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“I’ve never been so scared of a water shutoff.”
    â€œRight?” I said with a smile.
    â€œYes. The problem is, I asked for two paragraphs.”
    â€œTwo paragraphs would’ve been boring,” I said.
    â€œTwo paragraphs would’ve been just the right length to alert students to the shutoff. But with this”—he pointed to the story—“the readers have to make it through a Detroit scandal and a dead woman before they find out the school’s water will be out.”
    I glanced down. “But our water shutoff is going to happen after school’s out. When no one’s here.”
    â€œThat’s the point. We want to make sure that if someone is here, they’ll know to plan ahead. And that’s it. End of story.”
    A few of the other students glanced in our direction.
    â€œBut this is a good story.” I put my finger on the headline. “This is the kind of stuff I’m used to writing. I’m not very good at fluff.”
    Jesse sat down in a chair next to me. “Here we write everything. No matter how small or unimportant we think it is. Plus you’re new. You’ve got to earn it.”
    I sighed. “I’m already a senior. I don’t have time.”
    Jesse ran his hand through his hair. “If you want to be on staff, you don’t have a choice. Got it?”
    I nodded.
    â€œThen give me two paragraphs.”
    The electric bell rang, signaling the end of school.
    â€œI can’t right now,” I said.
    He raised his eyebrows. “This is important. Our reporters usually stay late. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
    â€œNormally, it won’t. But today, I have . . . a thing.”
    â€œA thing?”
    I winced. “A detention kind of thing.” I scratched the back of my head.
    â€œDetention? You’ve been here one day.”
    â€œOh, I wasn’t here even a minute when I got it. But don’t worry, it’s not a habit. It’s my first and last time.” I felt my cheeks go hot. This was not the first impression I was hoping to make.
    â€œThen after detention.”
    I bit my lip. “I have a shift at the Yogurt Shop.”
    He just shook his head and walked away. I put my forehead in my hand and squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe this was a bad dream. Maybe I would wake up soon. Maybe cats and dogs would start living together. I shook my head.
    I gathered up my things and made my way toward the Potomac Room, or at least I thought I was making my way there, but another annoying thing about this school was that the rooms didn’t have room numbers. They had names. The Jefferson Room.The Lincoln Room. The Avery Cafeteria. And just to make outsiders feel like outsiders, the names weren’t even in alphabetical order. If anything, they seemed to be ordered by prominence, and you had to have at least a working knowledge of American history to guess which room was where. The Washington Room was the assembly hall, so I assumed the Potomac Room would be one of the smaller ones, since it was a river and not a hero of American history, but my first few tries turned out to be dead ends. By the time I finally found it, the teacher checking the detention roster was about to shut the door.
    â€œPiper Baird!” I said. “Sorry, I got lost.”
    â€œYou’re ten minutes late. I shouldn’t admit you.”
    My shoulders sagged. “Please. I have to get this over with today.”
    He groaned and stood aside. There were about eight students there. I didn’t know any of them, except a skinny girl with black hair and pale skin who I recognized from the journalism staff.
    I sat next to her.
    â€œHi,” I said.
    â€œHey,” she said without a smile.
    â€œYou’re in journalism, right?”
    â€œVideo editor. And I do the graphics.”
    â€œWhatcha in for?” I said.
    She shrugged. “They found my ID locker.”
    â€œID