Nine

By the time I had spotted Bane, lounging against the brick wall of the school, right where he’d said he’d be, I had made my decision. Never mind that it had taken me the entire afternoon to make up my mind—it was all very easy and rational when I thought about it logically. I genuinely cared about Memorandum. Bane genuinely wanted it to succeed, and even improve. Bane had charge of the magazine, yet could not work it without my help. Therefore, I had to work with him. It was perhaps not the happiest conclusion I’d ever reached, but it made an unpleasant sort of sense.

So I would try. I wasn’t promising anything, but I would try. Maybe we could start things off with a simple, makeshift sign language. Or we could pass notes. Or send emails. Really, it was the whole idea of talking that I wasn’t too happy about. I hadn’t really talked in—well, I’m not sure exactly how long. Three or four years, maybe? It was just easier to not talk, I’d learned.

But evidently Bane wasn’t going to leave me alone until I got over that and started talking. Some people are just so pushy.

“Hey,” he greeted me when I approached him. I nodded. So sue me. I was easing into this, not plunging in head-on. I would say something when it was beneficial for the magazine, for now. And answer questions. I personally was of the opinion that two criteria under which I would speak was quite enough. He jerked his head towards the senior parking lot, and I followed.

Bane seemed to have trouble keeping up with me—or, rather, with keeping back with me. Perhaps it would have been nice of me to speed things up a little, but if I was going to be made to talk, then he could at least learn how to walk at my pace. He swore under his breath, and I shot him a malevolent glare.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “but is it even possible to get anything done, at this speed?” Bane, I remembered, was a cross country runner. He most assuredly liked things done at the highest possible speed. Well, too bad. Speaking of which, though, shouldn’t he have practice? In my experience—which consisted of a cousin on the cheerleading squad—sports teams had practice every day.

“I manage just fine,” I replied haughtily. Stupid runner. Although it was amusing, to see him struggle so with simple walking. He looked like he was trying to emulate the slo-mo effect from the movies.

“Sorry,” he repeated. I nodded once, in acceptance. We rounded one corner of the building—halfway there; good, I was sweltering in my jacket—in silence. Then, he asked, “So, what are you doing this afternoon?” Maybe he was just trying to be friendly, but couldn’t this boy shut up for more than thirty seconds? I would seriously have to teach him the merit of silence.

I really wanted to take my jacket off, and I could feel the top of my head getting hot. Why couldn’t I have been a blonde? And where was his parking spot, anyway? Outer Mongolia? “Nothing,” I snapped, feeling my irritation increase by the second.

“Perfect,” Bane exclaimed. Wait, what? “Then you can come to my house so we can get started on the actual magazine.” What? No! “Ms. Moreno gave me the password to the email where people can send in their submissions, and I have one or two on paper, too. I’m not supposed to give you the password, but I’m going to anyway.”

As if I didn’t know the password—I set up that email account. Evidently Ms. M had forgotten that in her game of How Many Ways Can I Overlook Deirdre?

But that wasn’t the issue. I was not going to Bane’s house. “You said you would take me home.” Wow, that was a full sentence. And I said it without it being an answer to a question. I feel like I should be getting some sort of brownie points for that.

Bane arched an eyebrow. “Congrats on talking without being prompted.” Facetious brat. “Does that mean you’re not going to be stupid and work with me?”

“Yes,” I answered sullenly.

He grinned suddenly. “Awesome. In celebration of that, we’ll go to my house and start work on the magazine. What do you say?”

“People will be worried.” This is me, still sullen.

Bane sighed, like I was the densest thing he’d ever met. “What’s your phone number? I’ll call and let them know, brat.” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. Pouting, I gave him the ten digits. I don’t know why I did. Maybe I realized the futility of trying to get out of it.

“Hello, Mrs. Clements? Oh, Mrs. Donnelly, so sorry. Yes, this is about Deirdre.

No, no, she’s fine. I’m Bane Morrison, editor-in-chief of Memorandum. Yes, this is about the magazine. I was just calling to let you know that Deirdre is going to be coming over to my house to work on it—if that’s alright with you. Yes, we’ve decided that, this year, it will be a monthly publication. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you; it’s rather big news. Of course you can talk to her, Mrs. Donnelly. She’s right here. Nice talking to you, ma’am.”

He handed me the phone. “Here you go,” he muttered sweetly. I took it, glaring up
at him through the fringes of my bangs. I put the phone to my ear.

“Deirdre, love?” Aunt Mo was asking nervously. “Are you there, Deirdre?”

“Yes,” I answered with an inward sigh. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like phones.
And I really didn’t like Bane.

Aunt Mo sighed. “Oh, good. You’re going to this boy’s house to work on this magazine? You want to?”

“Not really.” I felt dismal at best.

Aunt Maureen recognized my bleak tone. “But you have to?” she teased laughingly.

“Yep.”

“Alright, sweetheart, come home when you can. That boy said you’re doing more issues of the magazine this year? Well, good luck with that, dear. It sounds like it’s going to be hard work. I’ll see you later. I love you. Bye.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it, not entirely sure how to hang up. I’d never used a cell phone before. The only reason I could use a regular phone was from watching Katy do so day in and day out. But with this, I was out of my league. Bane took it from my hand and flipped the two hinged parts shut. Now, why didn’t I think of that?

Bane smiled at me, seeming non-sarcastic. “See how easy that was? Now, let’s get going so we can get some real work done, shall we?” I considered both of those questions to be rhetorical.