by Rachel Wise
Now it was Michael’s turn to laugh.
“Want to sit together at the speeches?” he asked.
“Yes. Are we there to report or just as civilians?”
“I imagine the next issue of the paper will have to contain something about the speeches, but with the election coming on Monday, it’ll just be a small part of the story about who won.”
I nodded, my stomach filled with butterflies. “I hope that’s a happy headline.”
At two thirty, the whole school converged on the auditorium. It was packed.
“People, if we could just clear a path through the aisles for safety . . . ,” Mr. Pfeiffer was saying into a bullhorn. Kids were sitting everywhere—on the floor, around the edges of the stage, on laps, in the aisles. It was mayhem. I was lucky I’d had gotten out of my last class early, since we’d finished a project and the teacher knew we were dying to get to the auditorium. I’d been able to rush in and save prime seats for me, Allie, and Michael. Hailey and Anthony would sit onstage in chairs reserved for them and Sara and John.
Eventually, Michael arrived, and pretty soon after, Mr. Pfeiffer got everyone quieted down. Then the candidates walked in and it was chaos all over again. People were cheering, stomping, whistling. I couldn’t believe it. It took ten minutes of calming everyone down before John could even get up to speak. I was glad he was going first because I knew he’d be good, and I hoped that would help Anthony calm down and see how he’d survive.
John stood at the podium, perfectly comfortable, chuckling and enjoying it all. He was a natural politician, I could see. He ate up the attention and felt perfectly at ease in this role. But when he started to talk, he lost me. Sure, he was great: funny, charming, handsome, full of incredible promises and ideas. If I didn’t know better, I’d say instantly that he had my vote. I only hoped everyone in the audience would listen closely and hear how empty his promises were, how pie-in-the-sky. And I hoped they’d keep their ears open to hear what Anthony had to say after.
When John finished, Sara joined him at the podium and he introduced her. They left the stage to incredible cheering, clapping, and so on, again. After what seemed like an eternity, it was Anthony’s turn.
My palms were soaking wet as I watched Anthony stand. He had a notebook in his hands, and I prayed it was just a prop and that he wouldn’t read his speech word for word. He turned and reached one hand out to Hailey. She stood with him, and they both walked to the podium.
Cheering, clapping, stomping—there was lots of it. Not as much as for John, but Anthony wasn’t as much of a known quantity, so I wasn’t worried yet. I could see Anthony was nervous, though, and so was Hailey. They stood there, smiling, and then it happened.
“Eeek!”
I heard the first one.
“Eeek! Eeek! Eeek!”
Suddenly the whole crowd was “Eek”-ing.
“O-M-G!” I turned first to Michael, who was looking shocked, then Allie, whose face had completely fallen. She was ash-white. Then I looked back at Hailey, whose mouth was open in a small O. What would she do? How would Anthony handle it?
Oh no!
Would the headline for the next issue of the Cherry Valley Voice be:
Candidates Collapse Onstage from Nerves Election Eve?
Chapter 11
TRAINING PAYS OFF IN UNDERDOG RACE
The crowd fell silent for an awkward second or two as a few more “Eeks” rang out. Mr. Pfeiffer stood up from his chair, put his folder down, and began to cross the stage to take charge.
But then Anthony smiled widely and said, “I can see you’ve met my vice president, Hailey Jones, the Centipede Warrior!”
There was a brief pause, and then the place went wild.
“Hailey! Hailey! Hailey! Hailey!” they chanted. People cheered and yelled and stomped and applauded and whistled—way louder than anything they’d done for John and Sara.
“Come on, Hails,” I whispered. “You can handle this!” I crossed my fingers and my toes and held my breath, praying she’d react appropriately.
And finally, Hailey stepped forward, grinned a huge grin, and waved at the crowd. I breathed a massive sigh of relief. Hailey then settled the crowd down and said, “I’d like to introduce the next school president, the Wright choice, Anthony Wright!”
