by Rachel Wise
I looked at it with everything I was feeling: shock, anger, disappointment, jealousy. Most of all I felt mad. It was making me feel jangly. What could I possibly say to her?
Dear Unlucky,
Go find a new friend. Just make sure you don’t ruin her life too.
From,
Dear Know-It-All
Or how about this?:
Dear Hailey,
I hate you.
From,
Sam
That would be pretty direct.
I was paralyzed. I scooped the letters back up and shoved them haphazardly into the envelope. Maybe I could tell Mr. Trigg that he had picked the wrong person for the job. He could switch to someone else before it was too late. Someone who knows how to actually give advice. Someone who knows what to say to a boy or how to not fall down in front of him. I was better at facts than feelings. Facts were black and white. Feelings were all sorts of colors.
But somehow I knew if I copped out now, my shot at editor in chief would be over.
With a sigh, I opened a new page on my computer and started transcribing all of the material and quotations I’d gathered for my small soccer tryouts story and my huge curriculum story. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter 13
DEADLINE PANIC SETS IN!
I avoided Hailey for the rest of the weekend, but when I came into homeroom on Monday morning, there she was, sitting on Michael’s desk! They were chatting and laughing and didn’t see me come in until I was right next to them in my row.
“Hi, Sam,” said Hailey, spotting me first. She climbed down (good thing!) and went back to her seat in the next row.
“Hey, Pasty!” said Michael, smiling. He seemed happy to see me.
“Hey, Mikey!” I said. Two could play at this game.
He laughed. “Oh, please! Don’t let that one follow me to school.”
“Ha! See that! How does it feel?” I laughed, pointing a finger at him. “Only if you promise no more Pasty!”
“Mikey?” asked Hailey, but I wasn’t going to clue her in. I decided to work it a little.
“The cinnamon bun was amazing. Thank you.”
Michael laughed. “I can’t believe my mom basically chased you out the door with that thing!”
“What thing?” asked Hailey, but I ignored her. I don’t think Michael actually heard her. So there! I decided to take it even further.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay. I had so much work this weekend, mostly for that article we’re doing together.” I sighed.
“Oh no, look . . . I totally understand. I had a lot too. We’ll do it another time. Hey! Did I tell you I got my dad to look into that whole state funding thing? It turns out . . .”
Michael was really into it and telling me the whole story behind the curriculum change funding. Pfeiffer hadn’t done anything wrong (I was kind of relieved about that, actually), just that he was kind of bending the truth to make things sound better. But I wasn’t even really paying attention to what Michael was saying. I had half an eye on Hailey and her reaction to our conversation.
I nodded as Michael talked, trying to look interested but also pretty at the same time. I flipped my hair, only once, but smoothed it down in long waves over my shoulder (you can’t do that with a pixie cut, can ya, Hailey?). I kept my eyes on Michael and asked lots of questions. Two could play this game.
Finally, the teacher called the class to order.
“So we’re meeting tomorrow, anyway, right?” I whispered loudly, so Hailey would hear.
“Yeah!” said Michael, smiling and seeming pumped about it. “It’s going to be a great article!” he said.
I smiled and nodded, then I glanced at Hailey. She had a stony look on her face. I felt a tiny twinge bad, but hey. What could I do? She’s the one who’s after my established crush!
In math, though, Hailey passed me a note. It said: “Are you mad at me?”
Yet another note from Hailey that I didn’t know how to answer.
At lunch I rushed to the Voice office. I didn’t want to deal with seating issues in the cafeteria (would I avoid Hailey?), and more importantly, I wanted to see if I’d received any new letters. I was desperate for something good that would save me from having to deal with Hailey’s letter. But at the same time I really didn’t want to run into Mr. Trigg. I knew the column should have been taking shape by now. It was due to him Tuesday so he could look it over before we went to press Thursday night. I wasn’t giving him a whole lot of time and I knew that was not a great way to start off the column. Professionals (especially editors in chief) are never late for their deadlines.
