by Rachel Wise
Allie had a big smirk on her face. “Yeah, just a thing. Uh-huh.”
“Whatever, Allie. You’re in a different mood every other second, and you haven’t been that nice to any of us. I know the play is a lot of work, but it has kind of, well”—I thought for a moment, both Hailey and Allie staring at me, waiting for what I would say next—“taken over your life. And not always in a good way. So if you’re going to be obnoxious about it, just leave us alone.” There! I’d said it. I wasn’t afraid of Allie’s reaction, either. She needed to hear it. I glanced at Hailey, and her mouth was hanging open. She quickly closed it. At first Allie looked surprised; then a little hurt; then her face softened.
“Show me your top outfits. We’ll get you looking so good, Michael won’t be able to pay attention to the show,” she said as she started holding up shirts against me.
My shoulders relaxed. Maybe she’d actually heard me for once. “And you promise you’re not going to freak out and starting screaming at us about something?” I asked her.
“Just as long as you don’t upstage me!” she said, and we laughed, but I think she might have only been half joking.
I tried on the top two outfits again. Allie chose the green tunic and skinny jeans, but added my brown suede boots, silver hoops, and a silky gray scarf. She stood back.
“Wear your hair down,” she said. “And wait!” She ran out of the room and came back with a clear lip gloss and smoothed it on me. “Perfect!”
“You look awesome,” said Hailey.
“Thanks,” I said, suddenly feeling shy with both of them admiring me. I turned around to check myself out in the mirror. Not bad, Martone, I thought. Frazzled Reporter Cleans Up Nice.
Chapter 9
ARTS REPORTER HAS NERVOUS BREAKDOWN AT THEATER
“Sammy!” my mother called from the kitchen. “Let’s go. Don’t want you to be late for your big night!”
I came out in my outfit, lip gloss shining and sticky on my mouth.
“Wow,” she said. “You look so cute!”
I smiled and blushed a bit, but I was kind of hoping for more than “cute.” Oh well, she was my mom. We headed out to the car and drove once again to the high school auditorium.
“So, are you excited?” she asked me.
“About the play?” I asked back.
“No, silly, about going to the play with Michael!”
“Please, Mom. It’s just something we have to do for the paper,” I said for the hundredth time. Maybe the more I said it, the more I’d believe it.
“Oh, okay,” she said, and didn’t say another word until we were almost there. I gazed down the long street that ran past the school and could see the crowds gathering in front of the auditorium entrance. It looked even more crowded than it had on opening night.
“Mom, can you just drop me off here?” I said in a rushed tone, feeling the nervousness take over my body. My hands felt shaky and my stomach started doing backflips.
“Really, this far away?” she said.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind walking,” I said, smoothing my hair. Now I was starting to feel sweaty.
She gave me a quick hug. “You look gorgeous,” she said. “Have a great time.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I know she meant it, too.
I got out of the car, walked down the sidewalk toward the auditorium, and stood at the front doors, watching people greet each other and head inside. Should I wait out here? I wondered. Should I go in and wait there? Maybe I should find someone I knew to talk to so I didn’t look like I was actually waiting. But wasn’t that what I was supposed to be doing, waiting for Michael? Arts Reporter Has Nervous Breakdown at Theater. Stranger things have happened.
Just as I was about to go inside, thinking that somehow I’d seem less awkward in the lobby, Michael came jogging up to me, smiling.
“Okay, Take Two—the second time in one day!” he said cheerfully. He looked so good in khakis and a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that I suddenly couldn’t move my mouth.
“You look great,” he said.
A flash of warmth spread over me. “Thanks, so do you,” I said in a strange tiny voice. Sam, keep it together. This is a newspaper assignment, NOT a date, I tried to tell myself. “So, let’s get our seats!” I blurted out, and started walking.
