The New Guy Read Online Free

in jinxing down to my core, and hearing him say
when
makes a little shiver rock through me.
    “All right, guys, let’s get started,” Mr. Wheeler says, walking to the front of the room. He’s wearing a slouchy cardigan you’d expect to see on a very old man, not someone younger than my parents. It has elbow patches like a classic professor would have, but I feel like the slouchiness and cardiganiness take away from the academic grandeur they might otherwise suggest. “It’s our first meeting of the school year, and we have a lot to accomplish.”
    He begins his spiel for the freshmen, who are all turning in writing, design, or photography samples today. Only some of them will make the staff, and we’ll all have to drop whatever we have fourth period to take newspaper then instead.
    I assume Mr. Wheeler’s speech will go on awhile longer, so I sneak a peek at my list again. But I know the list by now, and I know all the reasons I can do this. And even though I can’t deny Natalie deserves it probably just as much, I can’timagine my senior year writing for the
Crest
without being the editor.
    Natalie always has a steel look of determination and grace, but I still want to survey her face for any hint that she’s feeling what I’m feeling right now. But in glancing around the room, I realize something.
    Natalie’s not here.
    In fact, a lot of people I expect to see aren’t here. Even with the big crowd of tiny young freshman, there are a lot of empty desks.
    “We always start each year with a new editor,” Mr. Wheeler says, and I feel my pulse thudding in my neck and my wrists. My mouth tastes like pennies. Is it weird that I know what pennies taste like? “Every editor’s been a senior who’s been on board since freshman year.”
    Is he leading up to saying
But this year is different
, the way reality shows that have been on for ten years suddenly put contestants on teams or make men fight against women? Oh my god, I really watch too many reality shows.
    “And this year’s editor will be someone who’s worked very hard the past three years—Jules McAllister-Morgan,” he says. “Jules, would you like to say anything?”
    I do have a speech, because my parents have emphasized being prepared for big life moments. But all I can say is, “What about Natalie?”
    “Natalie’s decided not to be on staff this year so that she can focus on other extracurriculars,” Mr. Wheeler says.“Lucky for me, huh, I don’t have to make a tough decision between you two. Okay, moving on to the existing staff.”
    What about my speech? Mr. Wheeler couldn’t really have thought it consisted of
What about Natalie?
, could he?
    “All right, guys, let’s talk about attendence.”
    I guess he could.
    “Congrats,” Thatcher whispers to me.
    For what? I want to ask. For just not quitting? If Natalie were here, maybe I wouldn’t have earned this. Maybe I didn’t even earn this. Maybe I’m just the one who’s sitting here. Why isn’t Natalie here anyway? Why would she want to leave when this was her destiny as much as it was mine?
    Mr. Wheeler discusses attendance and hands out some forms, and then I realize he’s staring at me. I dismiss it for a second because unfortunately Mr. Wheeler and I know each other pretty well. He rents the guesthouse in the backyard behind ours, and for some reason my parents have befriended him. Sometimes they give him our leftovers like he’d starve without us. Isn’t he a grown-up with a job, and can’t grown-ups with jobs feed themselves?
    “Handing over the reins to you, Jules,” Mr. Wheeler says, and it hits me that even though I only got the job because Natalie’s whereabouts are unknown, I still have to do the job. So I get up and take story and photo ideas.
    I thought it would feel exciting and powerful, but it just feels like writing things down on the whiteboard. I feel like myself.
    After class, Thatcher and I hang back with Carlos Esquivel, the layout editor. I expect Mr.