A privatized city upon a hill: Connor
Blanc's vision for education
Keion Thomas, Elections
March 2, 2011
Education was a top priority in the Nimbasa
estate where Connor Blanc grew up.
Perfect attendance at Vero Albinus
Elementary School. A $10,000 annual
tuition. A top of the line tutor. Mandated
weekend study periods. No extra
curriculars. No sports. No Pokémon journey.
Blanc says he wouldn't have had it any
other way.
"I know a lot of people would hear about my
upbringing and think, 'My, that's terrible!'" he
said. "When I was 10, I certainly thought it
was, too. But my parents' heavy emphasis
on education brought me the success I
enjoy today."
After finishing up his early education at
Albinus, Blanc enrolled in classes at the
Pokémon Connoisseur Association. He
achieved his S-Class certification—the
highest attainable rank for Pokémon
Connoisseurs—at 25. At 34, he was
inducted as a board member for the PCA.
Now 41, Blanc is undertaking the "greatest
learning experience of his life," he
says—running for president. The president
of a new democracy, no less.
Education is at the core of Blanc's
campaign. If elected, Blanc will seek to
improve the education system in Napaj. In
particular, he wants to improve voucher
programs that allow students of lower
socioeconomic backgrounds to enroll in
prestigious private schools, free of tuition.
"I recognize I come from a privileged family,
and many young people in public schools
do not get the same caliber of education
that I did," Blanc says.
Programs like the Digital Institute of
Learning (DIL)—the free online education
school for traveling trainers—simply do not
cut it, Blanc adds.
"DIL does not adequately serve the needs
of our students," Blanc argues. "That's why I
want to invest more money into vouchers, to
create competition between educational
institutions that will force public schools to
work harder to compare with private ones."
See BLANC, Page A6
Zoey knew looking into Ciara's tip would be a doozy; it was incredibly vague as is, and she had so little information on Dey that it was impossible to do a cross search without making assumptions and doing some guesswork. Still, she wasn't fully prepared for how awful the process would be.
How many "airship accidents" could there possibly be? A lot, if you didn't know how Ciara defined an airship and were too proud to ask, and if you had no idea where said airship accident took place. She could at least reasonably guess it was Sinnoh since, according to Marinda, most of Junia Stevens' staff was Sinnoan.
Over the past several weeks, Zoey had formed something of a routine revolving around that single tip. When she wasn't attending Stevens' events and doing her daily reporting, she was researching airships and, more specifically, airship accidents. The process was frustrating. Even if she narrowed her search down to airship accidents that were (a) in Sinnoh (b) with survivors (c) within the past 30 years, there were far too many to wade through—and who knew how many accidents hadn't even been reported?
Zoey would usually give up around midnight, when her eyes began to droop and Glameow meowed at her to go to sleep. She'd toss in bed another thirty minutes, reasoning there was nothing she could do with so little information. But inevitably, she would return to her work several days later with a refreshed mind and some new ideas.
It struck her when she caught a glimpse of Jennifer Dey in the middle of a campaign event, a few weeks later, that perhaps she could further narrow her search based on the injury Dey had acquired. Her scar wasn't the result of a burn; it was atrophic. It was a depression in her skin, likely the result of blunt force trauma given Ciara's specification that the scar came from an "airship accident."
When she arrived back at her hotel and eliminated the element of fire from her search, her list actually became manageable: an even dozen. Two of them she recognized.
The first was from 1998, when she was just a rookie coordinator. A blimp promoting a new PokéMart campaign crashed in a clearing a few miles outside the Johto Grand Festival. She wasn't there—she was still traveling Sinnoh—but she remembered seeing it everywhere in the news. There were only two passengers: the captain and an engineer, the former of which died. The surviving engineer was now a 40-something year old married man though, so Dey couldn't have been involved.
The second was three years later in 2001, when a Team Galactic airship crashed into Lake Valor. Again, there was only one survivor, and again, it was a male. The young man was a grunt for the organization and was arrested after being transported to a hospital. The rest of the crew drowned; the airship and a majority of the bodies were recovered in the following week. Dey didn't fit the mold there either.
The rest were small-time accidents that received little news coverage—definitely more likely. Zoey vetted the rest of the accidents for any female survivors and found five. The most recent was from an accident in 2010, survived only by an elderly woman named Janice Hepworth. Not Jennifer Dey. Another was from an accident in 2005—a married couple, Elizabeth and Trevor Cloud, survived. Also not Jennifer Dey.
The last she checked, though—an accident from 1981—featured an unnamed 7-year-old survivor, a girl. Thirty years later in 2011, the girl would be 37 years old. That was just about how old Jennifer Dey was from Zoey's estimates. That had to be it. Dey had to be her.
"You're really sure?" Homa asked doubtfully.
"I'm almost positive," Zoey insisted. "Homa, over the past several weeks, I've become an expert on Sinnoan airship accidents. There's nothing else that fits the bill."
"Why are you so sure it happened in Sinnoh?" Homa continued.
"Well… I'm not," Zoey admitted.
