Oh. Not such a softball question after all. “I’m sorry about your dad,” I said. How horrible for Leigh. I missed my dad, but at least he was only in Texas and I got to see him on holidays.
Leigh nodded. “Thanks.” She waved to the board. “Actually, he’s the reason for the ice cream and the shakes.”
“Your dad liked shakes?”
“When he was getting chemo, he lost his appetite. The one thing that he could and would eat was ice cream. I started making my own ice cream and then turning it into shakes. He really loved that.”
“Wow,” I said. “Your shakes are truly outstanding.”
“Thanks.”
“And why the Broadway theme?”
Leigh laughed. “Oh, how my dad is probably turning in his grave! The Broadway details are all me. This used to be a regular diner when it was my dad’s. I wanted to be a stage actress. Broadway was the dream, but”—Leigh waved her hand to the diner—“this was more important. Carrying on my dad’s legacy. And this way, I get to insert my own passion.”
“That’s brilliant,” I said with a grin.
A family entered the diner, and Leigh went to greet them. I walked back to my booth just as Rin was packing up.
“Later, Sakai,” Rin said as he headed for the door.
I didn’t respond. The only way Rin Watanabe would be seeing me later was from across the room. The Hamilton booth was mine, and I wasn’t giving it up without a fight. I’d get here extra early tomorrow. He’d just have to find someone else to annoy.
When I walked into newspaper club after school, Ms. Fontes smiled at me. “Jenna! How is your essay coming along? I’m so looking forward to reading it. Elliot just turned in his article.”
Gah! He turned in his article a full day early. Of course. I joined Isabella at our table. She was wearing a Maya Angelou T-shirt. Last semester, Isabella had written an opinion piece about how poetry like Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” and lyrics by Lauryn Hill changed the way girls saw themselves. I loved it.
“Hey,” she said. “Thanks for your help with my article.”
“Did you ever find out who the anonymous donor was?”
Isabella shook her head. “No, but I did find out exactly how much the donation was. A million dollars!”
I gasped. “That’s a lot of cash!”
“Right? I focused the article on what that money could have paid for to make more important improvements. Updating the library, getting new computers, funding the girls’ volleyball team uniforms.”
“Or allowing us to put out a real paper. What a waste of money!”
“If I can have your attention for a brief moment,” Ms. Fontes interrupted.
We all got quiet and looked up at her.
“I have some exciting news,” she said. “The Orange Country News is sponsoring a journalism scholarship competition for college money. It’s open to all middle and high schools in Orange County.”
Most everyone started talking at once, shouting questions and whispering to one another. Elliot shushed the room, and everyone grew silent.
“Each school will get to submit one entry, and the winner from each school will get a fifty-dollar cash prize.” Ms. Fontes smiled. “The grand prize is two thousand dollars for a middle school student and five thousand for a high school student to be put toward college, funded by the paper and a few generous donors.”
I perked up. A cash prize and money for college! I needed all the help I could get. I’d overheard Mom complain on the phone to Auntie Kelley more than once about how Dad wasn’t helping with college and how expensive it would be. And Mom had started harping on me about the importance of getting good grades so I could apply for scholarships. Not that I wasn’t already getting straight As.
Elliot and I locked eyes. He would be my only real competition. I had to beat him.
“If you would all settle down, I can tell you the rest.” Ms. Fontes laughed.
The room quieted once more.
“Assistant Principal Kim and I will be the ones selecting PV Middle’s winning student entry. All students are eligible to enter with articles of their choosing, not just newspaper club members.” Ms. Fontes waved her hand to keep us from protesting. “The applications are due to me on March fifteenth. After the winner is chosen, the entry will move on to the Orange County News. They will choose the winners in May. Perhaps you’d like to consider this most recent assignment as your entry. Whatever you decide, I can help you hone and polish over the next few weeks. I’ll email you the application and details. Now get to work! Your assignments are due tomorrow.”
