by Sandra Byrd
The next morning I ended up using the stinky bag to deliver the Wexburg Academy Times. At the end of the day I went back to see if the papers needed to be restocked. I shouldn’t have worried. Hardly any of them were gone. I stuffed the nasty bag deep into a closet and determined to use one of my own bags, an Au Revoir, to deliver the papers.
At lunch the next afternoon Melissa patted the seat next to her at the newspaper staff table. “Savvy, come on over here.” Gratefully, I brought my lunch sack over and sat down. “How have you been?” she asked. “It must have been awfully difficult to start school here, you being new and all that.”
My eyes almost filled with tears. Someone understood! But I didn’t want to overplay it. “It was hard,” I admitted. “But it’s getting better.”
“That’s the spirit,” she said. “Chin up and all that. You’ll be British sooner than you think.” She smiled.
I was going to continue the conversation, but one of her friends came up behind her and whispered in her ear. They laughed for a minute and then walked off. Oh well. It was enough that she talked to me. And I’d done a bit of observing of my own. I saw Hazelle’s face go sour when Melissa acted friendly toward me. I’d actually been observing Hazelle for a few days. She idolized Melissa.
Hazelle pointedly turned to talk writing with the new writer on the staff—the one who’d gotten the position I’d been offered. I bit into my mushy apple. As the delivery girl, I really had nothing much to discuss and therefore no real friend or connection here.
It was clear I was going to have to do something else, and soon.
My internal conscience alarm went off. I overrode it.
Chapter 15
The next Monday I went to the newspaper office right before leaving school for the day. I wanted to make sure everything was set for the next morning’s delivery. The pressroom was quiet, and there was no ink smell in the air. Why not? I mean, the paper was supposed to be delivered tomorrow morning, early. Everything should be clicking along. What was wrong?
When I got a bit farther into the room, I could see everyone crowded into Jack’s office, including the faculty adviser. I took a few steps in and then stopped. Who was I fooling? I wasn’t wanted here, or they’d have let me know. Jack looked up at me, and I waved and started to move backward. “I’ll come back later,” I said.
“Good idea,” Hazelle said. Then I heard her whisper, though she made sure it was loud enough for me to hear, “Americans can be really unbearable. Always popping in uninvited.”
Melissa frowned. “I think Savvy should come in. She is a part of the staff, after all.”
“Oh, right, sorry,” Jack said. “I never thought to ask you to the meeting.”
I sighed. Why wasn’t I surprised? But he did look sorry, and I was new. And I wasn’t in the office all the time with the rest of them. I would have liked to have crossed his mind a little more often than it seemed I did though. . . .
“Come on in,” he said. But he looked distracted, and even before I pulled up a chair he’d continued with the discussion.
Melissa leaned over to get me up to speed. “The headmaster took Jack aside today and told him that perhaps it was time to close down the paper. Newspapers all over London are shutting, and perhaps it’s time for us to quit too. We’re taking up a lot of the school budget. Budget that might be spent on different clubs.”
“Oh no,” I said. “So it’s all over?”
“No,” she whispered. “We’re not all sacked yet.”
I looked around. Besides Jack, Melissa, Hazelle, and me, there were two year ten girls who did the layout for the paper and another year twelve guy, in the sixth form, or upper school, who was a main reporter. There was a nice, but really quiet, girl who took a lot of the pictures for the paper and a few other people I didn’t know yet. Jack talked to the crowd of us all at once.
“Any other ideas?”
“Move the paper delivery back to Thursday,” the year twelve reporter said, “instead of Tuesday when everyone is focused on the school week. Thursday they’ll be thinking about the weekend, and we can report on a few more social ideas, which should get everyone involved. Right now, there’s really no compelling reason to read the paper. It’s dull.”
“Good idea, that’s good,” Jack said. “I don’t remember why we moved it to Tuesday. Julia always had it on Thursday, and I think that was successful.”