We both had our tickets and headed straight into the auditorium to sit down. I hadn’t remembered the seats being so close to one another. I crossed my legs, trying not to brush against Michael’s by accident. We chatted about the performances we had seen earlier, and then the lights went down. Suddenly I was sitting in the dark, four inches apart from Michael Lawrence. I could hear him breathing. I could even smell the Tide detergent scent on his clothes. It was almost too much.
The opening act started, and Michael took out a little notebook. I did the same. He was sitting to the left of me, and he laid his right arm on the armrest between us. His arm was now an inch away from me. The lady to my right had her arm on her left armrest. Suddenly all I could think about was Michael’s arm so close to me and where in the world I was going to put my hands. I scrunched them in my lap and held the notebook on my thigh.
Well into the second act, I noticed Michael lifting his arms up and stretching. Okay, now I had a little room to stretch out too. Then Michael put his arm on the armrest again and brushed against my arm. I felt electricity shoot through me. Was that on purpose or by accident? I gave him a glance out of the corner of my eye. He was staring straight ahead. I quickly switched my gaze forward. How was I going to concentrate on the play? Now I was in a full sweat. Perfect. I’ll bet professional arts reviewers don’t have to deal with these things.
Somehow I managed to pay some attention to the rest of the play. Allie was great, as usual, but Julia Gowen seemed as off as she had been the first night. One part of the city backdrop kept falling down, and they still had problems with the spotlights. Maybe I was being too critical? At least I was reviewing the play with Michael and we could compare notes.
At the end, the cast came out for a bow, and the crowd went crazy. I yelled, “Go, Allie!” and Michael did too, even louder than me, which I thought was a bit strange. It was the last performance, and I could see relief on the director’s face as he came out for his bow. I watched Allie bask in her final moment as Anita and I wondered how she felt. Was she happy that it was finally over and she hadn’t messed up any lines or dance moves, at least as far as I could tell? Or did she feel kind of sad that it was over, along with all the excitement and the attention that came with it? That’s kind of how I felt after a big story of mine ran in the Voice. But I also felt happy that it was done. I certainly was glad the play was over. I’m happy Allie did such a great job, but it would have been nice not to be trying to sleep while she belted out “America” in the next room.
As the lights came on and we stood up, Michael and I looked at each other. Now what? I heard Hailey’s voice in my ear: Let him fill in the blanks. I smiled and kept my mouth shut. Michael smiled back and started walking out. I followed. He stopped when we were outside. People were everywhere—coming out, getting into cars, yelling out plans to each other.
“How’d you like it?” I asked him. I had to say something.
“It was okay. Pretty similar to the matinee. So, um, want to go to Slices and talk it over? I’m starving.”
“Oh, sure. Definitely.” I nervously started playing with the little tassels at the end of my scarf. Now did this count as an official date? I had to restrain myself from calling Hailey right then and there. I texted my mom, and she texted right back “Have fun!” with a smiley face. Mom seemed just as excited as Hailey.
We walked over to Slices Pizzeria, the most popular local pizza joint in our town. Their pizza was popular for a reason. The crust was superthin and crispy, and the secret recipe for the incredible marinara was said to be kept in a safe, according to Leo, the owner. When we walked in, I looked around, and I swear half our school was stuffed in there. It ha
dn’t occurred to me that we probably wouldn’t be the only people getting a slice after the show. I saw some of the guys from the baseball team at the same table, sharing a pie.
“Hey, man!” Jamal Williams said, high-fiving Michael as we walked past. Then he waved hi to me. A couple of other guys at the table did the same. I waved back.
“What are you guys up to?” Jamal asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Everyone at the table was suddenly listening really hard. Michael and I glanced at each other.
“Oh, we’re just working,” he said casually. “Sam and I are reviewing the play for the paper, so we need to hang out and compare notes.”
