“You okay?” Quince asks, his voice sounding a little odd.

“Yeah,” I reply, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “We’d better go.”

“I’l meet you right here after seventh.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips before turning and heading into the gym.

I hurry to my study hal classroom two doors down, wondering if everyone is feeling as unsettled as I am.

The administration spends the first half of the period continual y reassuring the students that everything is fine, that Seaview is fine, and that classes should continue as usual. Which is difficult, considering the semiconstant interrupts by the blaring PA system. When Brody shows up in the doorway twenty minutes before the final bel , I’ve only managed to read one (real y short) paragraph of A Separate Peace.

“Hey, Coach Parsnicky,” Brody says to my study hal supervisor. “I need to steal Lily away.”

Parsnicky, coach of the freshman girls’ basketbal team, shrugs and waves vaguely at me and then at the door. He doesn’t even look up from his playbook long enough to see the yel ow pass in Brody’s hand.

“News team?” I ask, slipping a heavily doodled sheet of notebook paper into the book to mark my spot and then shoving the book into my backpack. I like the book wel enough, but I’m relieved I don’t have to try to reread another word right now.

Brody nods, giving me that charming smile that used to make my heart flutter and my legs buckle. Now I just smile back. It’s funny how much things can change in a matter of days.

“Principal Brown wants us to do a special report about earthquake safety for Monday announcements,” Brody says as we step into the hal . “Everything’s great, don’t panic, obey al traffic laws.”

“Basical y everything they’ve been broadcasting for the last half hour,” I reply. School security propaganda.

“Pretty much.”

In my time as the news team cameraperson, we’ve done almost fifty special reports. Most of them are fluff pieces about school dances and sports stars. A very few are what Brody cal s Seaviewgates, uncovering things like unfair grading scandals and faculty criminal records. (Madame El iott was subsequently cleared of al charges, by the way.) And the rest of our reports are school-sanctioned announcements that the administration thinks wil actual y stop locker vandalism—aka spray paint—and parking lot rage.

They have virtual y no effect whatsoever.

I don’t mind the fluff pieces—I’m just the eye behind the camera anyway—but I’d love it if we could do some actual y useful segments. Interviewing marine biologists about ocean warming. Or maybe an exposé about il egal offshore dumping, which happens more often than the general population knows. Or even some tips about water conservation. Something that might mean something to the world.

When we reach the studio, Ferret and our CGI specialist, Amy, are already prepping the equipment.

“I’ve got our cameraman,” Brody announces.

“Camera woman,” I correct, slinging my backpack onto the floor from the door and crossing to the video camera. It’s pointed at the green screen, where Amy can add whatever background the newscast needs.

“What’s the plan?” I ask as I remove the dust-deflecting cover from the camera and power it up.

“Just give me a minute to tweak Principal Brown’s script,” Brody says, dropping into the chair behind the computer and opening the file. “We don’t have much time to pul this together. Lily, can you set up the teleprompter?” We al dig into our duties, and as I set up the teleprompter for Brody, I think about how lame this safety speech wil be, even after Brody fixes it. We should real y be reporting on the causes and effects of the quake. Why waste the students’ time when we could, you know, educate them instead?

“Brody,” I say, turning away from the teleprompter, “I have an idea.”

“What’s that, Lil?” he asks, not looking up from the screen.

“What if we trimmed Principal Brown’s safety speech,” I suggest, “and add on an expert interview?” Brody actual y looks up at me. “Who do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe one of the science teachers? Maybe—”

“Miss Molina.” Brody jumps to his feet. “She teaches earth science.”

“And she’s the Environmental Club faculty sponsor,” I add.

“Perfect,” we say at the same time. Two weeks ago I would have taken that as some kind of cosmic sign. Today I just think we’re on the same page for once.

“Amy, pul up the interview backdrop.” He heads for the door. “I’l go get Miss Molina. Have everything ready when we get back. This is going to be a bel chaser.” Yeah, we’re going to cut it close on time.

He disappears into the hal and the rest of us scramble to get everything into place. By the time he returns with Miss Molina in tow, we’re ready to go.

“Hi, Miss Molina,” I say, waving from behind the camera as Brody gets her situated for the interview.

“Hel o, Lily,” she replies with a smile.

I was in her class freshman year. She inspired me to sign up for the Environmental Club, but once I joined the news team and became swim-team manager, I didn’t have time.

Considering the reason for my choices—spending time with Brody—I kind of regret not sticking with the Environmental Club.

“Okay,” Brody says, adjusting his body mic. “Ready.” Ferret does the countdown, I start recording, and the segment begins. There’s no time for clever angles and splicing cuts, so I just leave the camera on a wide view and let it rol . I listen eagerly as Brody asks a few mundane questions about the sources of earthquakes and why scientists can’t predict them.