By the time Anthony even started his speech, he’d basically won. But the speech was excellent anyway. He talked about his childhood, how much the school meant to him, what he hoped to do and why, and, most important, how. He was specific and smart and even funny a few times, but most of all he sounded serious, reliable, and trustworthy. It was clear he was up there for the “right” reasons (ha-ha), and not just because he wanted to win or because it would look good on his college applications one day.
When I looked at Allie halfway through, her face was glowing even though her arms were tightly crossed in front of her chest and she had one fist in a ball up by her mouth. Turning to Michael, I whispered, “They’re gonna win.”
He nodded and smiled, unable to tear his eyes away from Anthony.
Training Pays Off in Underdog Race.
Afterward, Michael, Allie, and I fought the crowds to say congratulations to Hailey and Anthony. They were laughing and happy, just so relieved it was over.
Allie grabbed Anthony in a big hug. “You did it! You nailed it!”
“Thanks to you, Coach!”
“Great job, guys,” I said with a proud smile.
While Anthony and Michael shook hands, I whispered to Hailey, “You did it. It was you. I’m so proud!”
She smiled back. “I guess sometimes you’ve just gotta go with the flow and embrace the teasing, right, Pasty?”
I grinned. “Right.”
Just then, who should come along to congratulate Hailey but Gregory Toms, the originator of “Eek, a mouse!” I could see Hailey struggling with whether to be mad at him for starting it or happy to see him, and the happiness won out. After all, the “Eek” thing had been good in the end. It gave them an identity. And Gregory was pretty darn cute!
I decided to give them some privacy, but as I turned to walk away, Anthony grabbed my shoulder. “Hey, Sam. I just wanted to say thanks. Whatever ends up happening Monday, either way, I feel like today was a victory. I had the chance to get my ideas out there, and also, just being able to get up there and talk in front of so many people was great. I never dreamed it would go so well. And I couldn’t have done it without you. You brought Allie and Hailey to me and also wrote the nice article. I just really appreciate it.”
“It was my pleasure. I’d love to see you guys win on Monday. It would be great for the school. You have my vote!” I said, and I laughed. “As if you didn’t know that!”
“Well, thanks.” And just then Anthony’s mom and some of his siblings bustled up onstage, laughing about how hard it had been to get down the aisle through the crowds, and I left them alone to enjoy their congratulations.
Jumping off the stage, I motioned to Allie that I’d meet her outside; then I started walking away.
“Paste!”
Michael caught up, and we headed out together. I couldn’t have been happier.
“Hey, there’s a new movie out I think I heard you wanted to see. Something about England in the olden days?”
I looked at him to see if he was teasing me, but he wasn’t laughing.
“Yeah? And?”
“Wanna go see it this weekend, like, if you’re not too busy?”
I paused. This was pretty date-ish. “Uh, are there going to be centipedes there, because . . .”
And we started to laugh.
Hailey and Anthony won by a mile on Monday. The election wasn’t even close, and I felt a little bad for John Scott. The Wright team made a plan for a big dinner celebration at Anthony’s house. My mom was going to bring me and Allie and Hailey, and then Hailey’s dad would bring us home after. I couldn’t wait.
After school I packed all my candidate research materials into files, pulling the
relevant notebook pages out and stuffing them in too. I’d decide to give it all to Mr. Trigg. You never know, one day a reporter might come calling to see what we have on those two. I’m sure they’ll be big successes in one arena or another.
As I sorted the papers, an IM appeared on my screen. It was from Michael. We’d had a great time Saturday, turning it into a big group outing instead of “just the two of us” date. And the funny thing was, I was happy about it. Spending time with Michael is all that matters, and honestly, I’m just not sure I’m ready to do a one-on-one nonworking date with him. So Hailey and Anthony came, and Kristen and Frank. It was fun. We went to Slices after, and Anthony cracked everyone up with his flawless imitations of an English accent; then Michael took me home.
His IM now said:
Going to the party?
I smiled and typed back.
Of course. You?
There was a pause and then:
Yup. Ran into John Scott, and he’s all excited about starting a rock band. Said it’s what he’s always wanted to do. Can u believe?
