Little White Lies (21 page)

One minute till air. Karl and I both took a deep breath.

For some reason, I shook hands with him. He broke into a wide smile, and I nervously smiled back. We rose in unison, looked at the dressing room door, then back at each other. Our double-locked gaze said it all. We knew what we had agreed to do, and we also knew what we
had
to do.

As soon as we exited and approached the set, those
ridiculous lights started flashing. Then it went black. The lights came up again, and the camera pointed at Karin and Anders as they both stood center stage. God, they looked ridiculous and perfect at the same time. But they were dressed … differently. They appeared hipper, younger, more approachable. More attractive. Anders had on gray jeans, wingtip shoes, and a plaid shirt. No tie, no jacket. Karin wore a white mini-dress that for once did not make her look like the Evil White Witch of the Woods. A wolf in sheep’s clothing?

The cameraman began the countdown: “Five … four … three …” Then he stopped talking.

“Hello, America!” Karin announced in a bright voice. “Hello, world. I am Karin Skool, this is my brother Anders Skool, and this is … 
Takin’ U to Skool
, the teen talk show that will give an
honest
voice to your generation. But before we dig into the topics for tonight, we have two brief guests who’d like to say something to you all.”

Anders came offstage and led us both by the arm into the spotlight. I tried not to squint under the brightness and heat. My heart was thumping even harder than when I’d first come to this place.

“Hello!” Anders said. “Now before you guys go and boo them off the stage, haha, please hear what they have to say. Karin and I want to make abundantly clear that
everyone
deserves a forum to express regret. Yes, even in the face of such loathsome behavior. That is the spirit in which we offer our new show. Thusly, we have agreed to let them speak to you tonight.

“Coretta, Karl, the floor is yours.”

In that instant, my mind flashed back to Mike’s kitchen, where he and I had gone to be alone after hatching the plan.
We’d left Rachel and Mike’s parents alone with Karl and Alex Melrose. I remember giggling at the thought of those five people—so weird and different, really with no business hanging out at all, yet totally united and connected—discussing logistics.

“Coretta, are you okay?” Mike asked.

I stopped giggling. “I’m okay. I feel pretty great, actually.”

He took my hands. “I know you’re worried, and I would be worried, too. It’s natural. But I need you to remember that I know what I’m doing, and I’m not going to let you down. You and Karl show up to do your part, and I’ll show up to do mine. We have an inside man now, too, remember? It’ll work out.”

I nodded. I did remember, of course. Our inside man was none other than little Ethan. He had been the subject of quite a few scathing emails from his employers—they’d called him a “spineless yes-man”; a “PR embarrassment”; and most memorably “minion shit-show”—which Mike had gleefully hacked and then shared with him. After that, Ethan became quite eager to join our cause.

“It wasn’t as if they would promote me,” he’d told Mike.

I looked at Mike’s sweet, sweet face. I hoped he was right about it working out. But even if he wasn’t, we were still doing the right thing.

Now, scrolling on the screen behind us, was our apology for all to see.

I looked into the teleprompter, and we were off to the races.

“For those of you who don’t know who we are, I am Coretta White, creator of the blog
Little White Lies
, which, as most of you know, was set to become a television show
on Pulse TV. The man standing next to me is Karl Ristoff, who worked briefly as a ghostwriter for my blog. You might remember both of us from separate yet equally unfortunate Pulse TV debuts.

“We are here to say that we are sorry for the parts that we played in his whole ordeal. We are sorry to our family, our friends, our peers, teachers, mentors, and especially you, our viewers and readers and the public at large. I didn’t consider myself a dishonest person, so when I found myself in this mess, my conscience mandated this apology so I could take a real breath again.

“I, Coretta White, employed Karl Ristoff to write some of the content for
Little White Lies
, and I was passing it off as my own. For this, I am very ashamed and sorry.”

I nodded to Karl. He took a deep breath. Okay, he was overacting a little with his ponderous expression, but it was too late now. “I have no defense in any of this,” he said, “and I don’t wish to rehash it all. I only want to say that I’m sorry, and also to say that both Coretta and I would like to wish Anders and Karin the best of luck with their new show
Takin’ U to Skool
. Thank you.”