I opened the door and peeked in. Phew! I didn’t see Trigger!
“Hello, Samantha!”
Darn it! He was coming in right behind me!
“Hi, Mr. Trigg. Did you have a good weekend? How was the Churchill lecture? Was the guy interesting?” I had to keep him talking while I checked my mailbox.
“Oh, it was just wonderful! Wonderful! I learned some new facts I’d never known before. Time well spent. But more importantly, how are things going with the column?” Mr. Trigg lowered his voice to a whisper and looked over his shoulder as if someone else might be there.
Now what?
“Well, Mr. Trigg . . . I’ve been meaning to talk to you. The letters aren’t great. There aren’t really any that are jazzy enough for the first column. They’re all pretty dumb.” I gulped nervously as I lied.
Mr. Trigg folded his arms and reached up to tap his chin awkwardly. It was his trademark mannerism. “What about . . . I know there was one good one I saw. Was it? . . . Let me think.” Tap, tap, tap.
Please don’t let him say Hailey’s, I thought desperately. But of course . . .
He thrust his finger in the air. “The crush! The crush on the best friend’s crush! That’s the ticket! It’s perfect.”
Ugh!
“But what do I tell her?” I said, trying not to whine.
“How do you know it’s a her?” he asked, surprised.
“I mean, or him?” I corrected myself quickly.
“You just tell him or her . . . all’s fair in love and war!”
I didn’t like that answer. Not when it applied to Hailey. How could I write that?
Just then Michael Lawrence walked in and our discussion was over.
“Wednesday,” said Mr. Trigg, pointing his finger at me. “Alrighty?”
I nodded, miserable. “Wednesday,” I agreed. Deadline Panic Sets In for New Columnist.
“What’s Wednesday?” asked Michael, taking a bite of an apple. I was hungry and I sure wasn’t about to stick around and let my stomach announce it.
“Oh, nothing, just brainstorming,” I said in what I hoped was a breezy fashion.
“Speaking of which, maybe we should go over our notes now and use tomorrow to try to get in and get another quote from Pfeiffer,” said Michael.
This guy was killing me! Here I am starving and in a rush and of course I’d kill to hang out with him, but talk about bad timing!
“Um . . . I was going to go grab some food in the cafeteria right now,” I said.
“I just ate, but I’m free,” said Michael. He grinned. “Let’s go feed you before your stomach starts yelling.”
I was so embarrassed. “Yeah, I . . .” But I didn’t know how to answer him. I didn’t know how to answer anything these days.
“Hey, it’s okay!” he said. “I always carry snacks with me. I get hungry all the time too!”
In the cafeteria Michael grabbed a table while I got my tray. It was hard to decide what to get. I didn’t want to look like a pig in front of Michael, or get food caught in my teeth or make a mess. Finally, I made my selections and headed over to him and sat down. I pulled a sheaf of papers out of my messenger bag and laid it on the table.
“I transcribed my notes. Here’s what I have,” I said. “It looks like the theme is that everyone was caught off guard by the changes, the communication was poor in explaining it
, but overall the kids and teachers are very happy with the new curriculum,” I explained. “I think that’s our thesis.”
Michael was nodding. “I’d like to add in a big section that explains the changes, where we use Pfeiffer’s quote about ‘We’d also like you to be able to tell a great story, because isn’t that what everything comes down to in life? Telling a great story?’”
“Wow. How do you remember just what he said?”
Michael shrugged. But he was smiling kind of proudly.
I was impressed but maybe kind of nervous. How did he know for sure that he’d gotten it word for word if he didn’t write it down? Misquoting people is dangerous.
“I also think we should work in when he said at the PTA meeting ‘this is a work in progress,’” Michael continued. “That could really be our thesis.”
I flipped through the pages looking for that quote from when I asked the questions in the PTA meeting. “Oh, that sounds familiar, I just need to . . .”
