Tabloidology (11 page)

Martin and Trixi were back in the office, sitting obediently in their chairs, when a bedraggled Ms. Baumgartner staggered in, her hair plastered to her head and one of her high heels broken. She stopped and leaned against the doorway with only enough energy to say two words: “Go home.”

When Martin arrived home, he was met at the door by Sissy and her five dogs.

“Hey, Marty! Is it true? Is it true?” she shouted.

“Is what true?” Martin said.

“I heard a dog was driving a snowplow around the field at the school. And he was smoking a cigar and shouting at everyone in Japanese!”

Martin shook his head and went inside.

“Thank goodness you're safe, Martin!” his mother said. “I heard a terrible story about maple trees pulling people's heads off! I was so worried about you!” Martin shook his head once again and climbed the stairs to his room.

Razor was there, strumming his guitar. “Hey! You decided to come home! I thought you might have been one of the kids who ran away.”

“Ran away? What are you talking about?” Martin said.

“To the circus, you twerp! I heard a bunch of kids ran away from the school to join the circus and become sword swallowers.”

Martin clasped his hands against the sides of his head and screamed, “I don't believe this! And it's all
her
fault!”

“Whose fault?” Razor said.

Before Martin could reply, his mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs, “Martin! Telephone! For you!”

A look of bewilderment came over Martin's face.

“What did you say?” he shouted back.

“I said it's the telephone! For you!”

“The telephone? For me?” Martin said. He tried to remember the last time anyone phoned for him, but he couldn't. “Are you sure it's for me?”

“Yes, of course I'm sure!” his mother said. “Unless there's another Martin living in this house that I don't know about.”

Martin ran down the stairs, jumped over the fifth step and bounded down the hall to the kitchen. Who could it be? What could they want?

He grabbed the phone out of his mother's hand, pressed it against his ear and said, “Who is this?”

“Hey, Marty!” It was a girl's voice. Martin had
never
gotten a phone call from a girl. He didn't say anything. He just pressed the phone harder against his ear.

“Marty? Are you there?”

“Who is this?” he said in a quiet voice.

“Who do you think it is? Queen Elizabeth?” Martin was just about to slam the phone down, when he heard, “It's Trixi, you little doofus!”

His grip tightened around the phone. “What do you want?” he said.

“You're the only person left to call,” she said. “All my friends are out, so you were my last resort.”

“Last resort? For what?”

“My mom and dad are away at a convention, and our housekeeper's locked in her room watching some reality show finale,” Trixi said.

“So?”

“So I had to talk to someone. Especially after what happened today at school. Wasn't that one crazy day?

I mean, who would ever believe we'd get that much snow in September? And a dog driving a snowplow? And what about that crazy maple tree? Mr. Quigley better buy stronger glue, if you ask me.”

“What do you want?” Martin said.

“What do I want?”

“Yes, what do you want?”

“I don't want anything,” Trixi said. “I just thought we could talk about what happened today, that's all.”

“That's all?”

“Yeah. That's all. Hey, don't you find that once in a while you're bursting to talk to someone?”

“Not really. I'm not much into talking,” Martin said.

“Anyway, did you hear what some of the parents were saying about Mr. Dodson? They were going wild with—”

“The newspaper had nothing to do with it,” Martin said.

“What?”

“You're trying to convince me that the newspaper had something to do with what happened today at school,” he said. Martin discovered that talking on the phone made him feel braver.

“What? No! I just wanted to talk, that's all,” Trixi said.

“I'm kind of busy right now,” Martin said. “The dogs' teeth need flossing.” Then he hung up.

TEN

A
t lunch hour the next day, a familiar voice came over the pa system. “Trixi Wilder and Martin Wettmore to my office, please.”

Trixi shrugged. She'd been expecting a call from Ms. Baumgartner. The only surprise was that it took until lunchtime. When Trixi arrived in the office, Martin was already there, slumped in one of the yellow plastic chairs. Ms. Baumgartner was behind her desk, chewing on a bologna sandwich.

She seemed calm, but Martin knew what was on Ms. Baumgartner's mind. She was going to blame all of yesterday's chaos and confusion on the school newspaper. She was going to shut down the Upland Green school newspaper.

Trixi also knew what Ms. Baumgartner was thinking. The principal was going to tell her to get ready for an appointment on Saturday morning with some dirty school buses. But Trixi wasn't going to make it easy on Ms. Baumgartner. She would go on the attack. As soon as she sat down in her yellow plastic chair, she said, “You do realize, Ms. Baumgartner, that it wouldn't look very good if you shut the newspaper down just when it's getting popular.”

When Martin heard Trixi's words, a slight sparkle returned to his eyes. Trixi had actually made a strong argument for keeping the paper going. Martin's archenemy had given him a glimmer of hope.

“Trixi, please listen,” Ms. Baumgartner said as she put her sandwich down and brushed the crumbs off her hands. “No one's said anything about shutting down the newspaper. But before the next edition, there are a few matters that have to be worked out.”

