by Rachel Wise
“Shut up,” said Hailey. “I don’t need to be interviewed.”
I ignored her. “What about Jeff Perry?” Jeff Perry is one of Michael’s best friends and he’s pretty cute too. They play baseball together in the spring, and he’s a photographer on the Voice. Also, he’s not too tall; that would be another plus for Hailey.
Hailey shrugged. “Maybe him.”
I tapped my front tooth thoughtfully. “How are you going to go about all this? Are you going to audition boys? Make them try out?”
Hailey glared at me and I heard the front door open again, then shut.
“Allie?” I heard my mom call.
“Hi!” replied my older sister, Allie. I didn’t hear any footsteps. That meant Allie was in the middle of texting someone and had stopped dead in her tracks. I looked at Hailey and rolled my eyes.
Allie is in the tenth grade, and texting and the Internet are her life. She hardly communicates in real life anymore; it’s all online. Posting, texting, e-mailing links, uploading photos, downloading videos—it’s all she does. On the plus side, she’s the student coordinator for the high school website, which is a pretty big job, so at least she’s getting some kind of recognition out of all this. It’s just annoying to be around her because she’s always distracted. I know one day I’ll see a headline in the one of those wacky grocery store newspapers, like Freakish Girl Grows Giant Thumbs: Texting to Blame or something like that, and it will be Allie.
Hailey, of course, finds Allie fascinating, because she doesn’t have an older sister. She refused to roll her eyes back at me.
Allie appeared in the doorway, still texting.
“OMG!” I said in a fake high-pitched voice. “TTYL! XOXO!”
Allie didn’t even look up. Just finished her typing, laughing a little at something she was writing, and then clicked her phone shut and looked up. It was like she was re-entering the atmosphere, and it took her a minute to adjust and realize we were there.
“Hi, Allie,” said Hailey shyly.
“Hey, Hails,” said Allie. She knew Hailey worshiped her and she loved it. “Hey, little sis,” she said. “How was the first day of kindergarten?”
“We’re in middle school,” Hailey corrected her respectfully.
“Hailey.” I groaned. “She knows. She’s just torturing us.”
Allie flashed us a grin and Hailey laughed.
“Oh, funny. Good one,” Hailey said.
Now I rolled my eyes again.
Allie can be great when she feels like it. She’s very pretty, tall, and really fit, with long, wavy sandy blond hair (“popular girl hair” is what my friends called it in grade school). She’s smart and has cool friends and is a good dresser. But she can also be really mean. Like, right when you think she’s your friend, she lashes out at you or cuts you dead or rats you out. This is only if you’re her sister, of course. If you’re her friend, she treats you like gold.
“Any new hotties?” she asked, opening the fridge and staring blankly inside.
“Nah,” I said.
“Still pining away for ML?” She looked at me with a grin and winked at Hailey.
Hailey laughed and her cheeks turned pink.
Allie did a double take. “Wait, you like him, too?” Allie said in shock.
Hailey looked mortified. “Me? What? No!” She shook her head vehemently.
Allie looked at her suspiciously, then laughed. “There’s gotta be more than one cute guy in middle school.”
I nodded, though I couldn’t think of anyone else. (Even Jeff Perry didn’t count.) Was Allie just trying to stir up trouble?
“How’s Trigger?” Allie asked, changing the subject. Allie had been on the school paper too, but it wasn’t her passion. She liked Mr. Trigg though.
“He’s good. He . . .” Oh my goodness! (Or should I say OMG!) I had nearly blurted out that he had called me!
“He what?” she pressed, staring at me quizzically. Allie has major radar for someone who spends all her time plugged into electronics. She’d actually make a great reporter.
“He’s the same old, same old,” I said, fake laughing and shaking my head from side to side. “That guy!”
Allie looked at me for an extra minute but I had scrambled her radar. Luckily, just then her phone chirped and I was dead to her anyway.
She pulled it out and left the room.
“Homework?” I said to Hailey.