Michael put his hand on top of mine to stop me from continuing to flip. “It’s okay. I know he said it.”
I stared at his hand. On mine. Then I looked up. He was looking at me and I was so overwhelmed by his cute but serious face that I had to quickly glance away. As I did, my eyes fell upon Hailey, who was eating lunch a few tables away, staring at us. She had such a sad look on her face that my first instinct was to drop everything and run over to her to see what was wrong. But then I remembered that she loved Michael and that I was mad at her, so I didn’t do anything. I just looked back at him.
He looked at me and lifted his hand off mine, and as I pulled my hand back, I spilled my milk, of course, all over my tray. When I’d finished mopping it up, I looked around and Hailey was gone. A tiny part of me felt bad, but I pushed it away.
The spellbinding moment with Michael was broken, and now I was chattering a mile a minute in embarrassment, asking Michael all sorts of nervous questions about Pfeiffer.
“Listen,” Michael said finally. “Just because you wrote something down doesn’t mean you got it right either. You could have misheard him or your pen could slip and make it messy so you transcribe it wrong. The truth is subject to lots of variables.”
“I guess,” I said. “It’s just that I love facts.”
Michael laughed. “I know!”
He looks so cute when he laughs. His teeth are so white and his eyes crinkle at the corners. I could just stare at his face all day long.
We quickly divided up the column and who would write which part, then we went down to the office to set up an appointment to meet Pfeiffer the next day for a quick follow-up.
Michael and I had to run off to our next classes but we agreed to e-mail each other our drafts of the story tonight, whatever we had.
“Hey, are you on Buddybook?” he asked.
“Nah . . . that thing is just a time waster.”
Michael shrugged. “It can be a good way to take polls. Like if we set up a page to see who is for or against the curriculum and why.”
Oh. Well. That would be handy. “Whatever you think . . .” I said.
He nodded briskly. “I’ll give it a shot. See ya.”
“See ya.” I forced myself to turn away and not watch him go. What a cutie! Journalist Drowns as Cowriter Drools all over Him.
Chapter 14
PEACE ACHIEVED BY WARRING FACTIONS
At Mr. Pfeiffer’s office the next morning, I clutched my draft of the article and reread it, kind of obsessively. I had to make sure everything was exactly right. I liked what we had, but until we were finished with our Pfeiffer meeting, I wouldn’t be able to relax.
The phone on the secretary’s desk buzzed and then she said, “Kids? He’ll see you now.”
This visit was clearly not going to be as warm and fuzzy as the last. We opened his door and went in.
“Hello,” said Mr. Pfeiffer, standing up. “What can I help you with today?”
“Hi. Thanks for seeing us,” Michael began.
“We just wanted to tie up some loose ends before we put the article to bed,” I said.
Mr. Pfeiffer nodded. “Have a seat.”
We sat and then Michael and I looked at each other. I gestured to him to talk first.
“Okay, first of all, I thought you’d like to know that I put up a Buddybook page on the curriculum changes and asked people to vote for or against it.”
I looked at Pfeiffer. He was kind of wincing. I felt a little bad for him.
Michael pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “And as of seven o’clock this morning, you had seven hundred seventy-two people in favor of it, and only three hundred twenty against it. So that’s good news.”
Pfeiffer allowed a small smile but he was still suspicious of us. He nodded. “Go on.”
Michael continued. “I just wanted to get your comments on the state funding of the change. I pulled up these documents.” He stood and laid them on Pfeiffer’s desk. “They indicate that the funding for the changes was actually funding for teacher development that was kind of redirected to this project.”
Pfeiffer sat up and flipped through the pages. Then he looked up at us. “Impressive research.” For the first time, he smiled. “I’m glad that our school newspaper staff is so dedicated.”
“Can you explain the funding?” asked Michael.