Hazelle smiled broadly and looked over the crowd like she was the Queen about to do a royal wave.
“Who is Julia?” I whispered to Melissa.
“Hazelle’s older sister. She graduated and went on to journalism at university. Extremely clever. Definitely has a brilliant future ahead of her.” Then she turned back to the group. “How about placing a few adverts?” Melissa offered. Some cheered and others groaned.
“Do we want to go all commercial? This isn’t exactly News of the World,” one of the layout girls complained.
“Better commercial than extinct,” Melissa pointed out. I noticed she didn’t lose her cool when crossed. “And we could find a few really tasteful ads.”
“Who’s going to sell the adverts?” the other girl pressed.
“All of us,” Jack said. “From time to time. We’ve got to give it a go.”
After a few more comments he wrapped up the meeting. “Savvy, are you able to deliver the paper on Thursday mornings?”
Sure, I thought. I have no life anyway. But all I said was, “Of course.”
Thursday morning came and I got to school early. I could feel the hope in the newspaper room. The faculty adviser, Mr. Abrams, had brought cakes and tea for everyone.
I had to admit, being from Seattle, I was a natural coffee drinker. Most of the people I knew who drank tea back home were either old or sick. But it helped take the edge off of the London fog. I liked it now too—milky, with a bit of sugar.
Jack helped load the papers into my swanky Au Revoir bag. He lifted them in gently, like he was placing infants in a baby carrier. The whole staff focused on me—for once!
“Don’t worry,” I said glancing at my watch. “I’ll get them all out.” I hoped.
Chapter 16
After school I checked the paper holders around campus. It was true that a few more papers were gone . . . but there were still plenty of unread ones remaining. I packed the leftovers in my Au Revoir.
Hey, I was a reporter, even if no one recognized me as one. Maybe I’d ask a few questions. I casually walked up to a group of guys standing by one of the newspaper stands.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m on the newspaper staff, and we were wondering: do you read the paper?”
One of them snorted. “Are you daft? Not much in there now, is there?”
“There are some articles on academics and a few features of some of the students. A couple of commentaries about helping to apply to university.”
“Not interested,” a guy with a flirtatious smile said as he winked at me. “In the paper, that is.”
Really! Yeah, right! It was nice to be noticed. But things weren’t looking good for the Wexburg Academy Times.
I walked to another paper stand and saw . . . almost none of them had been taken.
“Excuse me.” I approached a group of girls standing nearby. It’s amazing how brave I was as a reporter—I never would have approached them just to say hi or to try to make friends. “Can I ask you a few questions about the school newspaper?”
One of the most fashionably dressed girls turned toward me, and I recognized her immediately as one of the Aristocats. But Penny was nowhere in sight. “That rubbish? It’s not good for anything except training a puppy to piddle outside.”
The group of hangers-on twittered behind their hands and started to move on. “One thing would help.” One of the girls turned back toward me. “Something we care about. You know, like guys or fashion or anything like that. Something we actually fancy reading about.”
“Thank you,” I said with as much sincerity as I could proje
ct. “I really appreciate that.”
“No problem,” she said before moving on with her group.
The last person I approached was actually taking one of the papers from the stand.
“May I ask, what do you like about the paper?” I asked him.
He turned toward me, and I immediately noticed his deep brown eyes. Kind of a Johnny Depp look. “You mean besides wrapping up the fish-and-chips?” he teased. But his tone wasn’t cutting, like the Aristocat who’d suggested the puppy piddle.
“I do,” I said.
“Are you on the newspaper staff?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, praying that he wouldn’t ask what my position was. He didn’t!
“I think there’s some thoughtful reporting at times, but it can be a bit dull. Don’t often read it. Rather seems like it was written for adults instead of people our age. A bit stuffy and all that. But well written!” he said, suddenly remembering, it seemed, that I was on the staff. “Do you have an article in this edition?” He opened it and thumbed through.
