Confidentially Yours #5

by Jo Whittemore

  “Actually . . .” Tim reached for her scarf, which had a peacock-tail print. “In Greek mythology there was a creature named Argus who had a hundred eyes all over his body. When he died, his eyes were put on the peacock tail.”

  I gasped so hard I felt light-headed. “V, the hundred eyes are on your scarf! And your scarf has been on you all morning! Madame Delphi was right!”

  Vanessa scowled at Tim. “Are you happy with yourself?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “One of my uncle Theo’s stories was actually useful!” At the ceaseless glare from V, he added, “But it doesn’t matter. There’s no such thing as luck, good or bad.”

  I turned to Vanessa. “Can I see your folding mirror?”

  “Uh . . . sure,” she said with a confused look. She handed it over, and I opened it, placing it on the ground at Tim’s feet.

  “Break the mirror,” I told him.

  “Hey!” said Vanessa.

  “Ooh,” said Heather in a soft voice.

  Tim snorted. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Break the mirror. Stomp on it.” I leaned back in my seat. “It’s seven years’ bad luck, but since you don’t believe in that . . .” I shrugged.

  “Fine. Whatever.” Tim snorted again and shifted his foot so it hovered over the mirror. Heather hid her face behind her fingers as Tim licked his lips and took a deep breath. When he let it out, he moved his foot away and picked up the mirror.

  “Ha! I knew it!” I said.

  “You know nothing.” He shot me a withering look. “I just don’t think I need to ruin Vanessa’s stuff to prove a point,” he replied, handing her the mirror.

  I gave him a smug smile. “And you don’t want seven years of bad luck.”

  He squinted at me. “How many years have we known each other?”

  “Five.”

  “And I’ve made it through that bad luck okay,” he said with a wicked grin.

  Heather and Vanessa laughed. I smiled. “All right, I walked into that one. But you don’t have bad luck! You got to see Adrenaline Dennis.”

  “And it was totally awesome!” Tim leaned forward, forgetting his sandwich as he told us all about watching Adrenaline do his trick moves midair.

  I listened intently, but Heather smiled with a faraway look in her eyes and V lost all interest within the first minute, using the time to clean out her purse. When Tim reached the last line of his story, she looked back up and said, “Cool! Sounds like fun.”

  Tim smirked at her. “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

  “I did!” Vanessa argued. “Adrenaline let you ride his practice bike.”

  “He let me sit on the back while he steered,” corrected Tim.

  “And he showed you his wrench collection.”

  “His whole toolbox, actually.”

  V gave him a withering look. “Seriously? Don’t I get a little credit? Heather didn’t even stay on the planet for your story.”

  Heather blushed. “I’m sorry, Tim. I got distracted when you said Adrenaline was working on his take-out move.”

  “Because you’ve been working on the same one?” I asked. “You know there’s room in the motocross world for both of you.”

  My friends laughed.

  “No, silly.” Heather tweaked my arm. “Because it reminds me of something that happened during the holiday parade. Something I didn’t tell you guys about on Saturday.” She looked at me and V.

  On Saturday nights, ever since we were in elementary, Heather, V, and I get together for pizza and movies at Heather’s house. We call it Musketeer Movies because the three of us are as close as the Three Musketeers.

  At the mention of a potentially juicy tidbit, V and I shifted closer.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Heather tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled shyly. “Emmett asked if he could take me out on a for-real date.”

  We clapped and squealed. Well . . . V and I did. Tim just said, “About time.”

  Then Vanessa and I hit Heather with a volley of questions.

  “When did it happen?”

  “What did he say?”

  “What did you say?”

  “What were you wearing?”

  “Does anyone need their purse cleaned out?” asked Tim with a yawn.

  I elbowed him. “Be nice! This is a good thing.”