As Ms. Baumgartner spoke, Trixi and Martin both grinned, but for different reasons. Martin was grinning with relief because his school newspaper was still alive. Trixi was grinning because Ms. Baumgartner had been backed into a corner. She knew the principal had no choice but to keep the newspaper going, and Trixi had to be part of it. Her fun was just beginning.

“First of all, the paper will not be called the
Gossiper
,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “It will be called by its traditional name, the
Examiner
.”

“Ah, come on, Ms. Baumgartner,” Trixi said. “The
Examiner
sounds like a newspaper only a doctor would read.”

“It always has been called the
Examiner
and will continue to be called the
Examiner
,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “Second of all, the stories in the next edition are to be based on facts.”

“But all the stories in the last edition were based on facts!” Trixi said. “Everything written in that paper actually happened. Only, they happened after the paper came out, that's all.”

“I am not here to discuss the wild events that occurred after the last edition of the paper was published,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “Do I make myself clear when I say the stories are to be based on facts?” Martin nodded vigorously. Trixi just smiled.

“Thirdly,” the principal continued, “I want to see the next edition of the paper in my office the day before it goes on sale. The paper will only be copied if it meets my approval.”

“Whatever happened to freedom of the press?” Trixi said. “I thought we lived in a country where citizens have the right to express their own opinions. Isn't there something in the constitution about that?”

Ms. Baumgartner took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “A newspaper with the school's name across the top, printed on school paper, using the school photocopier, and sold in the school's hallway will be inspected by the school's principal. I'm sorry, Trixi, but that's the way it's going to be. Is that clear?”

Ms. Baumgartner's eyes darted back and forth between Martin and Trixi. Martin was nodding enthusiastically. It looked like the
Upland Green Examiner
would once again be a factual, solid, reliable paper. And who knows? Maybe Trixi would quit if she couldn't have her way.

Trixi wore a smile that Martin knew meant one thing and one thing only: she was already figuring out a way around Ms. Baumgartner's newest set of rules. It was a whole new challenge, and Trixi loved challenges.

“Are we crystal clear on the rules for the next edition of the paper?” Ms. Baumgartner said. Before Trixi or Martin could reply, Mrs. Sledge opened the office door and said, “Ms. Baumgartner! A stink bomb's just gone off in the girls' washroom!”

The next Monday at noon, Martin's knees felt a little wobbly as he walked toward his school newspaper meeting with Trixi. His knees shouldn't feel this way. After all, Ms. Baumgartner had given them strict instructions. Martin was the expert on factual reporting, so he was clearly the one in charge. Still, his knees were telling him that he was a little nervous going into this meeting with Trixi the trickster.

When he opened the door to the computer lab, there she was, already sitting at the table, waiting. Martin was short of breath, and he could feel his heart thumping. Why should he be nervous? This was
his
newspaper. It was no time to wimp out.

He didn't sit down. If he did, Trixi would start talking, and she wouldn't stop until she got what she wanted. Martin reached inside his knapsack, and before Trixi could say a word, he pulled out the next edition of the school newspaper and slammed it down on the table.

“It's done!” he said. “The next edition of the
Examiner
. And don't you dare change a word! All you have to do is take it to Ms. Baumgartner, get her approval and make the copies.”

He turned quickly to leave, expecting to hear, at the very least, a shout from Trixi, or maybe even feel a pencil hitting him in the back of the head. But he didn't hear or feel a thing. At the door, he hesitated and looked back at her.

Trixi was calmly turning the pages of his paper, carefully reading each story. With every page she read, Trixi nodded and smiled.

“Good,” Trixi said. “These stories are so good.”

“Yes?” Martin replied. “I mean, Yes! They are factual stories. Just the facts and nothing but the facts. Just what Ms. Baumgartner likes.”

“And I like them too!” Trixi said. “Especially this article on the water quality in our drinking fountains. Fascinating.”

“Yes. It is fascinating. I was surprised myself at the amount of dissolved oxygen in our drinking water,” he said. “Not to mention the levels of turbidity. This story has some shocking details!”

“Oh!” Trixi said. “And an interview with Mrs. Turlington, the substitute teacher. How extraordinary!”

“Yes, I too was amazed to learn about Mrs. Turlington's huge tea-cozy collection.”

Trixi read an article about a virus that made half of Mr.

Barker's class miss a field trip to the game farm. She also read an article about a marching band that would be performing for the school this week, a story on the grade-six class's pet hamster named Einstein, and, of course, the weather forecast.

Trixi didn't complain, shred the paper into tiny pieces or scream and yell at Martin for writing the worst heap of dullness ever. Instead she said, “There's no doubt, Marty. You've done it again.” She straightened the papers so that all the edges were even; then she stood up and said, “I'll be sure to show this to Ms. Baumgartner right away and get her approval.” Although these words came out of Trixi's mouth, this did not sound like the Trixi Wilder that Martin knew. A little voice in his head kept telling him that something was wrong. Very wrong. Trixi was never this agreeable.

Just before he left, Martin fumbled inside his knapsack to make sure he had his insurance against any more Trixi Wilder monkey business. He breathed a little more easily when his fingers felt the extra copy he'd made of this week's edition of the
Upland Green Examiner
.