“Okay. Can you help me with language farts?” I always help Hailey with her English homework. It’s a ritual. She’s pretty dyslexic and hates reading and writing because it takes her so long.
“Sure, if you help me with math.”
As we went up the stairs to my room an overwhelming wave of frustration washed over me. I was dying to tell Hailey about Know-It-All, and Allie too, but I couldn’t do it. It made me feel lonely.
I wished I could tell Michael Lawrence. I think it would impress him.
But he’d probably just say, “Way to go, Pasty.”
Chapter 3
GIRL SUES CLASSMATE FOR HARASSMENT—THEN MARRIES HIM!
It felt great to be back in the newsroom. The energy, the deadlines, the smell of toner. I always felt excited when we were putting together the paper.
“Let’s get some man-on-the-street reactions . . .” our editor in chief was saying. “Interview some parents . . . Jeff, you’ll get out and take photos . . .”
We were having a staff meeting to plan out the first issue of the school paper. It comes out every other week, so we have a good lead time to research the articles, write them, file them (which means turn them in), have them edited and laid out, and then put the paper to bed (which means get the final, final version off to the printer). Our editor in chief is Susannah Johnson, who is in eighth grade. She is extremely smart and very cool, and she is also captain of the field hockey team.
This year we were assigned stories each week, and I had been assigned to report and write a lead article about the new curriculum changes at the school. Lead articles are on the front page, usually “above the fold,” which is what newspapers call the top half of the front page. It’s where the most important news goes, and for a reporter, it’s an honor to have your work placed there. It was shaping up to be a great year for me at the paper.
Susannah and Mr. Trigg and I were working out everything the curriculum story should contain, or as Mr. Trigg said, “hitting all the angles.” I learned that at writing camp. To be a good journalist you have to be able to look at something from all different angles so you aren’t just reporting on one side of the story.
“Why don’t you talk to two or three parents as part of the man-on-the-street interviews, and then call Mrs. Jones to get the PTA’s official reaction on it?” suggested Susannah. “Jeff can go with you and get some shots.” Jeff Perry was the main photographer, and the guy I thought would be good for Hailey.
I nodded and wrote this all on a list in my notebook.
Mr. Trigg interrupted. “Pardon me, but I think this article is too much work for one person to do in ten days.” Part of his job as faculty advisor was to make sure our newspaper work didn’t cut too much into our homework and sports time. “I think Ms. Martone needs a coreporter.”
He looked around the group of twelve or so kids who were assembled in the newspaper office. “Mr. Lawrence. How about you?”
My stomach lurched and I looked behind me. Michael Lawrence had come in late and hadn’t gotten a seat. He was leaning against the wall with his hands deep in the front pockets of his jeans. He never takes notes on anything because he has a famously photographic (and apparently DVR-like) memory. Just another reason why I worship him.
Michael nodded at Mr. Trigg, and Trigger said, “Samantha, why don’t you and Mr. Lawrence meet afterward and lay out your plan of attack. Equal work, equal time.” I tried to nod casually but I thought I might faint. This was a dream come true and a nightmare all rolled into one! I looked down at my jeans and shirt and really wished I had borrowed a
cute outfit from Allie this morning. And by “borrowed” I mean smuggled from her closet without her permission, because she would never give it.
Mr. Trigg had one more big announcement. “Now just a reminder to those of you who are returning to the Cherry Valley Voice and a notice to all of you who have just signed on. Facts are king in the newsroom. We print nothing but the truth, in black and white. Any quotation, any fact, must be substantiated. That means you need proof of everything you claim in your stories—every statistic, every quotation, everything! Does everyone understand?”
Duh! Facts are my life! I looked around and everyone was nodding. Of course! We all love facts. That’s why we’re here! Facts and writing, that is.
Susannah wrapped up the meeting and I gave Jeff Perry a few ideas for shots to get around school (the principal, Mr. Pfeiffer; Mrs. Jones, the head of the PTA; some teachers and kids). He left, and while the other kids milled around the room, I gathered my things and tried to think of something clever to say to Michael Lawrence when I met him at the door. But the next thing I knew he was tapping me on the shoulder.