  “I know.” He nodded. “But I also know this conversation will take an emotional turn, complete with random crying and laughing and the statement ‘You guys would make such a cute couple!’” He got to his feet and picked up his tray. “So I’ll leave you to it and finish my lunch in the newsroom.” Tim paused and smiled at Heather. “Although, you two would make a cute couple.”

  She smiled at him before turning to me and V. “Emmett asked when we were first getting on the parade float, so . . . I was wearing my choir robes to answer your question.”

  “I’ve seen those choir robes,” said V, wrinkling her nose. “If he still asked you out, he must really like you.”

  Heather and I laughed, and she continued her story.

  “Emmett said he was going to be too nervous to perform if he didn’t ask right then.”

  “Awww!” said V and I together.

  “So he pulled me aside—”

  “Awww!”

  It was probably best that Tim had left.

  “And asked me to go out this Friday!”

  V and I watched her expectantly.

  “Did you say yes?” Vanessa finally asked.

  Heather paused for dramatic effect and then nodded with a huge grin.

  “Yay!” I said, leaning over and hugging her.

  “Let me know if you need any help getting ready,” said V, hugging her too. “I’m so happy for you!”

  “And like Tim says, it’s about time,” I added.

  Heather nodded. “I decided that this year I’m going to try to be more adventurous . . . one of the reasons I agreed to go with you guys to see Madame Delphi.”

  I didn’t bother pointing out that we’d had to practically drag her kicking and screaming.

  “I like that,” said V, smiling. “In fact, I’ll try to be better this year too. I’m going to really put some effort into KV Fashions.”

  “That should make Katie happy,” I said. “And I’m going to not have any more bad luck for the rest of the year!”

  “Good for you!” cheered Heather.

  Within ten minutes, I failed my resolution.

  As soon as the lunch bell rang and we stood up, I accidentally put my hand on the front of my tray and flipped it toward me. I tried to back away, but ketchup still splattered my shirt, and when I stepped aside I knocked over my chair. I tripped and would’ve impaled myself on one of the legs if V hadn’t grabbed my arm.

  “You are not having your best day,” she said, as if I didn’t know.

  “Maybe instead of declaring no bad luck for the year you should start small,” said Heather. “Like no bad luck for the next sixty seconds.”

  I nodded and wiped my shirt with a napkin, smearing mustard over the ketchup stain.

  “Five seconds is a solid goal too,” said V.

  I sighed and dropped the napkin on the table.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I have a stain-removing pen. For now, let’s just get you out of here. I can’t watch your clothes suffer anymore, and this place is Stain Central.”

  The three of us hurried down the hall, my friends on either side of me like Secret Service on a detail.

  “Hey, I know what’ll cheer you up,” said Heather, squeezing my arm. “The first advice requests of the year!” She pointed to the drop box where students left their questions, but when we looked inside, it was empty.

  “I can’t catch a break!” I said.

  “That’s because Tim has the requests,” said Heather, glancing past us into the classroom. She frowned. “Along with a hat I hoped we’d never see again.”

  “A hat?” asked V as she and I both turned to look at Tim.


  He was sorting slips of paper and wearing a plastic construction hat. It was the same kind of hat Mary Patrick had worn when she wanted us to toughen up to criticism at the start of the school year.

  “Oh no,” I said.

  “Oh yes,” said Mary Patrick, stepping into the doorway with three more hats. “We have a newspaper contest to win.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  Brooke Versus

  “Contests, actually,” Mary Patrick corrected herself. “I expect to crush the other schools in both categories.” She smashed her fist into her palm.

  “Calm down, Godzilla,” said Tim without looking up from the advice requests.

  “I thought the hard hats were for Toughen Up Tuesday,” I said.

  When my friends and I had started at the paper, we’d gone through a rite of passage, facing and dealing with criticism after the first issue was printed. The hard hat had been filled with all kinds of feedback from students.

  “It started out that way,” Mary Patrick confessed. “But my mom said I had to use them more than once, and it was either this or form a small construction crew.”

  Heather, V, and I looked at one another. Then we put on the hats.

