Stop the Presses!

by Rachel Wise

  Finally, the lunch bell rang. I threw my stuff into my locker and ran over to Hailey’s. “Hey, Hails. I really need to talk to you.”

  Hailey looked up at me for the first time since I had arrived at her locker. Which was strange. I wanted to shout, “Hello, BFF here; remember me? You need to direct your attention my way.”

  Instead, Hailey grabbed her lunch and put her hand on my arm, like you would do to a stranger if you wanted to show them some sympathy. Just then I realized that Anthony, the student council president, was standing next to her. Hailey is the vice president.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. I really want to catch up, but Anthony and I have a big student government event this week,” Hailey explained. “We need to do some hard-core planning at lunch and after school this week. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  Then Hailey and Anthony hurried down the hall. Away from me, even though I was heading to the cafeteria too.

  It’s okay, guys. I can take a hint.

  I slogged toward the lunchroom, feeling confused and rejected. Hailey and Anthony were huddled in a corner, busy “hard-core planning.” Michael waved at me when I walked in, but he was sitting with some guys on the baseball team, and I didn’t want them to catch me accidentally gazing into Michael’s deep blue eyes.

  I realized that I wasn’t even hungry anymore. In fact, I felt a little queasy. So I took my lunch back to my locker and headed to the newsroom to check in with Mr. Trigg. He’s the advisor of the Cherry Valley Voice, the school newspaper. He takes the advisor role pretty seriously and always has a lot of good advice for reporters like Michael and me. I wouldn’t tell the rest of the staff this, but I’m pretty sure we’re his favorites. He almost always gives us the best assignments to work on together. And he gave me the top-secret job of writing the Dear Know-It-All column. I give advice to my schoolmates, and no one even knows it’s me. I admit, it’s pretty satisfying when I hear everyone talking about what good advice Dear Know-It-All gives.

  Mr. Trigg was posting a quote above the computer bank in the newsroom. It said, “The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.”

  “Let me guess—Churchill.” I laughed.

  It was a no-brainer. Everyone at Cherry Valley knew that Mr. Trigg was obsessed with Winston Churchill.

  “Correct, Martone,” Mr. Trigg answered. “And for that brilliant conjecture, you receive today’s top prize.”

  “Wow, what’s that?” I asked.

  Mr. Trigg hurried into his office and returned with a folder filled with—you guessed it—paper.

  “Here you go. Some new letters to Dear Know-It-All, all vetted by your trusty advisor,” Mr. Trigg said. “I hope your weekend was restful and that you have renewed vigor to apply to your newspaper work.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve got loads of vigor.” I chuckled. “I can’t wait to get to work.”

  “So happy to hear that!” Mr. Trigg cheered. “I know you’ll be coming to our staff meeting on Friday, but I was hoping you’d consider accepting an assignment before then. The student government event is on Wednesday, and I’ll need a reporter to cover it. Would you be able to do it?”

  “Sure, I’d love to,” I replied. “Will I be working alone?”

  Please say no. . . . Please say no. . . . Please say no. . . . Please say no. . . .

  “I hadn’t considered it, honestly,” Mr. Trigg said. “But if you’d like to rope in Mr. Lawrence to assist you, that’s fine with me.”

  Thank you. . . . Thank you. . . . Thank you. . . . Thank you. . . . Thank you. . . .

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll get started reading these letters and choosing one for the next issue. And I’ll ask Michael if he’s available to help with the story. If not, I’ll just fly solo.”

  “Sounds like an excellent plan, Martone,” Trigg said. “I have the greatest confidence in your abilities.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Trigg,” I said. “I can’t wait to get started.”

  I really couldn’t, honestly. First, and best, it gave me another opportunity to work with Michael. And now Hailey would have to talk to me if she wanted her big event to be covered in the newspaper.

