by Rachel Wise
“What’s this?” she asked, looking curiously at the scribbles. She looked at me.
I grabbed the notebook. “Nothing.” Great, that’s all I needed. To blow my crush and my top secret job assignment all in one klutzy move.
Hailey was eyeing me carefully, though. After a brief silence she seemed to decide to lighten things up. “Practicing your signature, Mrs. Michael Lawrence?” she teased.
I nodded. “Yup.” Great, now I was telling lies to my best friend too.
I decided I’d had enough of soccer tryouts for the day. “I’m hitting the road,” I said.
“You don’t want to stay and watch me shine? I’m way better out here than in language farts!” Hailey laughed at her own little joke.
“Taking a pass. I’ll come back tomorrow and interview the coaches. Have fun.”
Hailey looked like she wanted to say something more but the coach blew the whistle. She took one last look at me, then something caught her eye over my shoulder. I turned to see what she was looking at. It was the football team heading off through the woods trail. I looked back at Hailey and she looked at me. Then she saluted me and walked away.
I was left feeling lonely again, and this was not a feeling I liked.
Chapter 4
BUDDYBOOK: NOW MORE ADDICTIVE THAN EVER!
Mr. Trigg e-mailed me that night with the guidelines for Dear Know-It-All. They were pretty straightforward:
Do not reveal who you are. (Yeah, we went over that already. Sheesh.)
Do not reach out to the letter writer directly.
If someone seems to be in danger in any way, notify Mr. Trigg immediately. (Danger?!? What kind of danger?)
Keep it wholesome.
Be supportive and sympathetic. (Hmm. Not my strong suit.)
Keep it relevant. Broad subjects are better than very specific ones.
When in doubt, talk to Mr. Trigg.
All replies must be vetted by Mr. Trigg.
Don’t forget, make it jazzy and readable!
Part of me wondered why Mr. Trigg didn’t just write the column himself. It seemed like it would be easier. He probably had a lot more life experience and could actually give someone advice, whereas I have none! And honestly, I’m not good at being warm and fuzzy. I like facts and current events, not sob stories.
At the end of his e-mail, Mr. Trigg said that a few letters and e-mails had started to trickle in and that he would print them all and put them in a packet for me to pick up in the newsroom tomorrow. My mind began to whirl with possible intrigue and drama. What would these letters contain and how would I answer them? Me, the lovelorn klutz of the century. I hoped they’d all be about academics and extracurriculars so I could focus on the facts. I clearly had no idea what to tell anyone about dating or crushes or anything like that. Except don’t trip on a pile of cones.
As I was sitting at my desk, reading his e-mail, Allie appeared in my doorway. I quickly minimized the e-mail window, kicking myself for not having created a password-protected folder yet to store the Know-It-All stuff. I couldn’t risk someone coming over and going online on my computer, only to have her find the Know-It-All information! And I knew Allie sometimes poked around when she was bored.
“Hey,” said Allie. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me. “What were you working on?”
“Oh, nothing. Just typing up quotes for my article on the curriculum changes.”
Allie looked like she didn’t really believe me, but she could hardly dive across my desk to prove me wrong. Instead she said, “Oh yeah. I heard something about that. They changed all the classes and now you’re just taking, like, basket-weaving and folksinging or something?”
“Not exactly. It’s just that instead of having regular subjects like math and English, they’re integrating subjects so we study the same topics and themes but from different angles. It’s called ‘multidisciplinary.’”
Allie raised her eyebrows. “Fancy. But I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb.
I had to struggle to explain it myself. I could only do it by using examples. “Like, say we’re studying the founding of the United States this year; in language arts we’ll read books about the settlers and write diaries as if we’re settlers. Then in earth science we’d talk about the New World’s climate and geography and the crops they grew back then.”
Allie looked begrudgingly impressed. “That’s kind of cool. So it all ties in?”
“Yeah. It’s just hard to keep track of what class you’re in and what is expected of you. Like in earth science, am I supposed to be focusing on memorizing facts or creative writing? It takes a while to get used to.”