  “So what are these contests?” asked Heather as we took our seats. “Are we up against different schools in the area?”

  “In the state!” corrected Mary Patrick, spreading her arms wide. “And after that, the Midwest! And after that, the country!”

  Tim leaned toward me. “I can’t tell . . . is she being crazy or optimistic?”

  Mary Patrick narrowed her eyes. “I think you’ll change your attitude when you hear what the prize is.” She flounced off to the front of the classroom as the warning bell rang and people hurried to their seats.

  Mrs. H clapped her hands to get our attention while Mary Patrick gave stern looks to those who took more than a millisecond to get quiet.

  “Good afternoon, staffers, and welcome back to Lincoln Middle School’s favorite newspaper! We are going to have an excellent spring term, and it starts with a newspaper contest and a chance to win . . .” She paused and said in a whisper, “Five thousand dollars.”

  Instantly, the entire class was abuzz, including my team.

  “Did she say five thousand dollars?” asked Tim.

  “Each?” asked Vanessa with wide eyes. “As in . . . I could buy both a left and a right Louboutin?”

  I grinned. “Even if it’s by team and we split the money four ways, that’s, like, a thousand—”

  “Twelve hundred and fifty,” said Heather.

  “—a person!” I finished. “That’s still a lot of money!” I glanced up at Mrs. H, eager to hear more.

  She and Mary Patrick were smiling at the response from the class.

  “Looks like we might have a little interest in the contest,” said Mrs. H. “There will actually be two ways to compete. We’ll be competing for Best Overall Newspaper, and you may also compete for Best Section or Best Photo.” She looked at Stefan Marshall and Gil when she said this.

  As Mrs. H kept talking, Mary Patrick handed a stack of papers to the first person in each row to pass back. Mrs. H raised her voice to be heard above the shuffling of paper and the whispers of conversation.

  “Mary Patrick and I think our first issue for the new year could be an excellent chance to take Best Overall Newspaper, and for the section contest, each team is free to use either their piece from that paper or past segments.”

  Tim raised his hand. “Who gets the five thousand dollars?”

  “For the overall contest, the money will go to the school,” said Mrs. H. “But for the section contests and photo contest, a smaller award of one thousand dollars will be divided among the team members.”

  More chaos erupted from the class.

  “A thousand dollars all for me!” said Stefan Marshall, rubbing his hands together. He was in charge of sports, photography, and patting himself on the back.

  And he seemed to have forgotten he didn’t work on his sections alone.

  Instantly Tim and Gil spoke up.

  “Hey, backup photographer here!” said Gil, pointing to himself.

  “And backup sports writer!” said Tim, waving a hand. “There’s no way you get all that money. Unless you kill us first.” He chuckled but then grew serious, holding his pen like a weapon.

  “That’s not fair!” spoke up Felix, the front-page team leader. “Stefan writes for sports and does photography. He gets two chances to win.”

  “Yeah, and Gil does photography and lifestyle with the horoscopes,” someone else pointed out.

  “And Tim—”

  Mrs. H held up a hand. “Each student will only be allowed to compete for one category. So Stefan, Gil, Tim . . . you’ll have to choose.”

  “Fine,” said Stefan. “I’m going with sports. Nothing can beat my interview with Adrenaline Dennis.”

  Mrs. H looked at Tim, who instantly said, “Lifestyle.”

  “Darn right!” I held up my hand, and Tim high-fived it.

  “Gil?” Mary Patrick asked him. “Will you be with the lifestyle girls?”

  “And guy!” chimed in Tim.

  “Or will you represent photography?” she continued, ignoring him.

  Gil shrugged at me and my friends. “Sorry, guys, but I think I’ll have a stronger chance with photography.”

  I couldn’t blame him. A couple months back, Gil had submitted a photo for a city exhibit and someone had bought his piece before the show even opened.

  “It’s okay,” V told him with a reassuring smile. The rest of our team nodded.