My heart dropped to my shoes. “Just working” is what he said. Suddenly I felt stupid in my fancy scarf and earrings and lip gloss. Is that all this meant to him? I guess even being asked to a pizzeria didn’t count as a date. We left the guys and went up to the counter. We each ordered a slice and a Sprite. I pulled out a ten-dollar bill Mom had given me in case we went out for something to eat after the play.
“No, no,” Michael said, “I got it,” and he handed the cashier his money before I could even say a word.
“Thanks! You didn’t have to do that,” I said, surprised and even more confused. Wasn’t I supposed to know if this was a date or not? I had answered that Dear Know-It-All letter so sure of myself. If he asks you to something or if you ask him to something, it’s a date. But what if you ask him to the first part and then he asks you to the second part? What if he tells his friends it’s just for the paper but then he offers to pay? Boy Causes Case of Permanent Date Confusion. Girl Never Recovers. We finally found a little table in the back and sat down. I took out my notes, and Michael did too.
“The show was pretty good, but kind of the same as opening night,” I said, happy to get my mind off date stuff and just think about the review. “I mean, a lot of work went into it. The sets and lighting were pretty elaborate. Some of the performers were great. Some were not so great.”
“I agree. I don’t know about Julia Gowen. She has a nice voice, but she just never seemed comfortable up there, at least not tonight.”
“How about the matinee? Was she any better?” I asked.
“Not really,” Michael said, and took a sip of soda.
“Yeah, she was kind of the same at opening night. I thought it might just be jitters. Guess not.” I took a tiny bite of pizza, hoping I wouldn’t get any sauce on my face.
“Your sister was great, though!” Michael said, suddenly excited. “She’s, like, really awesome.”
For crying out loud. This was not what I wanted to hear on my sort of date/not date with Michael Lawrence—how fabulous my sister was. I hoped—no, I prayed with every bone in my body—that he didn’t have a crush on her. That would make me just want to move out of town. Tonight.
After we finished our pizza, Michael suggested ice cream. This time I offered to pay and he accepted. More date confusion. We got cones, him a rocky road, me a caramel vanilla swirl, and sat outside on a bench, eating them. We were quiet for a moment. The night was really clear and still; no wind at all. It wasn’t too hot or cold outside, just perfect spring weather.
“Look at the sky,” Michael said, tilting back his head.
I tilted my head back. It was an inky blue, each star glowing like a rhinestone sprinkled into the atmosphere.
“You can see so many stars,” I said. “Magical.”
“We used to go to Montana on summer vacations to visit my uncle when he lived there,” Michael said. “And the sky looked like this, only bigger and brighter. It was amazing.”
“I’ll bet. Wish I could have seen it.”
“Yeah,” Michael said, looking at me. “You should go if you ever have the chance.” He cleared his throat and seemed a bit nervous. His cheeks were rosy. He put his arm on the bench behind me and leaned back his head back again to look at the sky. I had already called my mom to tell her to pick me up and she would probably be here any second, but I didn’t want to leave this bench. Ever.
“I had fun tonight,” I blurted out.
He stopped looking at the sky and stared straight at me. “Me too, Paste.”
“Enough with that ridiculous nickname, Mikey,” I said. Oof. Way to ruin a moment, Sam.
He seemed truly embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s a habit. Me too, Sam. Or should I be calling you Samantha?” Before I could answer, my mom pulled up, smiling and waving. I asked him if he wanted a ride home.
“Sure,” he said. “That would be great.”
He hopped into the backseat, while I sat in front with my mom. We discussed the play, more of its good points and bad. Michael told my mom how great Allie was again and I rolled my eyes in the dark. After we dropped him off, Mom turned to me.
“So, how was it? You’re grinning from ear to ear,” she said.
“It was good,” I said, trying to hide my smile.
“You pick ’em well, Sam.”
“Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It was just for the paper. I told you!”
“Sure, honey, just for the paper,” Mom said, and gave me a wink.
I couldn’t help but laugh. As much as I tried to keep my cover, the night definitely felt like more than that. If it talks like a date and walks like date, it’s a date, right?