“Huh. Well, I came to see if you have any printer paper I can have, please.” Allie was clearly done with the topic.
“Yeah.” I went under my desk and grabbed a bunch of pages and handed them to her.
“Any word on who the Know-It-All is this year?” Allie asked suddenly.
I felt a jolt go through my body. Was the girl psychic or what? But I played it totally cool. “No. I haven’t heard anything. Have you?”
“Why would I hear anything? High schoolers don’t talk about middle schoolers. Ever,” Allie said in a huff.
Right, so why are you wondering, I wanted to ask. But instead I said, “Oh. Well let me know if you accidentally hear anything.” I thought that was good, throwing that in there.
“As if,” said Allie, and she left.
Phew! That was a close call! Quickly, I created a desktop file and password-locked it (ML15 was the password, get it? Michael Lawrence, number fifteen), then I dropped the Trigg e-mail into it and relaxed back into my desk chair. I knew I should get started on my homework, but I decided I’d let myself have just a few minutes online first.
I trolled around CNN and the Huffington Post to see if there was any breaking news since I last checked an hour ago, but there really wasn’t. I stopped by some of the celeb-watching sites and checked to see if there were any of my favorite postings—disgusting-celebrities-in-bathing-suits photos—but there weren’t. I know those are totally mean and usually fake, but I can’t help myself. Finally, I checked my in-box to see if I’d received any more e-mail, and there was one. It was yet another invitation to join Hailey on Buddybook.
I have to say now that I don’t really get those sites where everyone posts all their updates. I know they make it easy for everyone to stay in touch with their friends from camp and whatnot, but I think they are boring and bogus and a waste of time. I mean, kids post stuff like, “I’m eating French fries.” I mean, how unnewsy—not to mention dumb—is that? Do I really care? Does anyone else? I just don’t get it. It just plain old wastes my time.
I deleted Hailey’s invitation, fully knowing that she would e-mail it to me again, and then I quit my e-mail and Internet connection. Next I signed off the Internet for an hour. This is what I have to do in order to get any work done. Otherwise I will continue to check, check, check the news all the time. Mom taught me how to do it after I started taking waaaay too long last year to finish my homework. She made me keep track of what I was doing when, and she added up that I spent way more time on the Internet than on math. Whoops!
Sure enough, not one minute later, my phone rings and it’s Hailey.
“Are you ignoring my buddy request?” she asks, without even saying hi.
I sighed heavily. “Hailey. You know how I feel about those sites. It’s just a waste of time. It’s fake information. It’s information clutter. Plus, I’m in touch with everyone I want to be in touch with.”
“But it’s so fun. If you sign up, we can play cards together and join fan groups together and I can post funny photos and links for things I find online . . .”
“Yeah, but you can e-mail me all that stuff too,” I said. “And we can play games in person!”
“Well . . . maybe you’ll join when you see the photos from football practice that Jeff Perry put up today.”
Foo
tball practice? Hmm.
“Why? Are they funny?” I asked. “Is there one of Michael?”
But of course, Hailey wouldn’t say. “You’ll just have to join! Ta-ta!” And she hung up.
I looked at my phone and then I sighed heavily. That was an annoying conversation. I am not joining Buddybook. Just on principle alone, I don’t want to do it. Time wasting, fake-informational, nonfactual, uncensored, unedited, free-for-all, invasion of privacy . . .
But the football photos? Those I had to see.
I began the incredibly difficult and boring process of unlocking my Time Out application. Mom made it really hard so that I couldn’t just click back on it. Fifteen minutes later I was logged on to Buddybook and climbing all over that site. I was like a sugar addict who’d been let loose in a candy store.
I had accepted Hailey’s request, which lead me to all of our friends’ pages, but I froze when I saw Michael Lawrence’s name as a buddy up on her wall. If I visited his page, would he know I’d been there? Would he be able to tell? Would it somehow send him a buddy request from me? And what if he didn’t accept?! I was too scared to find out the hard way so I didn’t click on it.
