Applause sounds in the room. I clap along halfheartedly. The room empties then, and Mr. Saltzman goes back to the stage to check the tape placement the actors will use for blocking. I remain seated. I don’t have the energy to move just yet. Not after that kiss.
I stare at the ground, but I know there’s only one other person in the room with me now. Of course, there is. I lift my head to look at him, standing a few feet away, waiting forthe right moment to speak. “Go away, Zayne,” I say. “It’s over. Accept it.”
His shoulders tense. “Not until you let me explain.” He approaches my table and sits beside me in a chair. “After that, I’ll accept it. I promise.”
“What makes you think I’ll believe anything you say?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but an alarm goes off on someone’s phone. It’s too loud and distracting to ignore, so I get up to find and silence it. It’s better than sitting here, listening to pathetic excuses anyway.
I find the phone, still blaring, on the podium, and press snooze. “I think this is Mr. Saltzman’s,” I mutter, swiping at the lock screen. “He must have left it by accident.”
Zayne nods, but I squint at the screen when it opens. The phone doesn’t have a password, and I can’t help but recognize the page our drama teacher has opened on the screen, because it turns my stomach. I hold up the phone. “Even our teacher reads Little Birdie.”
Zayne shrugs. “That’s great for him. I really think we should?—”
“Wait a minute.” I scroll, squinting at the page, at the familiar branding of the site, but confused by the unfamiliar formatting of it. At the word in the top corner. “Admin? Why does it say admin?”
Zayne pauses. And then his eyes go round. “What?”
In the next moment, his body is next to mine at the podium and we’re both staring at Mr. Saltzman’s phone. At theLittle Birdieadmin dashboard. We see the unposted drafts in his archive. The already posted blasts along with their analytics. A folder of anonymous tips from classmates, strangers, and even a few from Lenny—Lenny?!—all sent in for Little Birdie to post if she wishes.
…Ifhewishes.
Mr. Saltzman rushes into the room. He pauses in the front of the podium, holding his stomach, breathless from running. He stares at me and Zayne with wide, alarmed eyes. Waits for us to speak.
I flip the phone around, showing him what we’re seeing. “You’reLittle Birdie?”
“Oh, no.” He cringes, and red spots appear on his cheeks. “I was afraid of this.”
“You better start talking.Now.” Zayne steps in front of me. “Because if you’re the one spreading all these lies and meddling with your students’ lives, I’m going to need a really good reason not to report you.”
His already white face gets a little paler. “I’m your teacher. No one would believe you, Zayne, and I’d have you expelled for trying.”
“Before your play?” Zayne crosses his arms. “The one Little Birdie—I mean,you—have been urging everyone around here to come watch? I don’t think so. Talk.”
Mr. Saltzman gazes at me helplessly, but I don’t budge. I just stand there, confused and feeling like I’m going to be sick .
“I wasn’t always Little Birdie,” he whispers. I can’t help but notice the way his pulse thrums rapidly in his throat. The way his hands shake as he fiddles with them. “It used to be my daughter. She attended this school nine years ago, and after she graduated, I found the app she developed on her phone. I was extremely impressed, but then again, my little Layla has always been a genius. When I approached her about it, she told me she was done with it, on to bigger and better things. I forgot about it for a while. And then my job was in danger.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Fallbrook’s drama club wasn’t always what it is now,” he explains. Without seeming to realize it, he falls back into the seat at his podium. I stay standing, still holding the phone, and Zayneremains at my side. My heart thuds against my ribcage. “Kids used to consider this department very nerdy,” Mr. Saltzman continues. “It was like pulling teeth getting anyone to join. Which meant there wasn’t a huge need for a drama teacher. I was in danger of being laid off.”
“So, you took over your daughter’s app,” I cut in, “because…?”
He holds up a finger. “I’m getting there.”
Zayne glares at him. “Wrap it up.”
“I had to find a way to get people to join,” he cries. “So, I used Little Birdie’s voice to make it sound appealing. And then I used the app as a sort of tabloid for the acting students. To make them sound like celebrities. And itworked.” In spite of his obvious fear, he holds his chin a little higher. “We had more than enough students after that. I had to turn kids away. And soon enough, Fallbrook’s drama department caught the eye of Underwood Academy and earned its prestigious reputation.”
I cross my arms. “That doesn’t give you the right to meddle in people’s lives. It’s wrong, Mr. Saltzman. Gossiping is wrong, and this is supposed to be a Christian school.”
He offers me a sad, knowing smile. “But it keeps the drama club thriving. It keeps people interested.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my life?” I shake my head. “You posted about my mom stealing pills on Thanksgiving!”
“Wait a minute,” says Zayne. “How did you know about the pills? Were you, like, outside my house on a freaking holiday like a complete psycho?”