Chapter 10
ADVISOR OF SCHOOL NEWSPAPER RUINS GREAT ROMANCE!
“Sam, it’s Hailey. You awake?” my mom asked softly at eight thirty the next morning, standing next to my bed and holding the phone.
I rolled over. I kind of was, barely. “Uh-huh” was all I could say, and took it from her.
“Mmm?” I said.
“Well?” Hailey’s voice burst through the phone. She’s much more of a morning person than I am. I think it’s because she’s used to getting up early sometimes for practices and games. Me, I hardly roll out of bed before ten on a Sunday morning. But not this Sunday, apparently.
“Whatever could you be talking about?” I said playfully, rubbing my eyes. “And why did you call me so early, Hailey?”
“That good, huh? Why didn’t you text me last night?”
“Sorry, got home late. Crashed,” I said, yawning.
“Spill it,” she said.
I told her about the whole night, the thing Michael said at Slices about “just working.” Then I told her that he’d asked me to have pizza and paid, and about the ice cream and how I paid. I kept the stargazing to myself. It was the best part, but for some reason I was afraid that if I explained it, it would sound goofy, or would just seem less special.
“That’s totally a date,” she said.
“You think? I never know with Michael. And I feel like he might have a thing for Allie, which makes me nauseous if I think about it too long,” I said in a lower voice, although Allie would probably sleep until noon this morning, since she was recovering from the play and from cast parties on both nights.
“No! Really?” Hailey said. I told her what Michael had said after the play.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said. “I thought Allie was awesome too. Everyone did.”
She was probably right and I was worrying for nothing. After I got off the phone with Hailey, I went down for breakfast. As I was digging into a delicious plate of waffles, strawberries, and a bit of vanilla yogurt on top, the phone rang again. Mom answered it and handed it to me.
“Michael,” she said in a hushed tone, a bit of excitement hidden in her voice.
Everyone was up this morning! I got a fluttery feeling in my stomach and cleared my throat, before grabbing the phone and taking it into the den for privacy.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi, Pasty,” he said, loud and energized. Great, we were back to nicknames. “We need to figure out when we’re going to meet and write this thing. It’s due Friday.”
“I know. How about tomorrow after school?” I asked.
“Sure. Can it be a little later, like four thirty? I have practice. Want to meet me back at my house?”
“Only if you make your amazing cinnamon buns,” I said.
“Sure, just for you, Snacky,” he said. I laughed. Maybe the nicknames were okay. He didn’t call anyone else these things, ridiculous as they were.
When I got there the next day, right at four thirty, Michael’s mom let me in. The house smelled so good. How did he even have time to bake cinnamon buns after practice? I was touched that he had gone the extra mile for me.
I went into the kitchen. Michael had oven mitts on, looking as cute as can be as he took a couple of buns out of the toaster oven.
“I keep a few in the freezer, in case I ever have a Snacky emergency such as this one,” he said.
Did he really keep cinnamon buns in the freezer for me? I knew I was blushing. “They smell terrific, as usual,” I said. “In fact, I wish I could just bottle the smell and spray it on as perfume whenever I get into that cinnamon-bun-craving mood.”
He laughed, got two plates, and put a bun on each. Then he poured two glasses of milk and brought them to the table. No matter what happened with Michael, he was a good friend.
After we’d scarfed down our snacks, we started outlining the article.
“Okay, so I wrote this checklist about all the areas we want to cover,” I said, showing Michael my list and the notes I had taken during the two shows.
“Of course you did, Listy,” he said.
“Ha-ha.”
“But wait,” he said, looking more closely at my notes. “I wrote that the scenery fell down in act two on Saturday night.”
I took my notebook back and read over what I’d written. “But it says that the scenery fell during the first big dance number. So that had to be during act one.”
Michael checked over his notes. “It definitely fell during the song ‘America’ in the matinee.”