I would not be submitting a fluffy personal essay. There was no way I could win with that. I glanced again at Elliot, who, of course, was looking my way, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. I didn’t need to talk to him to know he was thinking the same about his sports piece. We would both be working on something else for sure. I just had to make sure my story was better. I needed a hard-hitting investigative piece.
I knew who would probably get to enter from PV High. Olivia Rose was the editor of the high school’s paper, the Big Wave. She used to babysit me, Keiko, and Keiko’s little sister, Macy, back when I was in the third grade. Olivia lived around the block from me, and I saw her once in a while. I read her articles all the time since the Big Wave was online. I couldn’t wait to get to high school and write for the paper.
“Are you going to enter the competition?” Isabella asked me.
“Definitely! You?”
Isabella shook her head. “Probably not. I mean, I don’t want to work on this assignment anymore. I want to get back to writing what I love, music and fashion.”
“You could enter with one of those. Your Maya Angelou piece,” I suggested, pointing to her shirt.
“Yeah, but I don’t really have time to work on it. My sister wants me to sew some of the designs we created over break. She thinks she can sell my skirts!” Isabella smiled. “Anyway, you know it’s going to come down to you and Elliot.”
She was probably right. Not that she wasn’t good enough if she wanted it, but the truth was, Elliot and I were the ones to beat. We just cared more than anyone else. And I needed to win.
I spent the rest of newspaper club so focused on trying to come up with ideas for an article that would be worth entering that I’d forgotten about beating Rin to the diner. When I got there, he was already in my booth.
I stalked over, refused to greet him, and sat down. Today Rin had on big headphones, and he’d already set up the wall of books around his workspace. I wondered what kind of music he listened to. He was hard to read. He wore a Hurley hoodie, which was not cheap, and his glasses looked designer. His dark hair was sleek, almost blue black. Probably the same color as mine would be if I stopped coloring it. Which I wasn’t planning on doing anytime soon.
Leigh walked up to the table. “Jenna, it’s good to see you. What will you have? Sorry, I ran out of the strawberry ice cream.”
I glanced at Rin’s side of the table. He was still working on a shake. It looked like some sort of chocolate concoction.
“It’s the Chocolate Shake Where It Happens,” Leigh said. “Our double chocolate ice cream with hot fudge.”
A Hamilton shake! “That might be too much chocolate for me,” I said even though I loved the connection to the musical.
“I just made a triple berry lavender ice cream last night. You want to try that in a shake? I’m calling it Dear Berry Hansen.”
“That sounds good,” I said.
“And Fetch Fries with Cheese?”
I shook my head. “Not today.” I couldn’t afford to have a shake and fries three times a week. Well, I could with the guilt money Dad had given me for Christmas, but I put that into my college fund. As usual since the divorce, Dad went over the top with gifts. He’d not only thrown money at me but also bought me a new iPhone. I guess to match the new laptop he’d gotten me over summer.
Leigh left with my order, and I pulled out my essay to
make some notes. It wasn’t bad. After I turned it in, I could focus on coming up with the perfect article for my scholarship application.
“I’m tapping on the glass, waving through a window,” Leigh sang as she dropped off a very purple shake. I clapped for her. Rin caught my eye, and his lips twitched in an almost smile.
I took a sip and closed my eyes. I didn’t know what she did to her ice cream, but it was seriously the best.
“You have a thing against chocolate?” Rin asked me.
“What are you talking about?”
“You told Leigh that this”—he pointed to his mostly empty shake glass—“was too much.”
I glared at him. “How did you hear me over your music?”
“Oh, I’m not listening to anything right now.”
“That is deceiving!” I’d have to be careful around him. He was definitely sneaky.
“What are you working on?” he asked.
I folded my essay in half. “What are you working on?”
His face closed up.
“You started it,” I said.
“You didn’t answer.”
“Neither did you.”