Huh. That was interesting. I sat back and thought for a minute before I typed my reply.
Why?
Then I waited.
Something about Dear Know-It-All and his parents’ dreams. Who knows with that guy?
No way! I grinned. Then I typed.
That Dear Know-It-All sure knows his stuff.
There was a really long pause, and then Michael wrote back.
She sure does.
Extra! Extra!
Want the scoop on what Samantha is up to next?
Here’s a sneak peek of the tenth book in the Dear Know-It-All series:
Breaking News
FOOTBALL SEASON BEGINS; MARTONE FALLS FOR STAR QUARTERBACK
If you’re a fact-loving person like I am, you probably think superstitions are a little silly. So tell me, why does it seem like everyone believes in them? Take my mom, for instance. You would think that a freelance accountant, a person who works with numbers all day, would know that there’s nothing particularly special or spooky about the number thirteen. Except that every time the calendar shows a big black thirteen on a Friday, Mom gets an uneasy look in her eye. It’s like she’s waiting for something really bad to happen. Of course nothing does, just like nearly every other day of the year!
As a journalist, my instincts are to get to the truth of the matter. So I started Googling, and I found some interesting information about “friggatriskaidekaphobia.” (That’s the actual term for the condition of the fear of Friday the thirteenth. And I dare you to say that three times fast!) Did you know that in Spanish-speaking countries, it’s Tuesday the thirteenth that’s considered unlucky? And in Italy, Friday the seventeenth is the day of doom. I figure that kind of info will come in handy when I’m traveling the world on assignment as an investigative reporter.
But the next step on my career path is to continue to build my reputation as star reporter of the Cherry Valley Voice, our school newspaper. Of course, I don’t usually fly solo. Mr. Trigg likes to give the best articles to his dream team, his “Woodward and Bernstein,” as he calls Michael Lawrence and me, after the Washington Post’s legendary reporting duo. I’m not sure we’ll ever get behind the scenes at the White House, but we did write the story that revealed the truth about our class president contenders.
Not that I’m complaining about sharing the glory. Not one teensy bit. I won’t even mind if someday Michael and I get picked to be coeditors in chief. Then I’ll get to work side by side with him all the time. I’ve known Michael since kindergarten, and even though he sometimes annoyingly calls me Pasty (you eat paste one time when you’re five and you’re branded forever!), he’s still the only boy I’ve ever dreamed of calling my boyfriend.
How can I describe Michael Lawrence’s insane cuteness to you? Let’s just say that if you took the hottest member of every boy band, mixed up all of their best qualities in a pot, and then increased them to the tenth power, well, then you’d have Michael Lawrence. It’s actually shocking that he hasn’t been discovered yet.
So back to superstitions: I don’t have many, being a believer in cold, hard facts, but I do have a lucky green T-shirt. (Its luck is based on the fact that it is the exact same shade of green as my eyes.) Maybe it’s not really lucky, but it does make me really happy. I put it on with a long, hippy skirt and green UGGS. I wrapped a sparkly beaded scarf around my neck. Then I threw on an armful of bangle bracelets and some beaded hanging earrings for a little extra pizzazz. I looked in the mirror. “Not bad, Martone,” I thought to myself.
But the real proof waited across the hallway. I knocked on my sister Allie’s door. Allie can be a real pain because she’s always creeping around my stuff, but she does have much better fashion sense than I do.
“What do you think?” I asked as I warily entered her room.
Allie glanced up from her texting for exactly one one-hundredth of a second and rolled her eyes. “No,” she huffed, obviously revolted by my choice of apparel. “Just no.”
“But it’s my lucky shirt,” I explained.
“Lucky because you’re going to fold it up and put it back in your drawer,” Allie said bluntly. “And that scarf? That jewelry? You do realize you’re going to a football game, right?”
Allie took my hand and led me back into my room the way she used to drag me across the street when I was too little to cross by myself. She opened my closet door and started picking out items and throwing them onto my bed.
“Allie, I don’t have a lot of time to try on clothes,” I complained. “Hailey will be here any minute!”
