Andrew Klavan - Nightmare City

It was plain to see: they hated him. Everyone in the whole school hated him for writing that story.

When Tom reached the newspaper office, Lisa was already at the editor’s desk. She was reading the angry comments about him that were piling up rapidly on the newspaper’s website.

“Tom Harding should be kicked out of school for telling lies about our heroes,” one comment read. “He’s just jealous because he’s never done anything to make us proud. He’s a moron and he’s disgraced our school.” Other comments weren’t quite so kind.

Tom dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk. He felt hollow inside. He’d had a lot of bad days these last few months, and this was shaping up to be one of the worst of them.

The Sentinel’s office was just a small room in the school’s basement, down the hall from the gym. It was cramped in there. Hardly any space at all between his desk and Lisa’s. The walls were papered with notices and notes and schedules and fragments of mock-up layouts pinned onto bulletin boards and taped onto the wall.

Lisa sat on her swivel chair, leaning forward to gaze into her monitor. She was a pug-nosed girl, with freckled cheeks and long, dark red hair. She wore glasses with black frames and small round lenses. Behind the lenses, her green eyes were smart and kind. She shook her head as yet another furious comment appeared on the site, and then another.

She glanced up at Tom with a look of sympathy. “They’ll get over it, Tom,” she said. “They can’t stay angry forever.” She did not sound very convincing, and Tom was not very convinced.

He tried to smile, but it didn’t come off. He had expected something like this—something—but not so much, so much rage against him, so much hatred. He knew that everyone in school loved the Tigers. But didn’t they understand? He loved the Tigers, too! Even before he’d reached high school, he’d been their biggest fan. He didn’t want to hurt them or soil their reputation. It was just… well, he was a reporter, and he had gotten hold of an important story. He had had no choice but to tell the truth, whether it went against his interests or not.

“People are like this, Tommy,” said Lisa gently. “They blame the messenger for bringing the bad news.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Will you be all right?”

He glanced at her. This time he managed to get one corner of his mouth to turn up. “Sure,” he joked, “I never wanted to have any friends anyway.”

Lisa smiled. “You have one, at least,” she said.

Grateful, Tom was about to answer her when he sensed a new presence in the room and turned to the door. Instantly, he forgot whatever he’d been about to say to Lisa—he forgot Lisa entirely—and sat there silently, staring, openmouthed.

Marie—Marie Cameron—was standing in the doorway.

He had been in love with Marie since they were both in the third grade. She had been beautiful then, but she was wildly, glamorously beautiful now. Her blond hair poured down in ringlets framing her high cheeks, her button nose, and her Cupid’s-bow mouth. Her blue eyes shone and sparkled. Her figure was slender and lush by heart-stopping turns. Her smile was dazzling, a kind of silent music.

Tom did not know how many times he had dreamed about going out with her, putting his arm around her, kissing her. But Marie had always been with Gordon Thomas—the head cheerleader and the football quarterback, so perfect for each other they were a walking cliché.

All the same, even though Tom knew he had no chance with her, his heart sank to think that Marie would hate him now for what he’d written about the team. The Tigers’ drug use had taken place while Gordon was still in middle school—but it was Gordon’s team now, and he’d be furious to see it publicly shamed. Since Marie was Gordon’s girlfriend, Tom thought she would be furious, too.

She stepped toward him and Tom tensed, waiting for her to unleash her rage.

Instead, she lifted her hand—her small, white, perfect hand—and said, “Hey, Tom, I was hoping I’d find you here. Do you think you could give me a lift home?”

For a moment, he could only sit there, could only go on gaping at her silently like some kind of nutcase.

Then he leapt out of his chair so fast he nearly knocked it over.

He drove Marie home in the old yellow Mustang Burt had left behind when he went overseas. He wished he had cleaned out the ancient papers and fast-food bags lying all over the floor in the backseat, but whenever he was working on a story, he got so involved he forgot to do stuff like that. He must’ve apologized to Marie for the mess about a hundred times—and every time he turned to say the words to her, he was amazed to see her sitting there, real as life but far more beautiful, in his very own passenger seat.

They drove up into the hills, the Pacific Ocean falling away below them, the water gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Marie waved off his apologies. She said she didn’t care about the messy car. Then she said: “I want you to know, I really admire what you did, Tom. Writing that story.”

“Really? I thought you’d be ticked off like everyone else…”

“I’m not at all. I think it’s brave to tell the truth like that. Not caring what anyone thinks of you. It’s really brave.”

Tom didn’t answer. He didn’t even glance at her—he didn’t want her to see the look on his face. To have Marie tell him he was brave—it made up for all the nasty looks in the hall, all the nasty comments online, all of it.

“But what about Gordon?” he asked her. The words came out of his mouth as the thought came into his mind. “I mean, I know he didn’t do anything wrong, but… it’s his team. Isn’t he angry at me, too?”

But Marie shrugged again. “I don’t know how he feels. We haven’t talked about it,” she said.

The answer surprised him. It was almost as if she didn’t care what Gordon thought. Tom didn’t really want to question this, but it made him so curious he couldn’t help himself. He had to ask: “Speaking of Gordon, how come he couldn’t drive you home? Wasn’t he around?”

“He’s around,” Marie said offhandedly. “But I wanted you to drive me, that’s all. I feel like I don’t get to see you enough.”

This time Tom was so surprised he couldn’t help but look over at her. She smiled. And what a sight that was. Amazing.

He stopped the Mustang in front of her house. It was a sprawling two-story mansion with white curving balconies overlooking the ocean. Really a massive palace of a place. Marie’s father, Dr. Cameron, was one of the most important guys in town—and obviously one of the richest, too. He was always in the newspaper, serving on this board or that, or showing up at some big party for some big charity or other.

And there he was now, in fact, just stepping out of the black Mercedes parked in the driveway. He looked up and smiled at Tom and Marie and gave them a friendly wave. Marie waved back.

Then she turned to Tom. “I meant what I said,” she told him. “I admire what you did. And I hope we can see each other more from now on.”

Somehow Tom managed to hide the thrill he felt. He managed to sound almost cool and calm as he answered, “I would like that. I would like it a lot.”

Marie gave him another smile—this one so brilliant it may have actually been illegal. “Good,” she said. “Then we have a plan.”

Tom watched her get out of the car. He watched her walk up the drive to join her father by the front door. He watched her turn and twinkle a final wave at him over her shoulder.

Amazing , he thought to himself. It was the only word he could come up with, and he thought it again and again: Amazing .