  I didn’t see either Hailey or Michael the rest of the day, and when I got home I had so much homework that it was nearly dinnertime when I finished. Allie stopped in my room after dinner to give me some pictures she had cut out for me. I appreciated the help, but Allie and I are so different, it was hard to believe we shared any DNA. Our tastes were nothing alike. She likes glitzy and flashy; I like design that is simple and low-key. She did have some clever ideas for cool filing systems and bookshelves, and even better, for stenciling words and quotes on the walls, so I put those in a folder and took out the folder of Dear Know-It-All letters. The first few were as boring as my weekend had been. Then I read a couple that weren’t going to work for other reasons.

  Dear Know-It-All,

  Are skinny jeans still in? Do you think it’s okay if I wear boot-cut jeans to school sometimes, or will I be showing everyone that I have no fashion sense?

  —Denim Dummy

  Obviously one student at Cherry Valley had no idea that I was Dear Know-It-All, and also didn’t know that it was an advice column, not a fashion column.

  Dear Know-It-All,

  Can you like more than one boy at the same time? Would you keep it a secret, or would you let them both know how you feel? Don’t you think keeping it a secret is unfair?

  <3 X 2

  That one was interesting, but I didn’t feel like I could answer it without careful consideration, and I didn’t want writing the Dear Know-It-All column to take up all my time for this issue. I had a lot of homework, a heavy test schedule coming up, and a room to redecorate. Maybe Mom could help with the answer, I thought, smiling to myself. I put the letter on the top of the pile just in case I changed my mind and decided to read the rest later.

  I was in the middle of my getting-ready-for-bed routine when I realized that Hailey had never called me like she said she was going to. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of texting or calling her now, after she had blown me off at lunch. I started to get upset about it, and then I remembered my sleep routine. If I went to bed stressed out, I would never be able to fall asleep. I wasn’t sure exactly what would help, but Mom always says that it’s important to get your feelings off your chest, so I figured I’d write an e-mail about how I felt to Hailey; I just wouldn’t send it.

  Hey, Hailey,

  Did you get amnesia and forget that you had a best friend? You haven’t called or texted me since Friday, and you hardly even looked at me today. I know you’re busy, but you would think you could spare a couple of minutes to talk to me, considering how many hours I devote to tutoring you.

  Feeling forgotten,

  Sam

  It was incredible, but I actually felt better after I wrote it all down. I got into bed and tried to focus on the fact that tomorrow I would get to ask Michael to work with me on the new story. It was going to be a great day, whether Hailey wanted to be a part of it or not.

  Chapter 3

  MARTONE’S BEST FRIEND IS MISSING IN ACTION

  I was going to look for Michael as soon as I finished putting my books in my locker the next morning, but I didn’t have to. I heard a knock on my locker door and turned around to see him looking even better than he had the day before, if that was possible.

  He leaned in and put his arm over my head, propping himself up against my locker and coming in close to talk to me. It had been difficult to concentrate on our conversation yesterday. Now it was nearly impossible.

  “Hey, Pasty,” Michael said, so close that his voice was vibrating on my face. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to ask you something about the Voice.”

  “Perfect,” I said, trying to stay composed. “I have something to ask you about the Voice too.”

  “Okay, you go first,” he said.

  “No, you go first. . . . Oh, forget it,” I mumbl
ed. “Mr. Trigg asked me to cover the big student government event on Wednesday. Want to help?”

  “The Green Team?” Michael asked. “Sure, I’d like to work on that story. You might have to take on more of the reporting, though. Between baseball practice and homework, I don’t have a lot of spare time. Is that okay?”

  “I can do that,” I said. “But what do you mean, the Green Team?”

  “I figured your best bud, Hailey, already told you all about it.” Michael laughed. “That’s the big ‘secret’ event they have planned. Anthony and Hailey have started a Green Team, and they’re going to talk about ways that students can work together to make the school more environmentally friendly.”

  “Oh, that Green Team,” I said, trying to cover. “I think Hailey mentioned it, but I was too busy with other stuff to pay attention. Anyway, what’s your question?”

