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"Wow. That many love letters? You might set a BHHS record."
Rachel Burt, wearing her thick glasses, stretched her neck to peek into Nolan’s locker.
Bang.
Nolan shut the locker door.
"Gossip reporter," he said, "why are you still in school instead of working for The Hollywood Reporter? You would fit right in."
He had not forgotten the last incident.
"I present the facts as fully as possible," Rachel said, completely unmoved. "That is our responsibility as journalists. If you become a public figure, you should be prepared to be discussed."
Nolan stepped forward.
His shadow swallowed her.
"Do you see this?" he asked, raising a fist.
Rachel looked up at the much larger boy.
"This is your last chance. If you do not want new glasses, behave."
Rachel nodded rapidly.
She was, in fact, a little scared.
There was no practice that afternoon, so Nolan followed Rachel to the Highlights editorial office.
Like football and cheer, the school newspaper was a club with real value. It could go on a college application. It counted as a credential.
Compared with Rachel’s last sudden interview, this one was formal.
Nolan even saw someone he knew in the office: one of the football team’s assistant coaches.
"Hi, Nolan," the assistant coach said with a grin. "That play Friday night was incredible."
Then he turned to Rachel.
"This is a rising star from the football team. Don’t be stingy with praise. And maybe write a little less gossip, Editor-in-Chief."
So the plain girl with the thick glasses was the editor-in-chief.
Judging from the assistant coach’s tone, Nolan was not her first victim.
"Human nature includes a desire to uncover secrets," Rachel said. "I’m merely responding to readers’ curiosity..."
Nolan narrowed his eyes.
"Of course," she corrected at once, "with the interview subject’s permission."
Nolan asked the assistant coach why he was there.
"Simple. Finals are coming up, and the football team is doing its routine family-support profiles for team members. The idea is to show the family behind the player. It’s part of the Normans’ program culture. Highlights helps by sending reporters to interview parents and write the articles."
"Every varsity player?" Nolan asked.
"Of course. Including your parents. Technically, this was supposed to be kept quiet for now. A little surprise."
"Including Rice’s parents?"
"Mm-hmm."
"I see."
The conversation did not last long. Soon, Nolan and Rachel entered the interview room.
"Who are you sending to interview Rice’s mother?" Nolan asked as soon as he sat down.
"Maybe me. Maybe someone else. We haven’t decided. We’re short-staffed right now."
Rachel set out her large tape recorder.
"Let’s start with the first question."
"I think I can do it," Nolan said, arms folded. "Why not let me join the paper?"
Rachel laughed.
"Your English composition grade was a C."
"That was last semester. This semester will be better. Besides, I need to improve my writing here." Nolan looked at her more closely. "Also, why do you know my grade from last semester?"
"That..."
Rachel suddenly grew nervous and pushed her glasses up.
"When I interviewed you last time, I did some research."
"Are you secretly in love with me?"
"Do you think I would like a boy with a C in English composition?"
"Good."
Nolan nodded as if the matter had been settled.
"Then it is decided. Tomorrow, I interview Rice’s mother. Set up the appointment and give me her address."
Over the weekend, he had been wondering how to secure the starting quarterback position.
Now the opportunity had walked directly to him.
This was far easier than squeezing information out of Thomas or Flea.
"Absolutely not," Rachel said. "You have never interviewed anyone. If you want to join the paper, you can start as an assistant. Sweep up, take out trash, that sort of thing."
"No. Reporter or nothing. As for the interview, write me an outline and lend me a recorder."
Nolan looked at the Sony recorder in her hand.
"In exchange... since you love gossip, I assume you’re curious about the love letters."
Rachel hesitated.
"There has never been a precedent for this."
"Fine. Pretend I said nothing. Interview over."
Nolan started to stand.
"Wait."
Rachel reached out quickly.
In the end, her pursuit of journalistic freedom defeated the rules she claimed to uphold. She accepted Nolan’s terms.
...
The next afternoon, Nolan stood in Beverly Hills, near Coldwater Canyon Drive and Monte Cielo Drive, outside a massive metal gate.
He rang the bell.
The house sat on a slope in the heart of Beverly Hills. Rows of neatly spaced trees lined the street, the pavement was clean, and the air carried the smell of green things instead of Compton’s frequent sourness.
This place was not even comparable to the single-family house Nolan had once lived in near Monte Leon. The property in front of him was larger, the lots around it were more spread out, and the market value had to be at least twice as high.
Whoever lived here was seriously wealthy.
The gate opened automatically after a moment.
Nolan followed the winding cobblestone drive and saw three gardeners working in the front grounds.
Dedicated staff for the yard alone.
Labor was expensive. Three gardeners could easily cost several hundred dollars a visit before any premium for the neighborhood. A house like this probably had a heated pool too, and the monthly utilities alone would be absurd.
For one brief moment, Nolan resented waking up in the wrong life.
Being born into this family would have saved him twenty years of work.
Of course, he did not regret his current family either.
The person who opened the door had a face covered in a charcoal-black mask.
"I’m here for Ms. Lisa Virgil."
"That’s me."
She looked Nolan over. Her dark brown eyes were bright and penetrating, as if they saw more than she said.
Only then did Nolan realize her face was covered in a charcoal mask. She was also wearing a sleeveless black knit dress, which had made the first impression even stranger.
"You’re the school reporter?" Lisa asked. Her voice was low, and not immediately soft. Maybe Nolan was nervous because it was his first visit, but she carried a faint authority, almost like a medieval lady receiving someone at court.
"I’m no longer Peter Rice’s guardian," she said. "You should interview his father."
"You watched his game," Nolan said. "That still counts as family support. The interview will not take long. If you have plans, we can set another time or meet somewhere else."
He adjusted his plan slightly.
Lisa studied him for a moment and did not answer at once.
Then she smiled with faint amusement.
"I happen to be free today. In a few days, maybe not. Come in."
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