“Oh no, not this one.” Technically true. And then it was time to move on before I had to admit to what my real role was. “You should start reading the paper more often though. It’s very good.”
“Maybe I will,” he said, holding my gaze just a bit longer than necessary. Then he slung his brown leather backpack over his shoulder and walked off.
I watched him for a minute before turning to leave the school. I’d gathered a couple of ideas, not the least of which involved an after-school stop. It was time for fish-and-chips.
Ten minutes later I was at Fishcoteque. I’d texted my mother to tell her where I’d be and that I’d be home soon. I set my stuff at a small table—I was way beyond hoping that anyone would sit with me at this point—and went to order.
“What’ll it be then, luv? The usual?”
“I dunno,” I said. “I think I’ll try something different.” I went for the deep-fried shrimp—or shrimps, as they said—instead.
“Here you go, luv. Fancy another Fanta?” Jeannie, the counter lady, delivered my basket of shrimps.
“No, thanks,” I said. The shrimp weren’t wrapped like the fish were, but the basket was still lined with newspaper. I dumped the shrimp onto a little pile of napkins to soak up the grease and decided to read the paper lining while I ate.
Lots of good ads. I jotted down the name of a secondhand fashion shop I hadn’t heard about yet. Then I flipped over the paper. A boring editorial. I was going to have to buy a paper if I wanted to read my favorite column. I walked over to the paper machine and pumped a coin in, then brought it back to my booth and snapped the paper open to the inside cover.
There it was—just what I was looking for. My favorite column. I know I was supposed to aspire to serious journalism, but I thought this column did a lot of good. More good, for example, than bland reports on road construction or parliamentary spending.
I sighed and closed the paper. I could not believe what Agatha wrote back. Oh, no, no, no. That was not right. Auntie Agatha must be extremely old. Spiderish, even. If you truly are best friends, you have to talk with your friend first. If nothing changes, you keep trying for a while, and if they turn on you, then you find some new friends. You can’t just push your way into a group. And even if you could, next thing you know, you’ll be doing everything else they want you to do, just to fit in. You’ll never know if they truly like you anyway.
Crazy.
Hey. Wait a minute. I snapped the paper open again.
What if Auntie Agatha were written by a teenager? And talked about problems that teenagers have? And answered interesting questions that they wanted to ask but didn’t have anywhere—or anyone—confidential enough to ask?
I began to get so excited that I lost all appetite for the shrimp, even though they were good.
I had a smashing idea.
What if the column were published in the Wexburg Academy Times? People would totally read it. And once they opened the paper, well, they’d probably read other things inside it too. Right?
I’d definitely talk to Jack about this. Tomorrow. I had the right name for the column too.
Dear Auntie Savannah. No, I wasn’t old enough to be an Aunt.
Okay. Dear Cousin Savvy. No, not quite right.
Well, it didn’t matter. We’d figure that out. Because surely when Jack saw what a great idea this was, he’d let me write it. It would only be fair.
Chapter 17
That night at the dinner table Louanne asked, “So, Sav, do you have an article in today’s paper? I noticed you brought a bunch home in your bag.”
Oh yeah. I had forgotten to drop off the extra papers at the newspaper office at the end of the day.
“I noticed that too,” Mom said eagerly.
I grimaced. They thought I’d brought the extras home because I had an article to share. And copies to FedEx to Grandma and Auntie Tricia and everyone else who would be happy I’d at last found a place to belong here.
I took a deep breath. “I didn’t have enough experience to be a staff writer. I deliver the newspapers.”
“Deliver the papers?” Dad asked, his voice incredulous. Mom gave him the stink eye. “I mean, oh yes, good, you deliver the papers.”
“Yes,” I said softly. “I only deliver them. So we don’t need to send these to anyone in Seattle. Maybe we can wrap up some fish-and-chips with them, though.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said and put her arm around me. Even Growl looked down at the ground, silent for once. I gave my mom a hug back and then dragged myself upstairs.