“This won’t take long,” Allie said. “Just listen. You’re the starting QB’s girlfriend. You have to look great, but not like you’re trying too hard. Think casual chic.”
“I’m not Michael Lawrence’s girlfriend!” I said, automatically. Well, I didn’t think I was. But I’d like to be.
“Whatever,” Allie snorted. “Just take my advice.”
I looked at the clock, and my stomach started to hurt. How could getting dressed for a football game be so incredibly painful?
“Try this,” Allie said as she tossed some clothes my way.
I quickly pulled on some black leggings and then a miniskirt. Next came a gray tank, followed by a silver sweater and a black blazer. A pair of old-school black high-top sneakers finished the outfit. I looked in the mirror and smiled. I looked very casual and comfy but very stylish, too. Allie was amazing—the outfit worked like a lucky charm. Just in time, too.
“SAAAAMMMM!” I heard Hailey call from the front door.
“COMMMINNNGGGG!” I yelled back. “Thanks, Allie!” I called behind me, but she had already started texting again.
I raced down the stairs (without tripping!) and stopped to say good-bye to my mom. She was in her home office, intently focused on some confusing jumble of budget numbers.
“You look great,” she said.
“Thanks,” I answered. “Go, Cherry Valley!”
“Go, Cherry Valley?” Hailey said from behind my back. “More like Go, Sam! Supercute outfit!”
“Yeah, it was Allie’s creation,” I said.
“She got her fashion sense from me,” Mom said, not even kidding.
We raced out of the house and jumped into the backseat of Hailey’s car. Hailey’s dad turned around and pretended to tip his hat.
“Good evening, mademoiselles,” he said in a fake accent. “Where shall I be driving you this fine afternoon?”
Hailey and I just looked at each other and started to giggle uncontrollably. Parents. Did they even have a clue how embarrassing they could be?
“Football field, Dad,” Hailey answered as soon as she had regained her composure. “Pronto.”
It took only seven minutes to get from my house to the football field, but in that short period of time, Hailey bombarded me with at least ten thousand questions. Did Michael say anything about hanging out with you after the game? Do you think the g
uys from the team will go to Scoops? Should we go, too? What if they have a bad game? Do you know if that cute guy from West Hills plays football? Do you think he has a girlfriend?
“Hailey, stop!” I said. “We’re just going to a football game. The rest we’ll improvise. Okay?”
“Okay.” Hailey laughed. “I have just one last question for you, Samantha Martone.” She held up her hand to my face like she was holding a microphone. “Will . . . you . . . touch . . . ,” she asked, sounding like the most dramatic sports reporter ever, “ . . . the cougar?”
We both started giggling uncontrollably.
“Yes, I guess I will,” I confessed. “I’ll bow to peer pressure and silly superstition.”
“It’s not silly,” Hailey said. “It’s tradition. And really, really bad luck if you don’t.”
Let me explain. There’s a statue of a cougar standing on its hind legs in front of Cherry Valley Middle School. All of our sports teams are named the Cougars, and like a million years ago, some class raised enough money to have the statue built and installed in front of the school. Hailey’s soccer team, Michael’s baseball and football teams, bowling, tennis, they’re all Cougars.
Cherry Valley legend says that if you rub the cougar’s paw, you’ll have good luck. Everyone at Cherry Valley Middle School seems to believe this myth—students, parents, teachers, even Principal Pfeiffer. Kids rub Mr. Cougar’s paw before a big test, when they’re going to ask someone to a school dance, and of course, before every sporting event. The paw has been rubbed so many times over the years that it is as smooth and shiny as glass.
When we turned the last corner, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Even though Michael Lawrence is definitely not my boyfriend—yet—it was going to be fun to cheer for him. I looked out the window and started to daydream. The clear blue skies, the red and yellow leaves that swirled in the wind, the crisp chill in the air—it was the perfect setting for a girl reporter to walk home hand in hand with the triumphant quarterback after the game. Ace Reporter Spotted with All-Star QB!