  “It’s not a big deal; just forget it,” Michael said.

  “Come on. That’s not fair,” I said. “Spill.”

  “I just had a question about Dear Know-It-All,” Michael said.

  “Why would you think I would be able to answer it?” I asked.

  I had always suspected that Michael was onto my Dear Know-It-All identity, and it looked like he might be ready to put me on the spot right now. I had promised Mr. Trigg that I would never reveal to anyone my work on the column, even my closest friends. Even Hailey. Only Mr. Trigg and my mom knew. Help!

  “I don’t know, just a suspicion that you might have some pull with Mr. Trigg,” Michael asked.

  “Now you’re really confusing me,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, it’s . . . it’s really dumb,” Michael stammered. “And I’m not even asking for me. . . . It’s for a friend.”

  “Of course,” I said. “So what does your friend want to know?”

  “Oh, well he—I mean she—was wondering if it would be possible to get a letter back after it was submitted. You know, privately, between the letter writer and Dear Know-It-All. Before it was put in the Voice.”

  “Gee, Michael. I honestly don’t know the answer,” I said. “Maybe your friend will get lucky. Dear Know-It-All only answers one letter an issue. Your friend’s letter might never even get published. But I can ask Mr. Trigg if you don’t want to.”

  “That’s okay, but thanks,” Michael said. “I think she just regretted what she wrote after she had time to think about it.”

  “Well, it’s all anonymous, so the good news is that even if it does get into the Voice, no one will ever know that she wrote it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll remind her of that,” he said. “So do you want to meet at lunchtime to go over questions we have about the Green Team story?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said.

  Michael was still leaning against the locker, and he leaned in a little closer so that his cheek was brushing against my hair. Was it an accident? I held my breath. I wondered if he could smell my shampoo. I think it smelled pretty good, like strawberries.

  “Later, Pasty,” he whispered before walking away.

  I would have collapsed into a puddle on the hallway floor, but I knew I couldn’t risk being the talk of the lunchroom, especially today. What was up with that, though?

  I’ve known Michael since kindergarten, and while he’s always been absolutely adorable, he’s also always been a supernice guy. Sometimes I think he likes me. And sometimes I think he forgets I exist. It gets complicated.

  But did he just kind of try to whisper in my ear? That’s so not Michael’s style. A smooth operator like Danny Stratham, sure. Michael Lawrence, definitely not. He’s the type of guy who will bake you cinnamon buns and then offer you a napkin to wipe the icing off your mouth and not look at you like you’re a total loser because you totally have a big glob of icing on your upper lip. Not that I’m complaining. Michael Lawrence can whisper in my ear any day. It was just going to be really difficult to concentrate on anything else for the rest of the day—maybe even all week. Maybe all month. And I didn’t even know if my best friend would have time to analyze every detail like we usually would. She still hadn’t called or stopped by my locker to see me. I guess the Green Team was more important than our team.

  At lunch, Michael waved and pointed to the seat next to him. I made sure to sit on the opposite side of the table. I think we had enough close contact for one day.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to write notes if we were sitting next to each other?” Michael asked.

  “Not a problem,” I said. “I am excellent at reading upside down.”

  “Another talent that I was unaware of.” Michael laughed. “Impressive, Pasty.”

  “I know. I try to keep it on the DL,” I said. “I don’t want everyone to know about my secret skill.”

  Michael smiled at me, and thankfully it was the good old, warm, friendly Michael Lawrence smile that made me feel comfortable and happy. Hopefully he had gotten all the leaning and whispering out of his system earlier.

  “So what do you know about Green Team?” I asked him. “Because I haven’t seen much of Hailey lately, and I don’t really know what they’re planning.”

  “I noticed,” Michael admitted. “I saw you leave the cafeteria the other day without eating when Hailey was busy with Anthony. You could have come sit with us.”

  “And talk about pop flies and cleats?” I laughed. “Thanks, but I’d rather talk to Mr. Trigg.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” Michael said. “But just for the record, I am your friend. You can sit at my table any day.”