"And how certain are you that Ciara's information is accurate?" Homa pressed.
"I—"
"And even if it is true, so what?" Homa was ruthless. "Okay, so let's assume all your assumptions are correct, and you've accurately identified an airship accident that Jennifer Dey was involved in as a child. So what?"
Zoey was rendered speechless. What could she say? What could she do as she watched weeks of research on her personal time circle the drain? It was all pointless. So what? When Ciara first presented her with the tip, Zoey had criticized it as being mere gossip—but she pursued it anyway, and nothing of value turned up. Maybe the story could make an interesting featurette buried in the back pages, but it seemed inane to bring that up now.
Homa sat through Zoey's silence for a while, perhaps to go be her some space to think. Then, she cleared her throat.
"Are you prepared for tonight's debate?" she asked, offering a change of subject.
"Yeah," Zoey sighed with dejection. Tonight was the first televised debate between the five remaining candidates: Connor Blanc, Mitchell Sinternik, Tom Waylend, Erol Adalet, and, of course, Junia Stevens. Last week, Greg Abel finally dropped out despite himself when his polling hit an irrecoverable low and he seemed to be facing several lawsuits. Zoey would be sitting with the other Hearthome Chronicle reporters doing live fact-checking via Chatot while Anthony Lugo, recently relieved of his beat on Abel, would be working on a transcription that would go up immediately after the debate finished.
"Good," Homa said. "Keep working hard."
The conversation ended with a click. Zoey let her phone slide out of her hands and onto the bed beside Glameow. The feline looked curiously at her trainer, who turned her attention to the open laptop sitting on the hotel desk. Her makeshift workspace was a mess—papers scattered everywhere, notes written on napkins, highlighters with missing caps drying out in the open—and Zoey sighed again before heading over and giving a lackluster attempt at organizing it all.
She shut the lid on her laptop. Back to square one.
Zoey arrived at Dervish University—the location of the televised debate—a little later than she would have liked, but prepared nonetheless.
After she was screened and let inside, she squeezed her way through the crowd and found the press area. Her eyes scanned the gaggle of journalists seated with laptops, cell phones, and notepads, looking for her own crowd. Her eyes briefly connected with those of Ciara Skelley, and Zoey promptly looked away. She wasn't at all in the mood for dealing with Ciara's antics, which would undoubtedly involve Ciara prodding her about the tips they'd exchanged.
"Zoey!"
Zoey turned and saw Aiyalah Rose-Westwood—the Hearthome reporter covering Adalet—waving her down. Zoey managed a smile and made her way over to her, finding she'd reserved an open seat between her and Marie Guadarrama, the reporter covering Waylend.
"Ah, it's the woman of the hour!" Jeremy Bunt, Sinternik's reporter, greeted with a grin and a wave from down the line.
"'Woman of the hour,' huh?" Zoey repeated, raising an eyebrow. Of all the Hearthome reporters now on the campaign trail, she was probably most familiar with Jeremy; he was formerly a contests reporter, like her. The rest were pulled from an assortment of beats under Homa, from League coverage (Anthony) to Pokéstyle (Aiyalah).
"Sure," Jeremy went on. "You're a celebrity among the staff, getting yourself arrested while covering a protest."
Zoey scoffed. "That was weeks ago. Old news. Hardly 'of the hour.'"
"It's the first I've seen of you since the last pitch meeting we sat in with Homa back in—what?—October? Feels relevant," Jeremy said, shrugging.
"Well, I've already put it behind me," Zoey laughed dryly. "Not exactly the greatest night of my life."
"I told you to leave," Anthony spoke up from behind his laptop.
"Ignore him. You did the right thing," Keion Thomas said, clearing his throat and reaching over Marie to offer Zoey a hand. "I don't believe we've ever met in person. Keion Thomas—I cover Blanc."
"I recognize your byline," Zoey said, shaking his hand. "Interesting man, Connor Blanc."
"He's all right—it's an easy assignment, at least. I don't suspect I'll be doing it for much longer, since he's sliding in the polls—privatizing public ed isn't exactly a popular sentiment among anyone other than the elitist pricks and idiots. Plus, your Junia Stevens is picking up all of Abel's lost support," Keion said.
"A wonder why that is," Zoey said tiredly.
"Ah, right. Homa tells me covering Stevens gives both of you a lot of trouble. That's why you had to profile her campaign people rather than her—great work, regardless," Keion went on.
Zoey let out a breathy laugh. "Thanks. Homa's mentioned that, huh?"
"You'd think for a candidate picking up as much support as her, she'd want to consider actually sitting down for an interview," Aiyalah chimed in.
"You'd think," Zoey said, shrugging. She appreciated the commiseration of her colleagues, but at that point, it felt like a rehash of one-sided venting sessions she'd held with Homa. Covering Junia Stevens was frustrating, yes. And she didn't feel like thinking on it because she was still sore over her research into Jennifer Dey's past turning up nothing substantive.
Zoey supposed she would just have to accept that Junia Stevens and her campaign members were weird simply because they weren't professional politicians like Sinternik or Waylend.