For some reason, he broke into a grin. His whole face changed when he smiled. Gone was that slacker vibe, and instead he radiated warmth. Rin tugged his headphones down so that they draped over his shoulders. They were broad. I wouldn’t be surprised if he worked out or something. I bet he was arrogant about his looks.
I glanced back up at his face, and his grin had stretched even wider.
“Shut up!” I snapped, feeling the tips of my ears grow hot.
He chuckled. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You have something on your shirt.” That was better than admitting I was checking him out.
He glanced down and ran his hand along his chest. He had long, tapered fingers. “I don’t see anything,” he said.
“Hmm. You must have gotten it.”
I went back to reading my essay and finishing my shake, and Rin went back to whatever he was doing behind his wall of books. But I couldn’t concentrate. I might as well head home.
I gathered my things and shoved them into my messenger bag. If Rin thought I was being rude, I didn’t care. I paid at the register and left.
I’d have to get here before him next time. I needed my booth back. But if he did get here before me again, then I would at least have to employ some sneaky tactics of my own to find out what he was working on. Because one thing was for sure, I was an excellent investigative reporter.
“You’re hanging out with Rin Watanabe?” Keiko asked as we walked into her kitchen on Thursday afternoon. She let Yuki out of her crate, and the fluffy dog pranced around our feet.
“ ‘Hanging out’ is a generous term,” I said, leaning down to pat Yuki on the head.
Keiko already had the ingredients for banana cupcakes with chocolate frosting set out on the counter, but my sweet tooth was calling and it wouldn’t wait. I dug in the pantry and found one box of chocolate-covered Pocky sticks and one of strawberry. We both liked the chocolate better. I held them up.
“Jan-ken-pon?” Keiko asked, smiling.
We’d used the Japanese chant for rock, paper, scissors to make fair decisions ever since we were kids. I put the boxes down, and we held out our fists.
“Jan, ken, pon!” we chanted, shaking our fists. On “pon,” we flashed our choices. I spread my hand out in paper, and Keiko kept hers in a fist for rock.
“I win!” I chortled, wrapping my hand around her fist.
“Fine.” Keiko reached for the strawberry Pocky, but I stopped her. I handed her the box of chocolate. She smiled. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” I opened my box and ripped open the foil bag inside.
Keiko handed me five of the chocolate-dipped cookie sticks. “So, Rin Watanabe, huh?”
Why had I spilled about the diner and Rin to Keiko? She was already getting ideas. I shook my stick at her. “He stole my booth. I refused to let him have it, so we’re sharing it. It’s not like we talk.”
“Hmmm.” Keiko crunched through two Pocky sticks.
She was about to say something annoying, I could just sense it. I counted backward in my head, Five, four, three, two …
“He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?” Keiko asked.
“Don’t,” I said. “This is so not about that.”
“I was just making an observation.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Okay, then, objectively, yes, he’s good-looking, in a shojo-manga-boy-hero way. Should I tell Conner he should worry?” I asked.
Keiko blushed. “Not even.”
Wow. She really had it bad for Conner. Which was fine. For her.
“When can I go to the diner with you?” Keiko asked.
“Because you want to check Rin out?” I smiled, teasing her.
“Stop! No!” She laughed. “Fine! Keep the diner and Rin to yourself for now, but I definitely want one of those chocolate shakes soon. And I totally want to hear Leigh sing. What a cool place.”
I nodded. “Right? I can’t believe more people don’t know about it. Not that I want it to get too popular.”
After we finished our snack, I played sous chef to Keiko as she mixed the batter for our cupcakes.
“How’s newspaper club going?” Keiko asked after she turned off the mixer.
“Fine. Ms. Fontes told us about a scholarship competition for college tuition.”
“Really? That’s awesome!”
“I need to come up with the best article ever. Only one student from PV Middle will get to enter.” I’d turned in my personal essay after school, and I was glad to never have to look at that again. Now I could focus on whatever I would write for the contest.