“Hey, Pasty,” he said. His voice is husky and kind of deep.
I could feel my face turn red and my shoulder almost burned where he had touched me. I stood up and turned around quickly, dropping my reporting notebook on the floor. Darn it! Why do I have to be so clumsy all the time?
“Hey, yourself,” I said, bending over to pick up the notebook. I was trying to play it cool. The “Pasty” thing was embarrassing, and it was also starting to get a little annoying. I mean, it was eight years ago!
Michael was smiling at me. “Psyched to get the scoop?” he asked, tucking his hands under his armpits and rocking on his heels a little.
I didn’t feel nervous as long as we were talking business. “Yeah. I think lots of people are pretty upset over these curriculum changes. I know, just for myself, it’s hard to keep track of which class is which and what we’re supposed to be doing there. I mean social studies is now called earth science.”
Michael grew thoughtful. “I know. But I actually think in the long run it’s going to be great for the school. Anyway, let’s talk to at least two kids in every grade, the three parents, Mrs. Jones from the PTA, we’ll also need three teachers, the principal, maybe an education expert or someone from the superintendent of schools . . .”
I had opened my notebook back up and was writing this all down. Michael looked at my notebook. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just getting it all down . . .” I said, writing.
“You mean you can’t just remember?”
That was annoying. I looked up. “No. I can’t. Not everyone has a fancy memory like you,” I said.
“It’s not about having a fancy memory,” he said patiently. “It’s about being a good listener.”
I glared at him. This was not going very well. “I am a good listener,” I said. (That’s why I’m the Dear Know-It-All this year and you’re not, I wanted to scream, but I didn’t.) “I just like having notes to refer back to. I like getting everything right, and I like having checklists.”
He stared at me for an extra second. “Okay, Listy,” he said finally. “Let’s make a list of who does what.”
Great! Another nickname! I groaned inwardly. But a huge grin had spread across his face and his eyes crinkled up at the outer corners into fans. At least he was cracking himself up. Two deep dimples appeared on either side of his smile, and I felt my breath catch in my throat at his cuteness. Girl Sues Classmate for Harassment, I thought. Then Marries Him, I added.
We divvied up the interviews and agreed to make an appointment to meet with the principal together, ideally during a lunch period, as soon as possible. Maybe we’ll have time to sit together and go over things after our interview. But what if we run out of stuff to talk about? Or what if I have to eat spaghetti in front of him? Ugh. Messy!
As we wrapped up the details, Michael put his hand out. Seeing as how no one my age shakes hands, it took me a second to know what he was doing. I reached out my hand to shake his and felt myself melt into a puddle as his big, warm hand engulfed mine.
Michael left and I realized I needed to be at the soccer team tryouts ASAP. I smashed my notebook into my bag and headed toward the door.
“Samantha!” called Mr. Trigg, just as I was leaving. He came hurrying alongside me. “E-mail address, please. Stat,” he said quietly, in a very calm tone. I knew it was so he could e-mail me the Know-It-All guidelines.
I pulled my notebook back out and quickly wrote it down for him, checking to make sure no one was looking before I ripped off the sheet and slyly palmed it to him. He kept his eyes on the room as he received it from me. I think he kind of enjoyed this spy stuff. I was starting to too.
“Excellent,” he said. “Update TK. Cheerio!”
TK means “to come” in writing. It’s a placeholder while you wait for more information. I knew what he meant and I nodded, feeling like a coconspirator. Then I headed off to report on the soccer tryouts.
As I trudged out to the school fields, my head spun with new assignments. Besides the big curriculum article and the soccer team tryouts, I had Know-It-All coming up and all of my schoolwork. I felt a jangly sense of nervous excitement about working with Michael Lawrence on the curriculum article. He was so smart, which made me think I might even learn something from him, but he was so cute it was distracting! I just hoped I didn’t make a fool of myself.
