The Doves that Strut

7

"Van der Waals forces are a class of attractive forces between molecules—" I was reading from my chemistry textbook on my way past the campus parking lot when someone riding his skateboard almost crashed into me, the wheels only a few close inches from my feet. "Watch your back, nerd!" he shouted, the very way a stereotyped skating punk talks to anyone.

"Oh, sorry," I civilly answered, and no one except me was half-conscious of my apology. I looked up from my material. The punk was a senior, and he didn't stop but shoot me a glower before rolling his way through the space others had made for him. I lowered my textbook and let my arms swing airily as I walked toward our school building.

Amidst the racket of the teenage crowds, one extraordinary voice caught my ears. "Syles Adler was reported to have drowned last night. We need attention. We can't let the government hide the truth from us..." Tracing it, I gazed over everyone else—blondes, redheads, ski hats, sunglasses, curls—and found its source, Claire, standing halfway up the front stairs.

"Excuse me," I repeated, squeezing my shoulders through.

"Famous freelance journalist Syles Adler's body was found on the beach yesterday..." She was speaking to everyone that walked past her, with the intention to hand out that pile of white flyers in her arms, yet it seemed most people were ignoring her. "Please share the news with your friends—" Setting foot on the first stair, I yelled, "Claire!"

She looked back at me, the frustration that shrouded her face like a grey raining sky brightened up. "Will!" I waved my free hand to greet, and galloped up to her with light steps.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, teasingly. "Seems like someone's feeling motivated."

"Oh, sod off!" she simpered, shaking her head effortlessly. Then she explained, "I'm just fulfilling my basic responsibility as a citizen, being socio-politically active, and raising awareness of our dirty enforcement department," pretentiously. She heaved a sigh. "But God—if he exists—the student body of this high school is so apathetic toward our society. This is where they live, I mean, for crying out loud!"

"Living in bubbles, right?" I smiled, my brows furrowed. I was trying to comfort her, but I've never really been good at this. "But... what happened?" I frowned. "You were saying something about Syles Adler being dead?"

"You don't know?" she asked in shock, gaping. I shook my head. "Justice for Syles Adler," she said away to a group of giggling freshman girls behind her, and shoved a flyer into each of them. "Geez, what were you doing yesterday?"

"I was... um... studying," I told her. "I'm having a test today, about intermolecular forces."

She rolled her eyes. "You do know I don't understand any of your science vocabs, do you?"

"My bad. I thought you study chemistry," I grimaced. "Oh, wait! You are supposed to!"

"Oh, piss off, you twat," she answered, but smirking. "Anyway, ever heard of Adler?"

"Yeah, I read his news report two weeks ago. It was..." I thought for a second. "Outrageous."

Syles Adler was a local journalist who had a peculiar interest in unraveling scandals in our city—scandals in all sorts of industries. Food contamination, water pollution, and even sex trafficking, all of them had been left under the radar before he started writing. Two weeks before this day, he posted an article about corruption among local police. According to it, two officers were witnessed having a conversation with a wanted member of the local mafia as well as receiving 'a suspicious briefcase' from him. On top of that, Syles managed to provide photos as evidence, which differed him from all the fame-craving fiction writers in the gossip columns and caused a tremendous reverberation on the internet. And soon afterward, the breaking news was shared and commented on on every social media platform.