“Maybe that will calm your mom down,” Keiko said cautiously.
“Yeah. Maybe.” I got quiet. A few months earlier, I’d let it slip to Keiko that Mom was getting all hyper about college already. Once I graduated from high school, Dad’s child support obligation would end. I had overheard part of Mom’s call with Auntie Kelley. I knew if I asked for details, Mom wouldn’t give me a straight answer. More likely it would get her on a rant against my dad, and I didn’t want to hear that. The only good thing that came from the divorce was that I didn’t have to hear them shouting at each other anymore.
It wasn’t as if we ever hurt for money. Dad made bank at his corporate job. I never understood why Mom had to always point out what the money she made as a CPA bought. I thought when couples were married they shared the money, but what did I know about that.
Keiko cleared her throat and then pulled the bowl from the mixing stand. “Any idea what you’ll work on?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, but my article needs to be better than Elliot’s.”
Keiko grimaced.
“What?”
“You and Elliot.”
“What about us?” I placed paper cups in the cupcake tin, making sure not to put the same two colors side by side.
“You were both always trying to outdo each other.”
“True.” Even though we hadn’t had any of the same classes, Elliot and I constantly compared our grades. “But we studied well together. His competitiveness actually kept me sharp.”
Keiko handed me a spoon, and I portioned the batter into the cups.
“I know one thing,” Keiko said.
“What?” I set the timer as Keiko put the cupcakes into the oven.
“Whatever you write is going to be smart, interesting, and totally deserving of that money. You are a Super Reporter!”
We high-fived. And then, like the best friend she always was, she let me lick the spoon.
* * *
On Friday, I walked into newspaper club late. It was the only way I could be sure that Isabella was already there to sit with and avoid any awkward encounters with Elliot. How weird that Elliot and I had spent all our free time together, every day at school, after school, and some Saturdays, talking and writing, and now, noth
ing. Like we had never existed.
“Good afternoon, reporters,” Ms. Fontes said. “You all impressed me with your assignments.”
I leaned forward, elbows on my desk. I couldn’t wait to see what Ms. Fontes thought. I may have resisted the personal essay at first, but like any good reporter on deadline, I had delivered. I was pleased with the result.
“I’ve marked your papers with comments. I want to see revisions next week.”
A groan went up around the room. We weren’t done with this assignment? I was ready to move on.
“This is part of the process, kids. Revision. You know that.”
“Will we get a new assignment after the revision?” I asked.
Ms. Fontes gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. “I’m going to let you all pick your next assignment. That way if you want to work on something else for the scholarship, you’ll have time.” She nodded. “Okay, come get your papers and get to work. I’m here if you have questions or want to discuss my comments.”
I jiggled my leg impatiently. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t done with the essay. I wanted to work on something important. I waited till everyone else got their papers and then made my way up to Ms. Fontes. The buzz in the room grew as people discussed the comments on their papers.
“Jenna.” Ms. Fontes handed me my essay.
There were no comments or marks on it. My heart soared. Did she think it was perfect?
“This was a good attempt,” she started, not sounding at all like she was about to tell me I was on my way to becoming a Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist.
I rolled the paper in my hand.
“But this was not a personal essay,” she said. “This read more like a profile of the owner of the diner, and while it was interesting and well written, it wasn’t the assignment.”
The tops of my ears burned. I was glad for the noise in the room so that no one, especially Elliot, could hear what Ms. Fontes was saying.
“It was personal,” I said softly. “I talked about how the diner makes me feel.”
“Yes, I saw that you had a little of that. It barely skimmed the surface, though. I would have liked more about you, your thoughts, your feelings. Why do you like this diner? Why is it important to you?” Ms. Fontes raised her hand to stop me from doing what she said we shouldn’t when we’re getting feedback. Defending or making excuses. I clamped my lips tight. “Dig deeper, Jenna. There’s a reason this diner is so important to you.”
Just Be Cool, Jenna Sakai Page 4