Dan had no clue. He was a junior arts reporter, which meant that he had written two short pieces—one was a profile of Rob and Sticky’s band 23 Years, which broke up before press time, so the story was pulled, and the other was a “human interest” profile of the octogenarian Father Callery, who threw pots and Eucharistic chalices in the school’s art studio despite arthritic hands.

“For the time being Father Dallanach and I will be closely supervising the publishing of The Roundup.” Argerlich was normally clipped and humorless, but you could tell he had been read the Ignatian riot act. “First order of business, we need to elect a masthead for the next issue.”

Dan scanned the half-moon of sophomores and freshmen. George Tsimboukis (a Greek kid from East Dallas who liked to write about varsity wrestling) and Rick were there for the sports page, as was Sticky, who wrote funny slice-of-life for the campus page. Dan didn’t really know any of the freshman reporters, and the only true pantload in the group was Teddy Boudreaux, who shared all his sophomore honors classes. Boudreaux was a smug and tubby know-it-all, a self-entitled band geek (he played the piccolo, for Christ’s sake) who was just crying out to be wedgied, swirlied, or wet-willied. Boudreaux, however, was nephew to Jim McKenna, an alum who ran the presses and was the biggest advertiser in The Roundup. Father Argerlich didn’t really know Dan Malone, but he knew who Jim McKenna was and the deal he gave on printing. He grinned at Teddy.

“Okay, nominations for editor in chief . . .”

And without hesitation, a freshman pigeon nominated Boudreaux. A smile grew from his potato-shaped head. Sticky let out a low whistle. The sophomores were all thinking the same—if Boudreaux runs the paper, it is gonna suck. Dan rolled his eyes at Rick, who then whispered to Tsimboukis. Stick tipped forward in his desk chair and joined their caucus. In a heartbeat, Stick raised his hand.

“I’d like to nominate Danny Malone.”

Dan flushed with confusion. The sophomores around him—Kevin Veedon and Memo da Silva—were nodding in agreement. He then looked up at Father Argerlich, who was trying to disguise his pissiness. After Jimmy Whalen had gone all gonzo, he wanted Boudreaux as his toady.

“Okay, I’m not sure we have a quorum to make this a vote.” He was trying to stall until Boudreaux could pack the photo desk with more of his band dweebs.

Rick stabbed at the air with the pencil he had been chewing on. “But you asked for nominees!”

“Fine. Mr. Malone, do you accept the nomination?”

Dan didn’t know what to do, but he thought of Oglesby’s rebuke. Step up and figure out your involvement. You want to work on your writing? Well, here you go.

“Yes, I accept.”