Chapter Twenty-Three Cincinnati Viral
On the first of November, Mal made it to school with a couple hours of sleep, a backpack full of illicit zines, and a curious quiet between them and Maddie as they turned their separate ways at the entrance: Maddie to her first class, Mal to meet the MixxedMedia staff at their locker to divvy up their bundles and stash the rest.
After Nylan and Parker, James and Alex, and Kodi and Stella (who was first in line) left with their stacks of zines, Mal also got to experience firsthand why so many students chose the lockers as the place to sneak in before-class kisses.
Though they still hadn’t figured out a replacement word for partner, being Emerson’s whatever-that-was certainly did have its perks.
So did having a larger print run, it turned out.
It was as if the Holmes administration banning them from selling zines on campus made the zines more exciting—a little rebellion for the affordable cost of two dollars, and the Holmes students were buying.
And though it still made Mal’s palms sweat profusely whenever they bent a rule—however stupid they thought the rule was—to sell one, they had to admit, they felt more than a little punk rock doing it.
It also made them acutely aware of the eyes of teachers, which they felt following them from class to class.
Unlike last issue, there was now a distinct presence of eyes on them as they quietly sold the zines—a feeling both James and Kodi echoed as they ran into each other at Mal’s locker, refilling their stashes before third period.
So it wasn’t terribly surprising when, as Mal sat down next to Maddie in History after lunch, Mr. Hardy said, “Mal, they need to see you in the central office.”
“They what?” hissed Maddie, looking at Mal with a mix of panic and shock.
“It’ll be fine,” Mal whispered back, trying to look like they believed this—and, by the look Maddie gave them, failing spectacularly.
The walk to the central office was long and strange, one Mal had never in their Holmes High career made under these circumstances.
The last time they’d been called to the office was in eighth grade, and Mal felt very much like Eighth-Grade Mal walking down the empty hall now.
About halfway there, they ran into Emerson, who looked entirely more at ease than Mal felt, their brain page steadily filling with key-smash curse words.
Without a word, she took their hand, and they made the walk together.
The press of Emerson’s palm against theirs settled the pounding of Mal’s heart into something more manageable.
But it was a slight surprise that Mal felt strangely calm when they heard the words: “The principal would like to see you two.”
Mal and Emerson slid into hard plastic seats in front of the desk of Dr. Murphy, a young Black woman in a bright blue blouse. After fixing both of them with A Look, she said, “I assume you both know what you’re here for.”
Emerson said “No idea” at the same time Mal said “Yeah.”
Dr. Murphy raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going to save us all some time and cut to the chase,” she said.
“It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been made formally aware of the school’s no-soliciting policy.
So I would like to officially make you—and anyone you might be working with—aware that it’s against the rules to sell any items for non-school-sanctioned clubs or publications on the school’s property. ”
“Hmm,” hummed Emerson. “That is good to know.”
Mal shot her a disbelieving look. But with it came an unfamiliar sensation in Mal’s chest. It took them the length of Emerson and Dr. Murphy’s stare-off to pin it down as anger.
“So I assume,” Dr. Murphy said, “that if you had been doing so prior to this meeting, you now understand from this formal, official warning, that such activities will land you in in-school suspension and any material in question would be confiscated.”
Mal was glad they had left their backpack, freshly topped off with a ten-stack of evidence, in their History classroom. It would have been a twenty-dollar loss to have those copies confiscated. That little twinge of anger flared again as they realized this.
“Understood,” said Emerson, but her stiff grin said something else.
“Yes, understood,” echoed Mal—and then, after a quick breath and before they could really think about it, they added, “but if we had been doing something like that, it would only have been because our school-sanctioned club or publication had its funding stripped, and so it would be kind of the worst to also take away our ability to fund a not-school-sanctioned alternative.”
Beside them, Emerson made a little snorty sound.
“Is there something else you’d like to tell me, Mx. Flowers?” Dr. Murphy raised her eyebrow.
“No,” said Mal, their anger settling into a hot, glowing ember in their belly. “I think that’s all.”
“Wonderful.” Dr. Murphy smiled, a tired look in her eyes. “Now, you two can return to class, and I can call your parents to let them know what we discussed.”
The ember in Mal’s belly turned to ash.
