There's a knock on the door that breaks Chloe's concentration. Ella Lopez twirls her head to the door in response. They share a moment of silence, then get to their feet. Together they walk to the door, Chloe Decker cracks it open. Wide enough for Ella and her to glimpse at their visitor.
His hair, black and coarse, cropped to a crew cut. His swarthy skin reminds Chloe of an ancient walnut tree standing tall and proud during new moon. His eyes are russet, with flecks of gold in them. He's dressed in grey slacks, a form-fitting blue dress t-shirt and exudes an air of ominous allure. "Is this the Journalism Club?"
Ella's jaw hangs wide open. Chloe discreetly swallows her saliva.
The Journalism Club don't get visitors often. Not the most popular club by a long shot. Its club members? A grand total of three, including Chloe. Previous members had quitted after a month—too much work and little pay off. So a fresh face is rare. Especially when fresh face is tall, dark and handsome. Scratch that, a boy like him doesn't come at all.
Ella's the first to break the awkward silence. "Yes, I am. I mean, this is it. Club of Junior Journalists," she stammers.
Her chin tilting upwards, Chloe quirks a brow at him. "And you are?"
"Stephen Johnson," he replies, extending his hand out. His lips curling into a dimpled smile. His tenor voice is smooth as ocean waves crashing against the shore. Damn, he's attractive. And distracting.
"Ella Lopez." Ella manages to swat Chloe's hand away, and shakes his hand a tad too long. A smile so wide that it might split her face.
"Chloe Decker," she offers, giving his hand a quick shake. "What brings you here?"
"I'm looking for Dan Espinoza. He told me that the Journalism Club's looking for new members," Stephen explains, in clipped generalised American accent.
After Olivia dropped out for Frisbee Club, they agreed unanimously that they won't add anymore members. On the grounds that they've been the driving force for the paper and they don't need anyone else. Of course, Chloe blurts out, "We are?"
Ella elbows Chloe's ribs, shushing her, and enthusiastically reiterates, "Yes, we are."
"Hey, Stephen. So you decided to join us?" Dan's voice interrupts them, he waves at Stephen from his desk. He joins them at the doorframe, grinning.
Stephen curtly nods, "Yes. I think I could gain a wealth of knowledge from my time with this club."
Ella gets that mischievous twinkle in her doe-like brown eyes. "Cool. Now, since you're a newbie. You get to do the fashion segment." Without another word, she twirls on her heels and walks away. Ella returns to her desk, back to working on her newest article on the timeline of all Star Trek movies.
Stephen's forehead creases, "Fashion segment?"
"Don't worry, bud. I got your back," Dan sympathetically says, curving an arm around Stephen's broad shoulders. He pats Stephen twice, brings him into the room, "By the time you're done with being a newbie and that segment—you could tell the difference between mandarin top and a jabot, a gillet from a moto, wedge heels and cone heels. You get the big picture."
Stephen's six-feet-plus frame hides another visitor. She's dark-haired, with wavy shoulder-length hair. Porcelain skin, downturned brown eyes. Pretty. Just about Chloe's height. Decked in a striped blouse and jeans. Chloe seen her around LUX's dance floor a couple of times; Shelly Kaluta.
Instead of staring at Chloe, Shelly sets her sight on Stephen. Her brows furrowed, red-stained lips pursed in thought. One brow nearly disappearing underneath her bangs.
Chloe smiles, "Are you here to join the Journalism Club too?"
No response. Shelly's still eyeing Stephen—like she's appreciating how firm Stephen's butt looked in those tight grey slacks. Not that Chloe was paying any attention.
"Hello?" Chloe snaps her fingers in front of Shelly.
Shelly breaks her attention from Stephen, and stutters, "W-what did you say?"
Chloe repeats her question about her wanting to be the second newest recruit to the Journalism Club.
Shelly points at herself, arching her brow. Shaking her head, Shelly clarifies, "Me? Not a chance. I'm good with the Harry Potter Club." She continues, "But I'm looking for Chloe Decker."
Chloe raises her hand up. The corners of her lips quirking upwards, and she declares, "That's me."
"You're the one who investigated that Delilah who died, right? And found her killer?"
Her heart swells with pride. Someone actually read the paper. Well, specifically her tribute to Delilah McCord. Not the Sci-Fi section, which was surprisingly popular. And definitely not the Drama Section—the section regarded the best part of the paper. Chloe tries to stifle a victorious smile, but fails miserably. "Yeah, it was me. But it was actually a collaborative effort between several students."
Shelly opens her bag, takes out a file folder and taps on the file's cover. "I got a case for you," she says, sombre. Then hugs the file tightly.
Chloe glances at the file in Shelly's hand. Her interest peaks. People coming to the Journalism Club, demanding they take a case, never happen. As if Chloe's running a private investigation agency, instead of the school's paper.
"A case?"
[The last time Chloe Decker decided to play the detective-slash-journalist, she broke both legs. Though she'd swear that she only broke one leg when they first crashed against the tree. It's one of the mysteries Chloe yet to solve. Not to mention, her father decided to take away her TV privileges when she continued to watch crime scene shows. So, she really has to think twice before diving into the case, all blind.]
Shelly's head bobs up and down, producing a newspaper clip. Its headline; 'Killer Kid Strangled Student'.
Chloe observes the name 'Gordon Kaluta' under the perpetrator's portrait. The alleged student killer shared similar features with Shelly; same slope of nose, sharp dark eyes and messy bangs.
Shelly notices the unspoken question sitting on Chloe's lips. "Yup. It's my brother. He's in jail, pending trial. The police said he killed Ramon Valdez," Shelly mentions.
Valdez. That name strikes a chord in Chloe's memory. She recalls seeing that name on the school's staff committee board. As in Harry Valdez. Principal of Vertigo High.
"As in Principal Valdez's son?"
"Uh huh."
"When did this happen?" Chloe asks, attempting to recall if she read any crimes pertaining to Gordon Kaluta or Ramon Valdez.
"This was before you moved here."
Her dad had several cases where the perpetrators are clearly guilty, but their family members and friends refused to believe in the fact the perpetrators are capable of committing heinous crimes. "Are you sure you're not mistaken?"
Shelly releases an exasperated sigh. "I know my brother. He's dumb as a brick and you can call him all the words associated with a dumbass," she pauses, pinching the bridge of her nose, "But he's not a killer. He has a short fuse. But he's not even violent."
"I—I don't," Chloe trails off.
"He's framed for a crime he didn't commit," Shelly adamantly insists.
Chloe somewhat believes in Shelly's words. She can't standby seeing a boy spending the rest of his formative years behind jail. Especially if he's not guilty. At last, she concedes, "I can't promise that I could prove your brother's innocence. But I can try."
Shelly smiles a small one. "That's all I'm asking for," she says, shoving the file into Chloe's hand. "I've collected information on Ramon's death."
"You want us to keep this?"
She gestures a dismissive wave. "Take it. Those are copies of my notes."
"You have any ideas who would want to frame your brother?"
"Try Philip Smoak," Shelly suggests, then leaves the Journalism Club. Barely looking back at Chloe.
With that, Chloe Decker has a new mystery to solve. Time to bust out her 'Mystery Board' from underneath her bed and get her Veronica Mars thinking cap on. She has a name to clear out. And a jailed student to set free.
