CARLTON HIGH SCHOOL MEDIA LAB
Two boys are seated at a curved metal desk; the large-screen monitor between them reads CARLTON SPEAKS. The front of the desk is draped with a banner displaying the school mascot, the Carlton High Cougar. The first boy, leaning forward with barely contained energy, is lanky with longish dark curls and the kind of doe eyes that look deceptively innocent; the second boy is broad-shouldered with short locs and posture that would be relaxed if he weren’t constantly fiddling with the pen he’s holding.
BOY #1: What’s up, Carlton High? This is Ishaan Mittal, and…（Glances at the other boy.） BOY #2, setting his pen down: And this is Zack Abrams. We’re supposed to be giving a post-assembly analysis of our new student body president’s speech, but we’re not doing that because— ISHAAN, leaning forward and placing both palms on the desk for emphasis: Because the kid never showed!
ZACK, under his breath: Ishaan, I wasn’t…I was still setting that up.
ISHAAN, oblivious: This morning, Carlton High’s controversial new senior class president, Boney Mahoney— TEACHER’S VOICE, off camera: Proper names, guys. And just “new senior class president” is fine.
ISHAAN: This morning, Carlton High’s new senior class president, Brian Mahoney, made a mockery of his election by blowing off the entire school— TEACHER’S VOICE: Less editorializing, please. How about we summarize the election and then talk about student reactions to this morning’s assembly?
ZACK: I mean, people were mostly happy they didn’t have to listen to Boney.
ISHAAN: With all due respect, Mr. G., the election is old news. Nobody needs it summarized. The burning question that everyone wants answered is: Where the hell is Boney? （Stares intensely into the camera.） Yesterday, he pledged to lead us into the future. But today— ZACK: Today he probably overslept.
ISHAAN: He did promise that if we elected him, he’d leave us alone. What none of us realized, perhaps, is that he meant it literally.
MR. G., with a long-suffering sigh: Come on, guys. You know the drill. No curse words, no nicknames, no speculation.
ZACK, quietly: No fun.
ISHAAN, slumping back in his seat: This show is wasting my talents.
MATEO
Ivy looks shocked, then outraged. “I can’t believe him!” she says as maybe-Boney disappears around a corner. I didn’t get a good look at the guy, but she seems sure. “He’s supposed to be giving a speech now!” Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. Did he abdicate? Am I president now?” She whips out her phone and stares at the screen. “Come on, Emily. You were texting up a storm five minutes ago. Where are you when I need you?”
“Maybe it wasn’t even him,” I say.
“Oh, it was him,” she mutters. “Unbelievable. You can’t miss assembly when you’re class president. Attendance is mandatory. It’s written into the school bylaws, or it would have been, if I’d been elected and the bylaws had passed.” She glares across the street, then starts walking with long, determined strides. “Come on. Let’s see where he’s going.”
“Who cares?” I ask, but that’s a pointless question. Obviously, she does.
I’m hoping the guy is out of sight by the time we turn the corner, but no such luck. We spot him instantly, and from this angle, I can see that Ivy was right—it’s definitely Boney, with his phone in one hand and a backpack dangling from his shoulder. We trail him down another two streets until he stops in front of a loft-style building with a bright green door. He fiddles with something beside the door, then pulls it open and steps inside.
“Hold on.” Cal grabs Ivy’s arm as she tries to follow. “You can’t just walk in. There’s a security code.”
She blinks at him. “What? How do you know?”
“So…this building…” Cal runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting everywhere except at us. “You know that person I mentioned before, the one I’ve been seeing lately? Her art studio is in here.”
“Studio?” I ask. “She has an art studio?”
“Well, it’s not actually hers,” Cal says. “A friend rents it and lets her work there sometimes. The building’s up for sale, so the tenants were supposed to clear out last month, but a few of them are still using the space.” Ivy inhales sharply, and Cal’s skittering glance finally lands on her. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”
“There’s no way it’s fine,” Ivy says, frowning. “If my dad bought this building, he’d definitely have a problem with former tenants squatting here.”