After a few more minutes of light chit-chat and other preparations—Zoey had her Chatot account open and was composing a Chat about following her for details on Stevens' participation—the room darkened, and the stage lit up. The debate was about to begin.
"Good evening from Dervish University in Violet City, Johto. I'm Brian Shriver of Pokémon News Network, and I welcome you all to the first presidential debate. The participants tonight are Mitchell Sinternik, Erol Adalet, Tom Waylend, Connor Blanc, and Junia Stevens. This debate is sponsored by the Napjian Election Commission.
"The commission drafted tonight's format, and the rules have been agreed to by the campaigns.The two-hour debate is divided into six segments, each 20 minutes long. At the start of each segment, I will ask the same lead-off question to each candidate, and they will each have up to two minutes to respond. From that point until the end of the segment, the candidates will have an open discussion.
"The audience in the room has agreed to remain silent so that viewers at home can focus on what the candidates are saying. The audience may applaud now, however, as we welcome the candidates to the stage."
Zoey and her colleagues offered a polite applause each time Shriver, seated facing the stage, introduced a new candidate. It was the first time all five had been together in one place, and there was a restrained tension in the air. It was all so subtle under the guise of professional amiability, but there was one moment—one strange moment—that exposed the strain.
Each a time a new candidate paraded onto the stage, they would shake the hand of their opponents. Junia Stevens was the last to enter, and for each opponent she greeted, she maintained an air of cordiality. Until the very last. When she met Adalet, her eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened, even as they shook hands. Zoey straightened up, but the moment was fleeting, and following it, both candidates were standing at ease side by side.
Zoey tried to catch Aiyalah's gaze to confirm if she had seen something, too, and there was something off—but Aiyalah seemed unfazed. Zoey slowly sank back into her chair. Had she imagined the entire encounter?
The candidates took their places at the podiums.
"Let's get straight to it," Shriver said after everyone had settled. "This historical election will result in the country's first democratic president. The role has been left largely undefined by our Champions, and with no precedent, it is one of you who will give meaning to your position. What role do you expect to play in the service of Napaj? Mr. Adalet, let's begin with you."
"Thank you, Mr. Shriver," Adalet said. "I believe that it is the responsibility of whomever is elected, regardless of whether it is myself or another person on this stage, to represent and advocate for the interests of the people and not the League. It is not a position that should held alone. Whatever policy decisions the president makes, they should be done under the counsel of a body of advisers selected from all stakeholders across Napaj. This includes business, education, health care, security, and other specializations—including those specializations specific to Pokémon. I believe seeking out and considering the expertise of others will make for a stronger leader, and therefore, a stronger nation."
"That's time. Thank you, Mr. Adalet."
While writing a Chat on her phone, Aiyalah let out a short breath and muttered, "Good answer." Zoey briefly flicked her gaze toward her than back toward the stage. It was a good answer. It must be nice, covering a candidate who actually had answers, Zoey wistfully thought.
Zoey mentally stumbled at the internal compliment she had paid to Adalet, of all people, and the ghost of a laugh passed through her lips. Was Junia Stevens really so bad that even Erol Adalet was starting to look appealing?
"Ms. Stevens, we'll have you answer next: What role do you expect to play in the service of Napaj?"
"I mean to bring change, Mr. Shriver," Junia said. "I view this election, as many do, as an opportunity for a new beginning—one the nation is in desperate need of. There is much wrong with our world, and I believe the president should work to give the nation a fresh start, erasing the wrongs of our nation."
"A vague answer—the Junia Stevens' special," Maria wryly remarked as she leaned toward Zoey.
Zoey's lips quirked into a smile, and she nodded in agreement. It was good to hear, at least, that others were also put off by Junia Stevens' lack of clarity. Zoey began to type a Chat message to send, but as she thought more on Maria's comment, the more it didn't sit well with her.
Sure, Junia Stevens wasn't a career politician, and maybe that accounted for some of her peculiarities as a candidate—but Blanc and Adalet weren't politicians either, and while she wasn't particularly fond of either, at least they managed to strike her as normal. The longer she covered Junia Stevens and her campaign, the more seemed anything but normal.
Zoey pressed send on her message: "On question about potential role in nation, Stevens discusses need to erase "wrongs of nation," offers no clarifying details." It was a harsher turn in tone for her typical Chats, but Zoey didn't care. Something was off, and it was time to play hardball.
"So any bets on how many days it'll be before Blanc drops out?" Anthony asked, grinning as he shut his laptop, having just submitted his transcript to Homa. The lights were back on; the debate hall was nearly cleared of everyone, except for the journalists still working on their stories. "I'm giving less than ten."
"Are you kidding me?" Aiyalah scoffed. "He'll stick around 'till the bitter end, even if he stays in dead last. He's too proud."
"That's exactly why he will drop out," Jeremy said. "He got decimated tonight by the other candidates. Sinternik took him down to size over his voucher bullshit. He's super embarrassed right now, and he's gonna try to save face dropping out before his poll numbers really plummet. Right, Keion?"
