Faster Than Truth

By K.L. Denman

Sixteen-year-old Declan dreams of becoming a professional reporter, an international correspondent who flies around the globe covering big stories. But Declan is still in high school, and as the editor of his school paper, he covers school dances—not exactly "news."

Declan gets his chance for a big scoop when another student shows him part of an email written by the principal that discusses implanting students with microchips. Declan, outraged at the idea, publishes the story online without taking the time to do any additional research or fact checking.

The story goes viral. Unfortunately, it's also wrong.

 

Declan, suspended from school and forced to resign from his position as editor of the paper, begins to question the role of the media and his prospects for the future.

 

At the same time, he can't ignore the curious impulse to find out what's going on with the kid who gave him the scoop. Smoke, as the kid is known, is surrounded by a curious aura—and odor. And Declan wants to find out why.

 

This thoughtful story will appeal to young people trying to navigate today's media landscape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crwth Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781775351535

K.L. Denman

K.L. Denman a écrit de nombreux romans pour la jeunesse, notamment Destination Human et Agent Angus publiés par Orca. Bon nombre de ses ouvrages ont figuré aux palmarès des meilleurs livres de l’année, et Me, Myself and Ike a été finaliste au Prix littéraire du Gouverneur général. K.L. Denman vit à Delta, en Colombie-Britannique.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

It’s been a slow news day. Correction. It’s been a slow news month. It’s less than two hours until deadline for our monthly school paper, and we’ve got nothing to publish. Nothing that matters at least. The way it is now, our lead story is about the school dance—not exactly news. Everyone knows it happened, and it was totally ordinary.

Ravi wanders into our tiny office. I look at her hopefully. Please say you’ve got something for me.

She plunks down her battered camera bag and shrugs. Nope.

I stare at her for a moment, willing her to change the answer. She stares back with her usual poker face. I’ve known Ravi for over a year, and she fascinates me. She has this chill, artsy vibe. I’ve never seen her crack a smile. Or frown. Or look surprised. I’ve never seen her face do anything besides move her mouth to speak. And even that’s rare. What she does is take amazing pictures. It’s as if her main way of communicating is through her photos.

I hold my head in my hands. "Worst. Edition. Ever. The Standard is going down."

Ravi sits, pulls out her camera and starts adjusting the strap. Her glossy black hair falls forward, hiding her face. She doesn’t reply, which is fine.

I have plenty to say. After all the hassle to revive the paper this year? I thought for sure we could take it somewhere.

The school had said we didn’t need a paper anymore. It wasn’t worth the dollars it cost to run. Hardly anyone read it. Most schools have stopped putting out a student paper, even online editions. But a small group of us managed to convince our Digital Media teacher to sponsor the paper. Mr. Lopez agreed, so long as we understood there would be no print run. And we had to use the old name.

"Remember how Lopez lectured us on why it’s called The Standard? To remind us to uphold high standards. As journalists. Which is what I want to do."

I turn to my computer and start scrolling through the current edition. And what have we here? Let’s see. Bake-sale results. Track-and-field standings. The word-search puzzle. An interview with the office secretary. Which is pretty good. I mean, I like this bit about her former career as a cattle wrangler. Says she still uses some of those skills.

I drum my fingers on the desk. Maybe I should move that piece to the top? Make it the lead story? But no, staff interviews are regular columns and they’re always on the last page. Besides, there’s that great photo Ravi shot at the dance. She captured dancing students with the band backlit behind them. That photo is the main reason the story is our headliner. Also, there’s nothing else.

My one crummy contribution is the article I wrote about school renovations. The school board has been discussing it. At least one board member said attendance would improve if we modernized, but she didn’t explain how that would work. Our school is old and needs major repairs. The roof leaks and the heating system is sketchy. But school budget talk is boring, especially when it’s just talk.

Reports like that don’t come close to my goal of writing hard news—serious, in-depth, gritty stories. I plan to be a professional journalist, to travel the world, even into war zones if necessary. To find the truth and back it up with solid facts. People need to know what’s going on. I need to know what’s going on. According to my family, I’m a natural for journalism. They don’t say that because I’m a fantastic writer; it’s because I’ve always been nosy.

I take a deep breath and prepare to click submit on the news copy. One little click and this pathetic edition of the Standard will be posted online. There’s still an hour until deadline, but I’ve given up hope that anything new will turn up.

And then something does.

Dude! You’ve gotta hear this!

It’s Smoke. He bounds into our small office so fast he ricochets off my desk. I don’t know him, but everyone knows who he is. He stands out in a crowd. He’s got this wild mass of long, curly, grey-streaked hair. How many high school kids are going grey? And then there’s his odour. The guy always smells like smoke. There are debates about the source of the smell. Some say it’s wood smoke; others say cigarette; still others swear it’s weed. At the moment I’d go with a combo.

What’s up? I ask.

Dude, you won’t believe it.

It’s Declan, I say.

Smoke’s peculiar hair is vibrating. Huh?

My name is Declan, I tell him.

He blinks and turns a questioning gaze on Ravi. She shrugs. Smoke turns back to me. This is the newspaper office, right?

I nod. Yes. And I’m the editor. We’ve never met, but you’re Smoke, aren’t you? Do you want to report something?

Yeah! Smoke leans toward me. I was just in Principal Stewart’s office, right? And he had to step out. So I decided to look at his computer.

You looked at his computer? Why?

He shakes his head. Why not? The thing is, you won’t believe what was on there. It’s crazy!

I frown. "Okay. But the other thing is, whatever you saw, I can’t put it in the paper. I don’t report hearsay."

It’s not hearsay if I’ve got a picture.

Smoke’s hand is shaking as he gives me his phone. "Take a look at this."

His phone is in my hand and my curiosity is almost painful. But I still hesitate.

Um. I’m not sure that’s legal, I say.

Smoke jams his hands into his impressive hair and wails, "But you have to see it. It’s like life or death!"

CHAPTER TWO

I look at Smoke’s phone. He’s taken a photo of an email on a computer screen.

From:  E. Stewart, Principal

To: Julie Graves

Re: Trackers

Dear Ms. Graves,

Regarding plans for improved security by microchipping our students, here is a summary of the benefits you presented:

-Improved attendance

-Increased funding (since this depends on numbers in attendance)

-Student safety. Only those implanted with the chip will be admitted to the building

-Tracking resource use in real time (visits to the nurse, counsellor, library, etc., will be recorded)

-Students will no longer have to carry ID cards (which they often lose)

-Any runaways, delinquents or kidnap victims can be tracked and recovered

These are the...

I read the email twice. I find my mouth hanging open and snap it shut. I stare at Smoke for a moment and then pass his phone to Ravi. I watch her closely as she reads. And I finally witness her first show of emotion. Her eyes get big. Very big.

I turn back to Smoke. This is... I can’t find the words.

Right? He nods vigorously. Like I said. Life or death.

Maybe not exactly that, I say. But it’s close. It’s freaking hideous. Is this the whole email?

Yeah. At least that’s all there was on the screen. I think he was in the middle of writing it when I came in. Then he got called out.

My mind races as I try to remember if reporting this would be legal. But then, do I even care? If there were ever an issue people have a right to know about, this is it.

"This person Principal Stewart is writing to—Julie Graves. She’s on the Vancouver school board. I was at the budget meeting when she talked about modernizing the school. Only she didn’t say this was the