“Samm-my!” Hailey called out from the far side of the field. The place was mobbed. Cherry Valley Middle School has three girls’ and three boys’ soccer teams: varsity, junior varsity, and recreational, which is for enthusiastic klutzes like me. I waded through crowds of seventh- and eighth-grade veterans, as well as sixth-grade hopefuls who were trying to look cool and not necessarily succeeding.
“Hey!” I said as I reached Hailey. “This place is a zoo.”
“Why aren’t you changed?” she asked.
I sighed loudly. “This is what I wear when I’m reporting,” I said, gesturing to my jeans and my Toms shoes and the vintage leather messenger bag that I always wear slung diagonally across my back. I shrugged.
“Tsk, tsk,” said Hailey. “You’ll never know until you try.”
“It’s not like we’d even be on the same team, Hails.” Varsity had been doing preseason for the past week. I’d be lucky to make the rec team.
But I did feel a little wistful as I surveyed the chatty group milling around outdoors on this sunny Indian summer afternoon. The teams looked like fun, so part of me really did want to participate. But I’m so clumsy and I have so much other stuff on my plate. And honestly, I really like to work alone.
I pulled out my notebook and began to do some man-on-the-streets, chatting with some kids I knew, some I didn’t, asking for age, name, grade, and why they were trying out. Kids had lots of different reasons—for fun, for exercise, to get in shape, to prove to my dad I can make it (that one was a little sad), to impress a guy. Hmm. That one gave me pause.
Michael Lawrence is a major jock. Not a rock head, but just a very good athlete. One of those guys who never seems to stress out during a game. Not that I’ve watched him. Or, okay, not that many games. Only a few.
Now I wondered in panic if he even liked girls who were not athletic. Maybe indoorsy girls just don’t cut it for him! Because, while he clearly enjoyed writing and was good at it, he didn’t spend much time on it. The paper was more of a hobby for him, whereas football (quarterback) and baseball (pitcher) were his life. They were what he was known for around school.
I continued to wander around, getting good quotes (“Sometimes I imagine I’m in the World Cup and it makes me try harder,” and “I picture a lion chasing me. It makes me run faster.”) and chatting here and there as I made my way over to the coaches and captains for some good background material.
Hailey was with them now. As cocaptain, she would probably have some say over who made varsity. That was pretty powerfu
l. She was stretching her shapely, tan legs and laughing with the coach. She even chucked him playfully on the shoulder with her fist. It looked like she was having fun. As I approached, the football team began their warm-up run right past the soccer field. All the soccer kids kind of stopped what they were doing and watched, because the football players had been training for all of August, and they were the acknowledged athletic kings of the school. I looked closely and spotted Michael, number fifteen and third in line. I watched him as he ran. He was so graceful and strong and tall. He just knew how to move.
As they passed the coaches, everyone called greetings back and forth. I heard Hailey yell something and she reached her hand out to Michael. He high-fived her as he ran by, and I felt a twinge of jealousy. Athletes were so easy and comfortable with one another, always laughing and joking and slapping one another on the butt and stuff. I did sort of wish I could be like that.
I resumed walking toward Hailey while, of course, still looking at Michael running by. It wasn’t until I was halfway to the ground that I realized I’d tripped over a huge pile of cones. I landed on my hands and pushed myself back up pretty quickly, but I knew Michael had seen. He was turned back toward me and pumped his fist in the air. I thought I heard him yell, “Way to go, Pasty!” My face burned a hot, deep red.
Aargh!
“Sammy! Oh my gosh! Are you okay?!” Hailey was at my side in a flash but she was laughing. “That was classic! Did you do that on purpose?”
“What do you think?” I asked, annoyed. Girl Wipes Out in Front of Crush. As if I’d do something that dumb on purpose. “And Michael saw me.”
Hailey giggled. “I know. He laughed too.”
“Great,” I said.
“Well, it looked like you were doing it on purpose,” said Hailey, not laughing anymore.
I sighed and made sure I had all my gear stowed in its proper place. Hailey picked up my notebook and handed it to me. It had flipped open to the page where I had written “Dear Know-It-All, by Samantha Martone” and then crossed it out.