Instead, I looked at Jeff Perry’s page and scrolled through all the football photos he’d uploaded. There were some really hideous-but-funny ones of guys straining through warm-ups, making ugly faces and stuff. Some were so bad I had to wonder if they’d mind that Jeff put them up there. There was one of this kid Andy Ryan where his belly was hanging over the top of his pants. It was kind of a bad angle, but he’s also pretty chubby and it was just not flattering.
Maybe boys just don’t care that much about how they look in photos, I thought. But I would. Especially ones online for the entire world to see.
I scrolled down a little farther and stopped dead in my tracks. There was a close-up of Michael Lawrence, his hair sweaty, his arm drawn back to throw the football, and his face all serious and concentrated. His tan made his blue eyes look even bluer, and his mouth was open, and he looked so, so gorgeous. Like a movie star! It took my breath away. I wondered if there was a way I could pull a copy off Jeff’s page and make this photo my desktop background!
“Wow! Lookin’ good!”
I jumped ten feet in the air. “Allie! You scared me!” I hadn’t heard her coming this time.
“Sorry!” she said, laughing.
“There’s such a thing as privacy, you know!”
“Not on Buddybook, there’s not!” Allie laughed again. “Welcome to the dark side, little Miss ‘I’m Never Joining That Time-Waster Site’! Does Mom know you joined?”
“No. Do I need her permission?” I said. I was offended by her condescending tone.
Allie shrugged. “I did.”
“Oh whatever,” I said. “I might not even stay a member. I just wanted to see these photos.”
Suddenly my in-box pinged. “Finally! Welcome aboard!” the message read. It was from Hailey, of course.
Allie laughed. “You’re going to be addicted in no time,” she said. “It happens to everyone. Even the best of us.”
Humph. Not me. I can shut it off anytime. “It’s so not up my alley,” I said, clicking the window shut.
“Right,” said Allie.
“Why do you keep popping in here anyway and invading my privacy?”
“Oh. Could I please have some paper clips?”
I groaned and doled some out. “You should have come to Staples with me and Mom when she asked you to last week.”
“I was busy.” Allie shrugged. “Anyway, I knew you’d get plenty. Mom too. Thanks!”
As soon as she left, I was back on Buddybook, looking for more photos of Michael. Before I knew it, an entire hour had passed. If Mom ever heard about this, she’d install something to send me into lockdown forever! I quickly disabled my account and quit out every aspect of Buddybook. I knew I’d been right before! It wasn’t for me. I need to stick to facts and useful uses of my time.
Well, now that I knew how addictive yet boring Buddybook was, I could make an accurate argument against it. Just like in journalism: present the facts, let people draw their own opinions.
The only good thing to come out of all this computer time was that I now knew I needed to rearrange my room so I that my back wasn’t facing the door when I was at my desk. I was tired of people sneaking up on me and I was tired of having my privacy invaded.
I disabled my Internet again and got started on the Supreme Court case I had to argue next week in front of my humanities class, whatever that was.
Chapter 5
MARTONE THROWS IN THE TOWEL
I kept sneaking peeks at Michael Lawrence the next morning in homeroom. I couldn’t believe the photo I’d seen of him the night before. He was just so gorgeous. Finally, he caught me staring.
“What?” he asked.
I was embarrassed. “Oh, um. Nothing. Just . . . did you get any good quotes yet for the article?”
“Sam Martone, ace reporter. Are you always working?” asked Michael.
I shrugged. “Aren’t you?” Always good to answer a question with a question, I say.
“Except when I’m on Buddybook,” he said with a grin. Then he turned his back on me because our teacher was taking attendance.
What?! My face flamed. Did he know I’d joined? Oh my gosh, did he know I had been looking at pictures of him? What if Jeff Perry could tell I’d viewed his photos and told Michael? What if they could tell how long I’d lingered over that one hottie photo of Michael? Oh my gosh. I hated Buddybook now more than ever! It was a total invasion of privacy! It was worse than Allie!