Keion pulled his headphones out of his ears. "Don't talk to me about bets unless you wanna actually put up some cash."
Jeremy laughed. "Well, fine. I'll put 20 on him dropping out within the next ten days."
"I'll back that up with another 20," Anthony jumped in.
"Well, you two will be sorry when you're out those 20 bucks—I'll place my bet on after ten, or not at all," Aiyalah said, reaching into her wallet and pulling out a physical bill.
"I'll join you there," Maria said, following suit.
"Now it's interesting." Keion straightened up. "Well, as the authority on Connor Blanc, I'm going to bet I'll be back home covering gym battles within the next ten days." A unanimous "ooh" sounded among the group.
"C'mon, Zoey, you're with us, aren't you?" Aiyalah pleaded.
Zoey raised an eyebrow but managed a smile. She hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Well…" she drawled. "I do think Blanc will drop out… but I don't think it'll be within ten days. I'll bet after ten or never."
Keion clutched his chest. "You wound me, Williams," he said, feigning distress. "You compliment my reporting, then turn around and spit on my expertise?"
"Hey, if you win, you can take the extra cash and buy yourself a nice drink on the flight home," Zoey said lightly.
"Fair enough." Keion extended his hand, and they shook on it.
Their group started to disperse shortly thereafter. Zoey, however, lingered behind a little longer—for no reason, really, other than she wasn't in a rush and didn't want to fight traffic. She was occupying herself with reviewing the Chats she had sent throughout the evening. As it turned out, she hadn't needed to fact-check a single thing Junia had said because she hadn't, well, stated any facts. Just her usual empty rhetoric.
That gave Zoey pause. Huh. That would make for a good Chat to conclude the evening. She began to compose a new message: My job tonight was to fact-check Junia Stevens throughout the debate, and she made it very easy—not because everything she stated was accurate, but rather because she didn't state anything.
She pressed send. Homa was going to ream her for this later, probably. Maybe if she was lucky, Homa would be so mad she'd send her home and replace her with Anthony or Keion, whenever Connor Blanc dropped out.
Zoey stood up, gathered her things, and started to head toward the exit. As she left the auditorium and into the hallway, however, she had a surprise encounter. To her left, a little way off, she saw Aiyalah and Adalet speaking alone. A notebook was in her hand, and it was obvious she was in the middle of a short impromptu interview. Initially, Zoey felt a pang of jealousy—but then she saw an opportunity, and her professional envy dissolved. She hung back and waited for Aiyalah to finish up.
Closing her notebook, Aiyalah smiled and thanked him before leaving the hall—and that was when Zoey sprung into action. Adalet had barely turned away when she called his name out.
"Mr. Adalet!"
He turned, brows raised.
"I recognize you," was all he said.
"Yes, uh," Zoey began hesitantly. "We've met before." She wasn't sure how to delicately remind him how they had met. Should she bring up how he'd been their bus driver in the "crash" that "killed" her nearly a decade earlier? Or talk about the time he apprehended her and her friends in Opelucid City? Or maybe she needed to go with the safer route when they had worked together two years earlier in a sting operation involving Team Plasma.
"Yes, I know your group well," Adalet replied, and Zoey felt an odd sense of relief. Okay, so he knew who she was. Then she internally winced. Wait. Maybe it wasn't a good thing that he knew her and her "group" well.
Adalet's eyes, meanwhile, flicked down to her press badge. "You're a journalist now?"
"Yeah, I—" Zoey fumbled for new notebook. "I had a question for you."
"On the record?"
Zoey blinked and looked down at her notebook. "Uh, no," she decided, hastily putting the notebook away again.
"Okay…" Adalet hummed suspiciously. "Well, what is it?"
"Do you… know Junia Stevens?" Zoey asked carefully.
"Pardon?"
"Do you know Junia Stevens?" Zoey repeated more firmly.
Adalet looked at her strangely. "In what context? Where is this coming from?" he asked.
"There—" A heat climbed up Zoey's neck with the fear that she had imagined the whole thing. Aiyalah hadn't reacted at all, and judging by her Chatot feed, neither had anyone else watching the debate. Zoey pushed these doubts aside, though, and finished, "There was a moment of tension between you and Stevens before the debate began, when you greeted each other on stage—and to my knowledge, you've never met on the political stage before tonight, so why the animosity?"
"We are opponents," Adalet said a little dryly.
"But you didn't seem to share that animus with the other candidates," Zoey pressed.
Adalet breathed out through his nostrils. "Ms. Williams," he began bluntly, "I am no longer associated with the G-Men, and I will not comment on an ongoing investigation if that's what you want."
"Wha—" Before Zoey could finish, Adalet turned on his heel and left, but it didn't matter much because she had suddenly been rendered breathless.
"You're fucking kidding me." Homa so rarely swore, but under the present circumstances, Zoey didn't bat an eye. "That's what he said?!"
"Word for word," Zoey promised. She was pacing around her hotel room hurriedly in an indiscriminate state of undress while Glameow watched her from the desk with bug-eyed tension. "I've played it over at least a hundred times in my head now, and I can't read his words any other way—he must have thought I was onto some kind of closed-doors investigation, and that's why he shut me down like that."