But because Mal had not actually been caught doing anything against the rules, only suspected of it—and because they had not been punished by the school, only warned—their parents were at a loss as to what to do with them.
Their mom was ready to forbid them from going to the Haus for the rest of the month, but their dad, home earlier than usual after a rare opening shift, talked her down to just grounding Mal for the weekend.
Though it meant they’d miss the December issue planning-slash-hangout, Mal would rather sit out a weekend than a month.
Plus, their weekend wasn’t entirely isolated; Parker and Nylan came by for a sneaky visit during Mal’s break from their Saturday shift at work—and brought them a bubble tea from Parker’s favorite coffee place.
(They had been right about how good they were.) When Mal got off, the two even came back to give them a ride to Maddie’s game, which brought with it an excitement all its own.
There was a rumor that a scout from the University of Kentucky was there today.
Fresh off their shift at Dollar City, Mal felt mostly like a goblin—tired, overstimulated, more than a little in need of a shower—but they kept one dark-circled eye on the stands and the other on the field.
Though they couldn’t be sure if a scout actually was there—rumors like this always started around this time of year—Mal was sure that if there was, Maddie had made an impression by scoring two of the four goals to win the game.
When their mom came to pick them up after, she had been convinced too—and was so fired up that she took them all out to dinner at a burger place on 7th Street as a reward.
As Mal sat swirling the dregs of their milkshake around the bottom of their glass, they wondered what was going on a few short blocks away at the Haus.
Nylan and Parker had said they were headed over, and at this time of evening Emerson probably was too.
Though it was nice to have a burger that wasn’t from the freezer at home, Mal would have traded it to be there instead.
That feeling of missing out sat heavy in their chest as they sat on the sofa on Sunday, eating fancy eggs and trying to catch up on English readings with Maddie.
Not even sneaking extra time before dinner playing in the backyard with their favorite street cat, a white-and-tabby kitten they had named Gelato, could quite dislodge the feeling that Mal should be Somewhere Else.
And so on Monday, after school, it felt like coming home when Mal arrived at the Haus on 3rd Street. They stopped at the coffee bar and ordered a black drip, like always. But before Sam could fill a cardboard cup for them, Sai came around the corner and stopped them.
“Mal’s due for an upgrade, I think,” he said, giving Mal a wink. He ducked behind the bar and grabbed a mug off one of the regular’s hooks. It was only when he handed it to them that they realized it was their catfinated mug.
Mal went very still, barely even breathing.
“Please make sure to wash yours more than Emerson does hers,” he said, patting Mal’s shoulder.
And just like that, Mal was a regular.
After a few calming breaths and a high five from Sam, Mal headed back to the Zine Lab, their mug full in their hands and their heart full in their chest. Emerson was already at the editors’ desk, leaned back in her rolling chair and flicking rolled-up Post-it notes at Kodi, who held her fingers up like a goal.
When Emerson made one in, Parker and Nylan (sitting quite close together, Mal noticed) both cheered.
Slowly, the rest of the staff filtered in—including Theodora, a junior at Holmes whom Kodi had connected with at the Haint History Festival. When she introduced herself and added that her special interest was sharks, Mal knew they were in good company.
“We’re growing,” Emerson whispered to them as they gathered their things at the editors’ desk. Her giddy excitement tickled Mal’s ear, making them smile. “I’m so proud of us.”
“Yeah,” Mal said, squeezing Emerson’s hand before they reached for their planner. “I am too.”
And then they stood and turned to the worktable, which was now so full it was nearly overcrowded.
“Okay, if you’re all ready,” Mal said—and to their surprise, the bustling room quieted.
A nervousness fluttered in their chest, but equally surprisingly, it didn’t feel bad.
Emerson wheeled her chair into place beside them, running her finger over the side seam of Mal’s jeans: a gentle, grounding touch.
“I’m up to date on e-mails now. I love ‘Creating Our Futures’ as the theme for the December issue. ”
“It’s going to be epic,” Emerson said beside them.
“Sorry—before you get going, can I interrupt?”
Mal’s eyes flashed toward the source of the noise. In the room’s open entryway, Sam stood leaning one hip against the doorframe.
“You literally have the worst timing ever, Sam,” Emerson huffed.