That was our cue. Peering through the lights, I spotted Rachel behind the teleprompter with her headphones in her ears. She gave me the nod to let me know it was all going as planned. And with that, the words on the teleprompter shifted.

“Before Karl and I leave, we wanted to thank the Skools for having us here tonight,” I piped up, taking a step forward and staring right into the camera. “We did a lot of soul-searching, and frankly, truth-searching, which led us down a path that we wanted to share with you …”

I was aware of movement and murmuring at the side of
the stage. Karin and Anders knew something was wrong—immediately. I couldn’t waste any time; this was the critical window where they could pull the plug. I steeled myself and plowed forward, per our rehearsals:

“Seeing how Karl and I are being held accountable to ourselves, our families, and the public at large, mostly with the help of Karin and Anders, we thought:
What better way to repay them than to return the favor?
Karin, Anders, please come join us.”

They stopped fidgeting. It worked. Now they were beyond the point of no return. They couldn’t shut down the broadcast, because the audience was hooked. They were both hate-smiling from the wing. Hate-smiling: You know when you smile, but really you’re clenching your jaw and hating each and every word that you are hearing and everything you are seeing? Yes, that. The audience started cheering, and Karl and I joined them.

Karl walked over to Karin and Anders and led them back onstage, much as Anders had led us to the stage moments ago. “Coretta and I wanted to thank you for sending us on this mission for truth,” Karl said.

A scrolling PowerPoint presentation appeared on the screen behind us with the snappy title
takin’ the skools to school
. Karl pulled the small remote control from his pocket and cleared his throat. “Being that this is
Takin’ U to Skool
, how about a history lesson?

“First, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Karl Ristoff. I graduated from Harvard University; I have clandestinely worked for the US State Department, the United Nations, and the US Council on Foreign Relations. I’ve coauthored several books on the
New York Times
Nonfiction Best Seller List, and yes, I have also worked as a ghostwriter and social
media consultant for numerous luminaries whom I would prefer not to name. Suffice it to say you’ve heard of most of them. Now please allow me to introduce you all to a very important historical figure with whom you may not be as familiar—but who happens to be the great-grandfather of our esteemed hosts.”

I shot a glance at Anders and Karin. They were still hate-smiling, still utterly poised, no doubt plotting how they would spin this once they figured out how to get us offstage without looking like they had something to hide.

Karl pressed the remote, and the text gave way to a black-and-white photo of a stern-looking white man with a huge hipster beard and a flouncy military uniform above the caption:

“If you were to enroll at one of the Skools’ hundreds of charter ‘schools’—which on their best days are propaganda tools masquerading as cyber-schools—then you would learn all about the magnificent deeds of this great monarch, Leopold II, the so-called ‘Builder King’ responsible for so many grand buildings and public works in Belgium.”

Karin and Anders turned to each other.
Hurry up, Karl
, I silently urged.

Karl gestured with the remote, and a red slash appeared across the word BUILDER with the word BUTCHER painted in red above it.

The black-and-white photo was now digitally defaced with the same red splattered over the man’s face and body. The remote control clicked, and the image of bloody Leopold gave way to a montage of black-and-white photos
picturing Africans of various ages—each of them missing a hand.

“In fact,” Karl continued more quickly, “Leopold the second was one of the most brutal and devastating imperialists in the history of mankind. He robbed the Congo region in Africa of its natural resources while systematically enslaving, mutilating, and murdering millions and millions of innocent people. And now two of his descendants have decided to pick up where he left off.”

Now Anders was whispering in Karin’s ear and peering at the studio crew. I held my breath.

Another click of the remote refreshed the screen behind us to reveal the following equation in boldface type:

“Karin and Anders Skool, the grandchildren of Leopold’s son Lucien Philippe Marie Antoine, wish to follow in their great-granddaddy’s footsteps. Make no mistake, they intend to exploit children and their families—not just in Africa and in the United States of America, but throughout the entire world. And perhaps the most perverse part of their plot is that these twisted siblings have been enriching themselves at the expense of the disenfranchised, all under the guise of education and a progressive social agenda.”