Jack had to like my idea.
Chapter 18
I looked for Jack before school the next morning. I mean, I didn’t chase all over asking people where he was. I didn’t want to look like a stalker. But I did really look, because I knew my idea was a winner.
I didn’t find him, so I’d have to wait for lunch. I looked at my watch. Three and a half long, long hours.
First period, maths. “Now, let’s follow along,” the instructor said. I tried to follow along with what he was saying, honestly I did. But most of the time I couldn’t get over the fact that he had a really large mole on his cheek, and I wondered if it had been checked for cancer.
Concentrate, Savvy. It’s not going to do you any good to fail out of maths. People with failing grades couldn’t participate in clubs, even to deliver the paper.
I dutifully copied the equations the teacher was writing on the board. I sneaked a look at Hazelle, who was sitting two rows to my left. She was writing in ink, of all things. And I knew why. So she could use her Wexburg Academy Times pen. Only people who wrote for the newspaper got to use the pen. The printers didn’t get a pen. The photographer didn’t get a pen.
For sure, the delivery girl didn’t get a pen. Columnists did, though.
Second period, health. I’m not exactly sure who thought it would be a good idea to have both guys and girls in the same health class, but looking at pictures of the body—even though it was only muscle and bone and nothing personal at all—was still really, really awkward in mixed company. I should address the topic in a Dear Cousin Savvy column. Without pointing fingers, of course. Maybe I’d write a dummy column from a pretend student who wanted separate health classes.
Nah. Dummy columns weren’t good, honest journalism. One more class and then lunch—and Jack!
“Miss Smith!” the teacher called out to me. “Care to come back down to earth?”
Guess my boredom showed.
Third period, science. With an instructor who spoke in a thick Scottish accent and said things like, “Oon is the doon of Magoon.” I had no idea what that meant. Thankfully, Gwennie and Jill, the other girl from Fishcoteque, were in that class and didn’t hold the popped crawfish eye or the science club beaker explosion they’d heard about against me, and they let me be their lab partner. I was still the odd girl out—it was clear they’d been BFF for a long time. And they didn’t let me handle any gla
ss. But it was still better than trying to beg for or scare up lab partners.
“Come along, Savvy,” Jill said as we brought our equipment back to the sinks to wash. “You’ve done quite well for a . . . for someone who, uh, doesn’t fancy science.”
Well, that was polite. And anyway, it was lunchtime.
It’s not like I was going to run to the lunchroom like a kid, but I was pretty eager. I tried to play it cool. Jack was deep in discussion with Melissa. I thought he looked especially cute when he was serious. But enough of that. I caught his eye.
“Jack, could I talk with you for a minute?” I said.
“Sure, Savvy. Here?”
“Would it be all right to walk in the courtyard?” I asked. I’d never asked him for anything personal or significant, so I wasn’t sure how he was going to answer. But he was great, of course.
“Of course,” Jack said. He took his lunch sack, and I just left mine in my book bag.
Once we were in the courtyard and out of earshot, I started right in. “Well, yesterday afternoon when I was checking on the papers, I did a bit of reporting,” I said.
I saw him frown.
“Not officially!” I rushed in. “I just talked to some people about why they liked, or didn’t like, the paper.”
I could tell he was a little miffed that I’d done that research without checking but also that he was dying to know what I’d found out.
“And?” he asked. “What did they say?”
I told him that most people felt like there wasn’t enough interesting, teen-specific stuff in there. Too academic. “Dull was the word one really nice guy used,” I said. I saw him wince at that. And who could blame him? He was editor in chief.
“But then . . . I had an idea. I was at Fishcoteque reading Auntie Agatha, and it struck me: why couldn’t we have our own Auntie Agatha column right here at Wexburg Academy? You know, with students writing in and then having their questions answered. Anonymously, of course, but publicly. Because everyone likes to read advice columns.”