"Well, shit—forget Jennifer Dey, this is what you need to check out," Homa breathed.
"So I'm not crazy?" Zoey questioned. "I'm not crazy for thinking there's something there? Why else would he have said it? Why else would he have invoked the G-Men if he didn't know about some kind of investigation involving her?"
"No, you're not crazy," Homa assured her, "but let's slow down and take a breath. I will agree that his response definitely justifies further investigation, but we have to recognize that there could be other reasons why he said it. Adalet resigned before Junia Stevens even began her campaign, and he might've just wanted you off his back. You told me yourself there's a history there."
"I'm sure Adalet still knows people in the G-Men though who might've told him. Besides, if Junia Stevens did something worth the G-Men's attention, it could have happened before she was a candidate, when Adalet was still involved. There's that weird time gap between her college graduation and employment with the museum so maybe—" Zoey stopped and pressed a hand to her head. "—and even if Adalet just wanted to shoo me away, it was such an outlandish thing to bring up right then—"
"I hear you, Zoey," Homa cut in. "I'm just saying we both need to slow down. We really don't know anything more than we did five hours ago. And if there is an ongoing criminal investigation, you especially need to tread carefully."
Zoey heard the note of warning in her voice and felt a sudden pang of apprehension. She took in a deep breath. "Right. Okay. So, maybe I should get Aiyalah's thoughts on Adalet's response? She'd know him better than me by now."
"No, I don't want Aiyalah knowing about this," Homa said. "I don't want anyone else knowing about this. You can't breathe even a hint of suggestion that there might be an investigation and you know about it—not to any other staffer, not to anyone in Stevens' campaign. Not until you know more."
It fully dawned on Zoey how serious Homa was being then—as well as how serious the situation potentially was.
"... What should I do then?" she asked quietly.
"Maybe you need to work your connections a little and talk to someone in the G-Men," Homa suggested. "See if you can get someone, anyone, to confirm there's an investigation, even if it's off the record."
"There's no way Leaf would say anything. She would flip if she thought I knew about a secret G-Men investigation," Zoey said. "She was even touchy when I tangentially brought up the database hack."
"Who says it has to be Leaf? Paul Rebolledo oversees Sinnoh."
Zoey had to laugh. "Paul's an impenetrable fortress of stoicism."
"Like I said, he doesn't have to go on the record, and I wouldn't want him on the record for anything you wrote anyway," Homa insisted. "He's your friend. If you could just get him to say there was an investigation, you could go from there."
That gave Zoey pause. She shut her eyes, thinking as she wetted her lips. When she opened them again, she said, "... We're both attending Ash Ketchum and Misty Waterflower's wedding next month. In person, maybe if I approach him the right way…"
"A month is a long time away," Homa reminded her.
"I know. You said it take it slow though," Zoey calmly replied.
"So what will you do in the meantime?" Homa asked.
"I—I'll—" Zoey stopped short. What would she do? Keep pressing the campaign for answers? That had gotten her nowhere. Investigate the staff? That had only resulted in one mid-interest feature about Marinda Ortiz and Satchel Thompson and a lot of wasted time on Jennifer Dey. "I—" She stopped again when she heard a distinctive ringing come through her phone. "Hang on, Homa. Someone else is trying to reach me. I'll call you back in a few minutes."
"All right."
Zoey hung up, then checked her caller ID—and was stunned.
"Marinda?" Zoey inquired, flabbergasted. Zoey was always the one calling Marinda; it was never the other way around, and she was bewildered by the sudden change. The timing was unsettling, too, given what she'd just been talking to Homa about.
"Hello, Zoey," Marinda greeted with her usual haughty nonchalance. "It's your lucky night. Junia Stevens has decided she wants to grant you an interview."
Zoey felt her jaw drop—almost cartoonishly so.
"Wh—What?" Zoey stammered out.
"The campaign is leaving for Fuschia City tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp," Marinda went on. "Junia Stevens will be available starting at 9 a.m. You may meet with her then at the Violet City Hotel & Spa up until 9:30 a.m. We will arrange a small conference room where you may conduct your interview."
Zoey's head was spinning, but she managed sputter out, "Why now?"
"Do you want the interview or not?"
"Yes!" Zoey blurted out, a little too quickly and too eagerly, she realized. She reeled herself back in. "Yes. I will be there at 9 a.m. Thank you for the opportunity," she said in as measured a voice she could manage.
"Good. I'll meet you in the lobby in the morning."
Zoey was then immediately met with a monotone ringing in her ears. She slowly lowered the phone, processing. She only lifted it again to make another call.
"Zoey?" Homa's voice patched through. Zoey initially said nothing, suddenly discovering her tongue was dry. "... Zoey?"
"Oh, sorry." Zoey shook her head. "You will not believe who just called: Marinda Ortiz. Junia Stevens is finally giving me an interview. Tomorrow."
Homa didn't reply at first; she, too, had to process this revelation. But then Zoey heard her let out a disbelieving laugh and say, "Damn."