Pfeiffer was relaxed now. “Yes. The way that money for public education is allocated is through a very political process involving budgets and unions. It can be ugly, sneaky, and disheartening. We have wanted to make these curriculum changes for a very long time but were unable to fight the teacher’s union to get money for kids rather than the teachers. In the end, we were able to reach a compromise wherein the teachers technically got the money, but what it really was for was to teach them a new way of teaching. It allows them to explore more reading and writing-based materials and it supports them in their learning to teach in this new way. So while it looks kind of tricky on paper, it’s just a back door way of getting the money we need but making everyone happy along the way. You know, sometimes in politics, like in life, not everything is black and white. Sometimes there are gray areas to consider.”
Michael was the one who was impressed now, and I had to admit, I was too.
“So you kind of trick the government into giving you the money you want, for the project you want, and everyone ends up happy?”
Pfeiffer was beaming now. “Yes.”
I made some notes and then it was my turn. “The other thing we were wondering about was when you said at the meeting that it’s a ‘work in progress,’ do you think you should have waited to unveil the new curriculum until it was totally ready?”
Mr. Pfeiffer’s face darkened, like a cloud passing over the sun. “I didn’t say that,” he said.
My heart skipped a beat. “Yes you did.”
But Mr. Pfeiffer was shaking his head. “I never said such a thing. It’s not true. We were all ready with the roll out.”
Michael interrupted. “With all due respect, Mr. Pfeiffer, you did say it.”
Pfeiffer was growing angry, I could see it. “Kids, I am all for encouraging young journalists, and I think Mr. Trigg is doing a terrific job with the paper. But putting words in my mouth is going too far. Now, I’m happy to answer any other questions you might have. I have”—he lifted his cuff and looked at his watch—“exactly two minutes until my next meeting, so is there anything else?”
Michael and I looked at each other. This was not good. A Work in Progress was going to be our headline.
Finally, Michael looked at Mr. Pfeiffer. “That’s it, sir.” He stood up and put his hand out for a handshake. “Thank you for your time.”
“Glad to be helpful,” said Mr. Pfeiffer gruffly.
“Thanks, Mr. Pfeiffer,” I said.
In the hall I let out a huge sigh. “Phew. That was intense. What do you think?”
Michael rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Man, I don’t know. I remember him saying it. And it
’s such a bummer because that was our headline and our thesis.”
“Back to the drawing board,” I said.
“Ugh. I barely have any time tonight,” said Michael.
“I can take a stab at reworking it,” I said. “We sure can’t put it in if he’s denying saying it. I just wish we could prove it. I mean, facts are facts.”
“Remember what he said, not everything is black and white. Sometimes there’s a gray area to consider.”
“Humph,” I said. “There’s no such thing as gray areas!”
Michael laughed. “I’ve gotta run. Let’s touch base later.”
I nodded. “Definitely.”
He went one way and I went the other, and who should I bump into, literally, but Hailey.
“Oh my goodness. Sorry!” I said, bending to pick up the book I’d knocked out of her hand. I handed it back to her and our eyes met. Hailey looked miserable. I didn’t know what to say.
“Why didn’t you answer my note the other day?” she asked.
“What note?” I said, but as I spoke I remembered. Darn! “Oh. I just . . . I didn’t know what to say.”
“Well, are you mad at me?” she asked.
“I . . . I’m not mad. No. I’m just . . . frustrated. That’s all.”
Hailey almost looked relieved. “Why? What did I do?” she asked.
I sighed. Nothing. Everything. How could I possibly explain? “It’s nothing . . . black or white,” I said, trying out Mr. Pfeiffer’s figure of speech. “It’s just . . . I don’t know. I was kind of annoyed over the weekend.”
Hailey looked perplexed. “Well, are you still?”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “I guess not.” Not on an everyday basis, anyway. I’d spent so much quality time with Michael during the past few days that I didn’t really feel like Hailey was ahead anymore in the fight for his love. Plus, let’s face it, she was my best friend. Between Michael and Hailey, who would I really choose? “I’m sorry,” I offered.
