“You’re sure?” I said, sitting up a bit straighter.
“You need to learn how to accept a little help,” Portia said, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, FYI.”
“And what else is the Billings Literary Society for?” Rose asked slyly, arching one eyebrow. “I mean, if not to support one another academically.”
I felt a smile tug at my lips and the sensation was very odd, but very welcome. “Okay, I’m supposed to write an article as if I’m a reform journalist, covering the breakup of the Standard Oil Company,” I said. “So first … I need to find out what, exactly, the Standard Oil Company was. Also, it’d probably be good to know why it broke up.”
“Wow. You really do need help,” Portia said. “I’m on research!”
She pulled her own laptop out of her bag and moved her coffee and blueberry scone to the next table to make room for it.
“I’ll pull up some of Ida Tarbell’s articles so you can get an idea of the writing style of the day,” Rose offered, producing her laptop as well.
“Okay, we’re getting a little crowded here,” Tiffany said. She got up and moved all her stuff to the next table, then pulled out her sleek, silver MacBook. “I’ll do photo research.”
“Photo research?” I asked.
“Yeah. You need to set this up so it looks like an actual article,” Portia said, as if this was entirely obvious to the world. “Barber will love that.”
“It’s too bad we’re not in with Constance anymore. She could typeset it at the newspaper office and make it look really authentic,” Rose said, screwing up her mouth.
“I could always ask Marc,” I interjected, feeling an actual flicker of academic excitement. It was dim, but it was there. “Maybe he could even print it out on newspaper stock.”
“If you can get him to remove his lips from Kiki’s for more than five seconds,” Portia replied, her fingers flying over her keyboard. “Those two are totally gunning for the PDA award.”
I sat back in my chair as the three of them feverishly got to work. Suddenly my heart was full to overflowing. My friends were the best. Hands down, the best friends on earth.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, feeling a tad guilty.
“Here.” Tiffany handed me her plate, which was full of chocolate biscotti, never taking her eyes off her screen. “Eat chocolate, read up on the Standard Oil Company, and try to come up with a snazzy headline.”
I laughed and placed the plate down on top of my keyboard. I could take a break for the amount of time it took to devour one biscotti, couldn’t I? I took a bite, the chocolate coating melting in my mouth. For a split second I started to feel better, like maybe I could actually pull this off, but then Mr. Hathaway had appeared as if from nowhere. He stood right behind Rose, holding a steaming to-go cup of coffee.
“Ladies,” he said, his expression suspicious as his gaze slid from one computer to another. He’d already tried to bust the Billings Literary Society once, and he seemed to get tense whenever he saw more than two or three former Billings Girls hanging out together. After my outburst in chapel and Noelle’s continued absence, he was probably starting to suspect that he was somehow being snowed by a bunch of teenage girls. Which, let’s face it, he was. “What’re we working on?”
“Extra credit,” Portia said, unfazed. She reached for her coffee and took a sip, crossing one leg over the other as she gazed up at the headmaster, all cool. “What’re you working on?”
Tiffany hid a laugh behind her hand. The headmaster gave Portia a tight smile.
“A cinnamon latte,” he replied, lifting his cup.
“Nice choice,” Portia replied. “I like a man with a sweet tooth, Double H.”
For the first time since I’d known him, Mr. Hathaway looked flummoxed. “Thank you, Miss Ahronian, for that entirely inappropriate comment,” he said, his face all red.
“DMI,” she replied. Then she turned and got back to work.
“Don’t mention it,” Rose translated helpfully.
“Ah, well. It’s nice to see our students being so industrious,” Mr. Hathaway said, looking directly at me. “Remember, ladies, if you ever need any help with anything, my door is always open.”
My heart skipped a beat as he held my gaze for a long moment. “Good night, ladies.”
“Night!” my friends called after him as he strolled off.
As soon as he was a safe distance away, they all cracked up over Portia’s brazen behavior.
“I don’t think Double H has any royalty in his blood, P,” Tiffany said.