  “Now that we’ve settled that,” said Mrs. H, “I’d really like you all to think hard about how you can make this issue the best that’s ever been read.”

  “Remember, we’re real journalists,” added Mary Patrick. “We need stories of scandal and intrigue.”

  “Maybe not scandal,” said Mrs. H with a frown.

  “Intrigue, then,” amended Mary Patrick. “Most of our competitors will be writing about New Year’s resolutions and back-to-school reminders. We need to bring the heat!”

  Mrs. H nodded. “Please break into your small groups and discuss what you’ll contribute. I’ll be coming around to talk with each of you.”

  There was a dragging of chairs as everyone joined their teams.

  “Two-fifty apiece,” said Tim, moving his desk closer. “Wow!”

  “If we’re the best section,” I reminded him. “So do we want to go with something new or turn in one of our old issues?” I glanced around at my team.

  “Can we do both?” asked Heather. “Have an old issue in mind, and if we think it’s better than the new issue, we can turn it in for the section contest?”

  “I like it!” I said. “Which of our old issues?”

  She thought for a moment. “I like the one we did for Thanksgiving.”

  “That one was pretty good,” said Vanessa. She held up her finger. “But, I think you mean the one from right around Halloween.”

  “I’m gonna go with the one before winter break,” said Tim.

  I frowned. “And I think our first full issue was the best.”

  My friends and I watched one another, waiting for someone to concede.

  “Let’s take a vote,” V finally said.

  I nodded and opened my notebook. “But you can’t vote for the one you just suggested.”

  We all worked in silence for a moment, and then I collected the choices my friends had written down.

  “Okay, Vanessa liked—”

  “Hey! This should be anonymous!” said V. Then she corrected herself. “I mean . . . how do you know that’s even me?”

  I turned the paper so she could see. “Because whoever mysteriously suggested this wrote in sparkly, purple pen.”

  V covered the sparkly, purple pen she was holding with a folder. “It was Tim’s.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I just got over the major drama of telling people I’m a tights-wearing folk
dancer. Do I really need to be the guy who writes with sparkly, purple pen too?”

  I cleared my throat. “Anyway, V suggested the issue where she gave advice on fitting in when you have braces.” I lowered the page. “Which was the Halloween one. Which I told you that you couldn’t suggest.”

  She grinned sheepishly. “I was hoping you hadn’t remembered.”

  I looked at Tim and Heather. “Did you guys submit suggestions about pieces you wrote too?”

  They were both quiet for a moment, and then Heather slowly reached across the table and dragged her piece of paper back.

  Tim pressed his lips together. “You can just throw mine away. I accidentally sneezed in it.”

  “Guys,” I said with a sigh. “You can’t just suggest the issues where you looked good.”

  “What did you suggest?” asked Vanessa, reaching for my paper.

  “That’s not important.” I crumpled it in one hand and stood up. “I’m going to grab our back issues so we can review them and see which are best for the team.”

  I walked to the bookshelves where we kept boxes of old newspapers and removed one with the previous year written on it. It felt like we’d been churning out issues forever, but I was surprised to find only a dozen for the previous semester. When I got back to the table, my friends and I pored over them.

  “I think we can agree to leave out the one where Heather and V had people filling in for them,” I said.

  “Thank you,” said Heather with a smile.

  “One down, eleven to go,” said Tim. “What about the first issue for the short week?”

  “The one with Sir Stinks a Lot?” I asked.

  My friends laughed.

  “That would be it,” he said with a grin.

  I shook my head. “We can’t, because some of the advice I gave wasn’t accurate, remember? Abel pointed it out to me, and I almost murdered him?”

  “And then you guys started dating!” said Heather with a dreamy expression. “So romantic.”

  “How about this one?” asked V, holding up an issue. “Brooke gave a great answer about eating healthy, Heather crushed it with her advice on dealing with a new stepparent, and Tim’s answer about how to grow a mustache was hilarious.”