"I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm a little freaked out right now."
"Did Marinda explain the change in the no-interview policy?" Homa asked.
"No, hence why I'm a little freaked out," Zoey said.
"She probably saw your Chats."
"My—what?"
"Your Chats," Homa emphasized. "They were pretty harsh tonight. That's probably why the campaign reached out. I was going to call you about it, but you called me first about Adalet."
"... I don't understand," Zoey admitted.
"Zoey, you're probably the most well-known print journalist in the country right now," Homa said bluntly. "I know you've been avoiding it, but after your arrest, your name has appeared in the lede of a column in just about every major publication in the nation. Your audience just got a whole lot bigger—and that much more threatening to Junia Stevens's campaign."
"Threatening?" Zoey repeated.
"To the point: They want you to write good things about Junia Stevens," Homa elaborated. "You dialed up the pressure tonight, and they're buckling under it. Everything Junia Stevens tells you tomorrow will be designed to pick apart your critiques and make you think and write differently about her."
"So what should I do?" Zoey asked.
"Get to work tonight," Homa answered with a shrug in her voice. "They're not giving you a lot of time to prepare on purpose."
Zoey sucked in her breath through her teeth. "Okay. Wish me luck."
"Good luck."
Zoey dropped her phone onto her bed. She sat down at her desk, pulled a notebook out from under Glameow, and retrieved a ballpoint pen, clicking it twice.
It was going to be an all-nighter.
Zoey arrived at the Violet City Hotel & Spa a full half-hour earlier than the instructed time with a coffee in hand and a thick layer of concealer painted beneath her eyes. It was around 2:30 a.m. that she took a shower, about an hour after her first coffee trip to the 24-hour café in the lobby. The second trip came shortly after 3 a.m., at which point Zoey decided it would probably be better just to stay in the café all night and have unlimited access to caffeine. She was there up until it was time to get dressed for her interview—and she wanted to ensure there was no possibility of her being late.
Zoey sat in the lobby for quite a while, reviewing her notes and suppressing a yawn every now and then. She was going to take a long, well-deserved nap after all this.
Around 8:50, Zoey began checking around the room religiously every two minutes, hoping maybe Marinda would be early herself, and Zoey would be able to squeeze a few extra minutes out of the interview. No such luck. 9:00 a.m. came, and Marinda was nowhere in sight.
9:02 a.m. Zoey took this as an opportunity to check her notes over one last time.
9:04 a.m. Zoey was tapping her foot anxiously. Could she have misunderstood Marinda? Was it the wrong time? Was she in the wrong place?
9:07 a.m. Nearly ten minutes late. Zoey chewed on her bottom lip, feeling frustration on top of her apprehension. If what Homa suggested was true, and this was all a move to get Zoey to like Junia Stevens more, then why—
"Zoey?"
Zoey snapped her head up, her eyes completely wide. Marinda was standing there, staring.
"You look horrible," Marinda continued flatly. Zoey pressed her lips together—hard—but tried not to take offense.
"We can't all be supermodels all the time," Zoey said, standing up and smoothing out a wrinkle in her blouse. Marinda gave her an odd look.
"Well. Anyway," Marinda said, turning stiffly away. "She's upstairs if you'll follow."
Zoey did, and Marinda led her to the elevator. Marinda swiped a guest card key and pressed "4" on the keypad. Although it was only three floors higher, it was possibly the longest elevator ride Zoey had ever taken. There was no one else with them. Not a word, not a sound exchanged—not even any quirky elevator music to fill the silence.
Zoey cast Marinda a furtive glance. Marinda's gaze was firmly set forward; Zoey could tell she was physically tense. Zoey swallowed back a sudden bout of fear. What could be the reason behind this behavior if it wasn't what Adalet had unintentionally insinuated? Zoey briefly closed her tired eyes and recentered herself. There was no time to be nervous. This was what she had prepared all night for. She needed answers; she wouldn't get them in the way she wanted, but she could get what she needed. Something—anything—that might give hint to what Adalet meant about an ongoing investigation without ever revealing she knew about it.
The elevator doors slid open.
"This way," Marinda instructed. She led Zoey several doors down a long hallway before stopping in front of a closed door. Marinda knocked twice.
"Please, come in!" It was unmistakably the voice of Junia Stevens. Marinda merely turned the knob and pushed the door open, gesturing for Zoey to go inside. Zoey nodded to her, and Marinda shut the door behind her.
It was a small conference room, maybe only big enough for a dozen people. Junia sat at the end of the table, working on her laptop. Seeing Zoey, Junia smiled over the screen, closed the lid, and stood up, extending her hand.
"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Williams," she said. Although Zoey had attended dozens of Junia Stevens's campaign events and listened to just as many speeches by then, she was suddenly struck by the quality of her voice. She had felt an inkling of that awe on the first day she covered Stevens at a small kickoff event in Eterna City, but now that she was here and up close, Zoey could fully read the warm, deep tones in which she spoke. Zoey took her hand.
"The pleasure is mine," Zoey said. "Thank you for the opportunity."