I turned to my right and glared at Hailey. She looked back at me innocently. “What?” she mouthed. I sighed loudly and shook my head. She’d gotten me into this whole thing, but it actually wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t like she’d gone ahead and signed me up for Buddybook without my knowing. I only had myself to blame.
I felt something scratch my arm and I looked to my left again. Fred Ogden was passing me a note, and he jerked his head to indicate it was from Michael Lawrence, who wasn’t even looking at me. Oh great. What now? Quickly I grabbed the note and held it flat on my desk under my hand. I waited to make sure the teacher hadn’t seen. Then I casually smoothed it open and read: Fourth period lunch tomorrow. Mr. Pfeiffer interview. His office.
I flipped the note over. There was nothing else. Great. My huge crush finally passes me a note and it’s all business. Martone Throws in the Towel, I thought dejectedly. This day could only get better.
Fine, I wrote, then I quickly passed it to Fred when the teacher wasn’t looking. Two could play at this game.
During study hall, I went to the newspaper office. One of the many cool things about working on the paper is that you get to spend your free periods and study halls in the office if you want to. It’s a privilege. Obviously if your grades drop, you lose the privilege, but it’s pretty cool to have a place to go and kind of lounge or get work done or chat with friends.
As I entered the office, Mr. Trigg called out, “Samantha! Hello! I’ve left the curriculum materials for you in your mailbox!”
All of the staff reporters and editors and art/layout people have their own mailboxes in the Voice office. I turned to mine and spied a manila envelope, which I grabbed and stuffed into my messenger bag. It had to be the Dear Know-It-All letters in there.
“Thanks, Mr. Trigg,” I called.
He nodded vigorously and tried to look very, very busy, so I knew for sure it was letters. I was excited! I couldn’t wait to demonstrate my new and improved snappy writing skills in this hot column! It was really happening, now!
If only I could rip the envelope open right here and read the entire contents right now, I thought. But obviously that would be a bad idea.
“Yo,” said Jeff Perry, walking in the door behind me. “Saw you joined Buddybook last night.”
“Ugh!” I said. “I hate that thing! I already quit!”
Jeff laughed. “That�
�s what they all say the first time. You’ll be back!” Jeff was still pretty small for his age, but he was wiry and a good athlete. Fast. His head was tiny, but he had enormous eyes and lots of wild, curly black hair. It was like his features were waiting for his body to grow into them. He’s pretty hyper too, like he has the energy to run a much bigger body so there’s a lot to spare. Maybe he’ll slow down one day when he grows. “Did you like my football photos?” he asked. “Some of them were pretty hilarious!” He laughed.
I made a face. “I don’t know, Jeff. Don’t you think some of those guys will be mad at you for putting their photos up there like that? Some of them aren’t so great.”
“Nah.” Jeff waved a hand dismissively. “Guys don’t care about stuff like that.”
Just then the door banged open. It was Michael! “Hey, Pasty,” he said to me. “Yo, Perry, get those photos of me off Buddybook. Now.”
“Dude! Come on! They’re great! What do you care?” asked Jeff.
“I care because you do not have my permission to put photos of me on Buddybook, that’s why.” Michael went over to his mailbox to see if he had anything in there.
“No one else cares,” Jeff called after him.
“I don’t care about other people,” said Michael, doubling back. “And anyway, you’re wrong. I bet all those guys tell you to get their photos down today. Especially Andy.”
Huh. Maybe boys do care how they look in photos after all.
“Whatever,” said Jeff. “But you look good in yours. Doesn’t he, Sam?”
Girl Dies of Embarrassment in Newspaper Office.
“What? Oh. Wait . . .” My brain was scrambling as I tried to play it cool. “Which photos?”
Michael was looking at me closely.
Jeff sighed in aggravation. “You know, the football ones? The ones where you said everyone looked bad and was going to be mad at me?”
I couldn’t look at Michael at all now. “I didn’t say everyone looked bad!” Oh my gosh. This was not going well. I snuck a peek at Michael. His face was red now too! I could hardly say Michael looked hot and everyone else looked terrible!