  “The record is noted,” I answered. “And if I smell cinnamon buns, you can count me in.”

  Michael laughed. “The last time I brought cinnamon buns to school, the guys from the team ripped them out of my hands before I could even get to the cafeteria, so I think I’ll only be serving them in my kitchen from now on.”

  “Great, then you’ll have to invite me over the next time you make them,” I said.

  Wait a minute! Did I just say that? Martone Requests Invite to Crush’s Kitchen, Waits for Rejection.

  “Of course, but it probably won’t be until after baseball season,” Michael replied. “I don’t have a lot of free time these days.”

  Ugh! He totally thought I was inviting myself over. Way to go, Martone.

  “No problem. I didn’t really mean you have to invite me over,” I started, embarrassed, and then it was like I just couldn’t stop. “I mean, if you wanted to, I wouldn’t say no, but you really don’t have to. You can even just give me the recipe and I’ll make my own. I’m pretty—”

  “Calm down, Pasty,” Michael said. “I knew what you meant. Let’s leave the cinnamon buns in the kitchen and talk about this Green Team meeting.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “The meeting is tomorrow, after school. I know that Anthony and Hailey have been disappointed because not a lot of kids have been coming to the student government meetings.”

  “Well, it is student government,” Michael said. “What do they expect? They’re competing with a lot of other after-school activities too, like baseball and the play.”

  “It’s true,” I admitted. “But not everyone is on a sports team or in the play. I think only ten kids showed up to their last meeting, and one of them was a reporter for the Voice.”

  “So tomorrow there will be two reporters.” Michael laughed. “That should help.”

  “I don’t know if Hailey would agree.” I laughed too. “But let’s figure out what we want to find out there.”

  As usual, Michael just sat and talked and listened while I scribbled frantically in his notebook. I wondered what it would be like to have a photographic memory. One thing that would be totally awesome: I could replay word for word every conversation I had ever had with Michael Lawrence. Even something that might seem boring to someone listening in could be thrilling to me. There was always just a tiny detail about the way he raised his voice when he added, “Right, Pasty?” to the end of a statement that made it seem like he was talking about so much
more than just writing a story. It was the type of subtle clue that you wanted to rehash a thousand times with your best friend. “Do you think he just meant, ‘We’ll find out tomorrow, right, Pasty?’ because we’re going to the meeting, or do you think there was something deeper behind it?” Hailey would listen to me go on and on and she wouldn’t even seem annoyed by it. If she were around to listen to me go on and on, which of course she wasn’t.

  After our lunch meeting, I was secretly hoping I would bump into Hailey in the halls so I could give her the cold shoulder and show her how it felt to be snubbed by your best friend. No such luck. It was like Hailey had disappeared from the halls of Cherry Valley Middle School. On the way home from school, I turned off my phone, then turned it back on again, sure that I must have missed a call or a text from Hailey and this was all just a big misunderstanding. Nada.

  I moped into the house, so frustrated that I even slammed the door behind me—really loudly. Usually Mom would be all over me for that, but she was so wrapped up in some tax dilemma that I just heard her groan. Great, I’m not even worthy of the attention it would take Mom to reprimand me.

  At least Allie seemed to realize that I was alive. She ran down the stairs, her hands full of fabric swatches.

  “Sam, I’m so glad you’re home,” Allie cooed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been checking out some samples in your room, and I think I’ve found the perfect ones.”

  “Um, hold on a minute, okay? I think I need to put on some sunglasses first,” I said snarkily.

  The colors might have been trendy, but they were hard for me to look at—a green so bright that a lime would have been jealous; metallic patterns that looked like an optical illusion; and a hideous fuchsia, orange, and turquoise combination that might have been inspired by a melted bowl of rainbow sherbet.

  “Here’s a little advice, Sam,” Allie said, obviously not happy with my reply. “When people are trying to help you, you should act appreciative and grateful, even if you’re not.”