"Well…" Junia started slowly as she sat down and invited Zoey to do the same. "... I felt so unsure for so long about having a one-on-one interview with anyone. But then I read your wonderful article with Marinda and Satchel, and I thought to myself, 'If there's anyone who I want to interview me, it's that Zoey Williams.'"
"Oh—well, thank you," Zoey said, surprised by the compliment. At the same time, she remained suspicious. The article was weeks old. Marinda had called her late yesterday. Bringing up the article was either a subterfuge to get in Zoey's good graces, an excuse to cover the fact that the campaign was concerned with Zoey's Chats, or an indication that Junia had been wanting to grant an interview to Zoey for weeks but needed to convince her advisers first. Maybe it was all of those things, or maybe it was none.
Zoey checked the time. It was 9:13 a.m. If Marinda was strictly serious about the 9:30 end time, despite the late start time, then Zoey only had seventeen minutes to accomplish what she needed to.
"Well, I know you're on a tight schedule," Zoey began in as friendly a tone as possible, "so I hope you don't mind if we start right away."
"Not at all."
Zoey quickly set all her materials on the table: her notes, a fresh pad of paper, a pen, and—"Do you mind if I record this?" Zoey asked, holding up her cell phone's audio app to show her.
"That would be fine," Junia consented, nodding.
Zoey pressed her record button, set it on the table, and immediately began. "So, let's start with last night, since I imagine the debate is still fresh in your mind," she said. "What do feel you accomplished in the debate?"
It was a softball question. Always start simple, she had learned—put the interviewee at ease, make it painless. Beginning with the hard-hitting, difficult-to-answer questions would make the person sitting across more defensive and less likely to give a forthright answer. And, it was the perfect question with which to begin.
Homa had said Junia Stevens probably wanted to grant Zoey an interview so she could redirect and reshape the negative narrative she had created. Zoey was giving her that opportunity—or at least, the illusion of it. Zoey didn't care about Junia's performance in the debate, and she didn't particularly care to correct her assessment of it either. But Zoey figured if she gave her some of what she wanted, then Junia would give some back.
"Well…" Junia was smiling as she began—beaming, really. Zoey felt a hint of satisfaction, and of relief. This was the question Junia wanted. "I was quite proud of myself. You know, I am not a politician, so I may not be as well-spoken as some of my opponents, but I am consistent. You will not see me change my answers from crowd to crowd to score political points."
Got me there, Zoey internally admitted. Junia hadn't changed any of her rhetoric since the first day of her campaign. It had always been the same vague spiel about the need for change and giving Napaj a fresh start. Even Junia's response now was echoed sentiments about her own ethos while on the campaign trail. At the same time, Zoey could tell the answer was very well-rehearsed, designed specifically to counteract the messages Zoey had sent yesterday.
Zoey quickly jotted down a few notes, mostly for show—Junia needed to believe she was genuinely engaged and not of the belief she was being the fed the same meaningless answers she had received for months.
"Some have criticized you for being 'nonspecific' in all your speeches—" And by some, I mean me, Zoey internally remarked. "—and that you never articulate any specific policies to back up your principles and platform. Your response to this?"
It was a tougher question, but based on Junia's last response, Zoey knew it was another question she'd hoped to receive. This time, however, it was also a question to which Zoey actually wanted the answer.
"I don't see my responses as vague," Junia said.
"Oh?" Zoey inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"I see them as flexible," Junia finished.
If Zoey hadn't exerted every ounce of self-control she had over herself, she would have laughed in Junia's face. Junia insisted she wasn't a politician, but it was the most empty, political answer Zoey could have imagined. The spin was dizzying.
"Could you elaborate on what you mean by that?" Zoey asked.
"Sure," Junia agreed. "I want to keep the promises I make to voters. But there is no precedent for this election and this office in Napaj. We candidates may have detailed visions of what the presidency may look like, but coming into that position, one of us may find out the promises we made cannot be kept. Connor Blanc can promise up and down to invest funding into private school vouchers, but should he be elected, would he really have that power? If not, then he's broken the biggest promise he made to his constituents."
Zoey listened attentively. She had an interesting point, Zoey had to admit. Interesting, being the keyword, not necessarily rational.
"So… do you have a specific vision for Napaj?" Zoey asked.
"I do, actually," Junia said.
"You're just not willing to share it," Zoey continued doubtfully.
"I'm not willing to break any promises," Junia corrected. "But as I speak now and have spoken since the beginning of my campaign, I can promise voters will get exactly what they vote for. There will be change. There will be a fresh start. They can with certainty expect that, no matter how the details unfold."
Junia's voice hadn't changed, and yet, there something distinctly ominous in that final statement. If it were said by any other person—any other candidate—Zoey would have thought nothing of it. Yet, a shiver crawled up her spine, and Zoey stared at her, perhaps for a beat too long.
Zoey's eyes flicked toward a wall clock. She was running out of time, and there was still more she wanted to ask—so much more that it was a matter of deciding now what of the few questions Zoey had narrowed down last night were most important and which she could, with difficulty, let go.