I think I must have had what is known as a “disassociative moment.” Because instead of listening to Karl’s presentation, I was once again flashing back to our arrival at the Pulse TV studios this morning, my parents on either side of me.

This is it
.

We all looked at one another, took a deep breath, and
walked in. We saw the security guard, the one we’d arranged for. We knew because he had a red ribbon pinned to his chest.

“If you’re all headed to the studio, it’s the elevator on the left. If not, I’d say it’d be on the right, but then again, who knows.” The guard nodded, smiled, and handed my parents access cards.

As we parted ways, I felt my phone buzz in my jacket. It was a text from Mike.

Ethan got me in. All set.

Then I was back. The audience was murmuring uncomfortably. Anders whispered furiously in Karin’s ear, and she nodded. Only then did they finally stop smiling.

Anders whirled around and shouted to the tech booth, “Enough already! Cut the feed to the stage. These liars have gone too far, okay? We all know they’re lying …” But his voice was lost in the swelling protest from the audience.

Karl stopped reading and grinned at me. He nodded toward Karin, who for a brief second attempted to cover up the words and images with her hands. And that was it, the money shot. That one shining moment showed her as desperate and demented
—in public
. It was all we needed to legitimize Karl’s revelations; nothing could possibly be more damning. And she knew it. She shook her head, glaring at Anders for some sort of solution.

He shrugged and bolted for the side of the stage. She had no choice but to clatter after her twin on her very high heels.

I don’t remember much after that, except for giggling. I mean, it
was
funny. But yes, I still giggle at inappropriate times.

Waiting in the wings were the same security guards who
had been watching our every move. Next to them my parents, the Corneliuses, Rachel, and Ethan. Yes, tiny little Ethan, the Skools’ protégé. The one who’d allowed Mike access early this morning. He had actually been instrumental in giving us access to quite a bit of privileged information—and more importantly, in getting Mike into the tech booth, so we could stage the coup.

The Skools’ escape route was blocked by an army.

Esther Cornelius stepped forward. “Karin, Anders, it stops here. You’ve been found out; the whistle has been blown. You’re done.”

The twins stood there in silence. They glanced at each other. They had no rebuttal. I think everyone expected some sort of fight. Instead, Anders muttered something about their lawyers. As in, the twins needed to see them.

Then the Skools raised their chins and joined hands. (So creepy.)

After that, they were perfectly calm. (Creepier.)

They allowed themselves to be escorted out of the building by the security officers. Karl and I witnessed all this from the stage. The audience watched it on the screen behind us. Then I saw the red and blue flashing lights.
What the hell?

As soon as the twins reached the sidewalk, they were greeted by a posse of law enforcement officers that included NYPD, state police, and federal agents as well as a swelling scrum of paparazzi.

The police!

Amazing. Perfect. The police were never a part of our plan. We’d anticipated that a public shaming outside the building would probably be involved, but not the actual law. It turned out the Corneliuses—with the help of the Bernsteins and my parents—got the actual attorney general involved. Which led to actual arrest warrants and actual cops.

The moral of the story? It’s best not to piss off a group of lawyers.

I didn’t have a speech planned for after it all went down. But when I turned and squinted at the camera, I saw the telltale red blinking light. It was still recording. I was still on TV, live. And now I felt something rising up inside me. I looked at Karl. He nodded at me and smiled encouragement. As I looked at Mike in the booth and the faces of the teens from all over New York City in the audience, the words … just came out.

“So as you can see, there’s a lot more to this story than any of us thought possible. I don’t know what the future holds for me or for Karl or for
Little White Lies
, or even for Pulse TV … but I do know that we will do everything we can to make sure it is all rooted in truth and social justice from now on. This world is a scary place, and if you’re not careful, it’s easy to be swept into its dark corners. I know I was. But this world can also be a beautiful place. It
is
a beautiful place.”