Read All About It! (11 page)

The bun was delicious. One of the best things I've ever eaten,
actually. It was gone before I even got home. As I licked the gooey white frosting from
my fingers, I thought back to what Michael's mom had been about to say, about
Michael making them especially for something. I wondered what for.

At my desk at home, I laid out all of the Dear Know-It-All letters.
There were ten in all. The most recent were about someone whose mom wouldn't let
them drink soda (boring), juggling homework
loads (two of them, so
double boring), and one about what to do when your socks fall down all the time in gym
(Really? Buy new socks). I was stuck with Hailey's letter. It was the only decent
one to tackle as the first column of the year. It set the right tone, it had spunk, and
it was exciting. It was also about me and, oh yeah, one little detail: I had no idea how
to answer it.

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.”