"So color me curious," Zoey went on, "but I'm interested in what inspired your platform of advocating for this fresh start. You, Satchel, and Marinda were all in a STEM advocacy group together, your support originally grew out of the scientific community, and you even have a degree in space archeology—but your campaign messaging doesn't seem to make any appeals based on those things."
"By 'STEM advocacy group,' you mean GAG, correct?" Junia asked.
"Yes." Zoey nodded.
"Well, calling GAG a STEM advocacy group is a bit of a narrow definition," Junia said.
"It is?" Zoey's brows shot up.
"Don't misunderstand: GAG is a STEM advocacy group, but it was very much about using science to improve our world. When I talk about seeking a fresh start, I'm very much advancing the endgame mission of GAG," Junia explained. "There are so many horrible things that happen in this world, and I've been a personal witness to it. It's why I joined GAG, and it's why I'm running for office now. I want to make it better."
"A 'personal witness'?" Zoey repeated inquisitively. Junia smiled weakly.
"We've all had our hardships," she said. It was evident Junia did not want to elaborate on the subject, but Zoey decided it would be worth pushing her on the matter—just a little.
"Do you mind specifying what 'horrible things' means to you?" she asked.
"It's all that I've spoken about in my campaign," Junia said. "I'm not a one-issue candidate. Never have been. There is much that needs improvement: the economy, social inequality, education…"
It was a maddeningly roundabout answer—Maria was on-point when she called it the Junia Stevens' special.
"Yes, but," Zoey started, but she paused just long enough to slow herself down and quell her frustrations. She wanted to ask, What happened to you that made you think the world is so awful and in need to change? She needed more tact than that, though. After reconsidering her words, Zoey asked, "What shaped that worldview, though? Was it GAG? Something else? You were a trainer when you were younger. Did something happen then?"
Junia's expression didn't break, but she tilted her head just the slightest bit. "How did you learn I was a trainer?" The question wasn't demanding or suspicious, merely curious. Zoey saw through it, however: It was a diversion, a tactic to get her off the subject. Clearly, Junia didn't want to talk about what led to her political stances—which was worrisome for a political candidate.
Zoey pressed her lips together, now facing another decision. She could spend her final six or seven minutes pressing the issue and trying to pull a direct answer out of Junia, or she could move on.
"... Your records indicate you participated in the Sinnoh League in 1989," Zoey said with a degree of resignation.
"Oh, yes." A light filled Junia's eyes. "I did enter. I made it to the quarterfinals."
"That so?" Zoey didn't quite recall that detail, so she felt a little caught off guard. "If you did so well, then, why did you stop? You never entered another league."
"I did start collecting more Sinnoh badges to enter another one," Junia admitted, "but I ended up leaving that behind."
"Why?" Zoey insisted.
"Well, I got involved with GAG," Junia said in a matter-of-fact manner.''
Zoey stared at her confusedly, and she did some math in her head. "Around that time, after your first league, you would've been only 12. You became involved with GAG then? I thought you joined GAG in college."
"I met Marinda and Satchel in college, and they joined GAG then," Junia clarified. "But I had been involved for much longer. GAG is what inspired me to pursue my degree in space archeology, not the the other way around."
Zoey struggled to make some sense of this new revelation. "It's such an awfully young age to get involved with an advocacy group like that," she said.
"Sure, but I felt inspired to do so," Junia said, shrugging.
"By what?" Zoey asked.
"Whom," Junia corrected. "I met an older trainer outside Sunnyshore City. I challenged him to a battle, and he handily defeated me. We ended up talking afterward, and I found out he was a part of GAG. Things went from there, and I ended up joining."
"Who was the trainer?"
"Pardon?" Junia straightened up.
"What was the name of the trainer?" Zoey repeated. It was a simple, noncontroversial question—one made just to elicit information Zoey could research later—but Junia suddenly grew very visibly uncomfortable.
"His name—He—" Junia stammered. Somehow, Zoey realized, she'd gotten Junia to say too much. Junia quickly regathered herself, however, and said, "Well, it's just been so long that I've completely forgotten it!"
A boldfaced lie. Zoey could see right through her.
"He inspired you enough to join GAG, but you don't remember his name?" she questioned.
"I—" Junia was beyond flustered, and Zoey was hanging on the edge of her seat.
A knock at the door. Marinda poked her head inside.
"Junia, it's time," was all she said. Zoey felt like she was going to scream in stark contrast to Junia, who looked relieved.
"Is it? Well, the time just flew by!" Junia said with a forced laugh. Marinda shot her an odd look, and Junia stood up. "Well, thank you for stopping by, Zoey."
Zoey sucked in her breath, willed herself to stand, and managed a polite smile. "As I said before, the pleasure is mine. Perhaps we can sit down again sometime?"
"If we have the time," Marinda said emphatically, ushering Junia out of the room. "I trust you can show yourself out."
Marinda then shut the door. They were gone, just like that. Zoey stared at the closed door, stunned, before she let out a loud groan and put her head down on the table.
She came for answers, but she was only left with more questions.