stormed the doors and flooded the parking lot, carrying painted signs saying, TWO WRONGS DON’T MAKE A RIGHT! and THE PUNISHMENT DOESN’T FIT THE CRIME!
What were these rabble-rousers protesting? The war in Afghanistan? Hell, no.
Listen to their cries of freedom:
“WHAT DO WE WANT?” shouted Scotty.
“HOMECOMING!” screamed the crowd.
“WHEN DO WE WANT IT?”
“FRIDAY!”
It brought tears to Haviland’s eyes. Tears of despair. Marcus, Len, Bridget, and I watched the Big Walk-Out from Haviland’s classroom on the second floor. We were the only ones in honors who hadn’t joined the cause.
Despite this never-before-seen show of solidarity, the administration stuck to their decision to cancel the homecoming dance for the first time in our school’s history. It was schoolwide retribution in response to the refusal of the person behind Pinevile Low to come forward and claim responsibility for the painfully public humiliation it caused our school district.
Anyway, the administration’s widespread interrogation proved to be unsuccessful, so Principal Masters resorted to one of his favorite tactics: punishing everyone for one person’s crime. Hence, the protest. When it was in full swing, Masters made an announcement over the loudspeaker.
“Any student who does not get back to class by the next period bell will be suspended.”
No one moved. No one cared.
“And will be permanently restricted from all after-school activities.”
No one moved.
“Which includes participation in all sports, and the big football game against Eastland on Friday afternoon.”
I haven’t seen students run that fast since P.J. tested his lactose intolerance by chugging a milk shake.
“We should do something else on Friday,” Marcus said, grinning down at the melee.
“What do you mean?” I asked. What I really meant was, What do you mean by “do” and “we”?
Bridget piped in, “Like, we should organize an alternative event to homecoming!”
“Exactly,” Marcus said, nodding his approval.
“Like what?” Len asked.
“Len, I think this is the perfect time for Chaos Called Creation to