by Rachel Wise
Hailey scoffed. “My mom said that too, but it really bugs me. Also because I do things and then she gets credit for them, like the way I drew on my sneakers, or how I put the air freshener in my gym locker, stuff like that. Then all the kids say, ‘Oh, Molly! That’s so cute!’ or, ‘Oh, Molly, you’re so smart!’ when it was me all along! Plus I am an individual. I don’t like to think there’s another one of me walking around, you know?”
“Yeah. Actually, I can really see how annoying it is.” I tried to think of a solution. “Have you ever confronted her about it?” I asked.
“As if!” huffed Hailey. “Like, ‘Hi, I’m so great and I know you copy me, so stop!’ Can you picture that? I’d get a reputation as the vainest person at school!”
“Well, Molly’s only in the seventh grade, so I doubt it would go much further than her class . . . ,” I joked.
“Don’t joke. It’s not funny,” ordered Hailey.
“Sorry.”
“Maybe make yourself unlikable? Or do stuff that’s so out there it will be obvious to everyone that she’s copying you and maybe other people will call her out on it and she’ll get embarrassed and stop?” I joked.
“Like what?” said Hailey in all seriousness.
“Hailey, I was kidding,” I said.
“Seriously, it just might work. I’ll brainstorm,” said Hailey. She reached out to give me a sideways squeeze. “You always give the best advice!” she said, cheerful now. “I’m telling you, they picked the wrong person to write those Dear Know-It-All answers, whoever they are!”
I gulped and forced a smile onto my face. “Yeah!” I agreed heartily.
Best Friend Lies Continuously to Best Friend; Ulcers Inevitable.
Chapter 3
SISTERS GET LATE-NIGHT GIGGLES!
Hailey and I slumped around the house, ate some junk food, and got her homework done; then I ate a huge dinner, trying to keep my energy up. I finished my homework as quickly as possible and took a hot shower to stay awake for my extracurricular newspaper and science fair work.
I got into my pj’s, brushed my teeth, grabbed my laptop, and got under the covers. I felt a little sick from how much I’d eaten—like I was overly full, but I ignored it and tried to get comfortable. My room was kind of hot, but I didn’t want to get out of bed to go turn down the thermostat so I just dealt with it. I spent about an hour Googling possible science fair topics and hit on the topic of newspaper printing. There’s some interesting stuff about inks and offset rollers and digital files, and I knew I could get a trip to the printers out of it with Mr. Trigg, so I could have some firsthand photos or flyers or whatever. It could be good. I’d just have to figure out when to fit it in.
At ten o’clock my mom called up the stairs, “Sammy! I’m coming up to say good night soon! If you’re not ready for bed, make sure you get ready now because it’s lights-out in ten minutes!”
“Okay!” I called back. I was ready for bed, but now I wasn’t tired at all and I was just getting cracking on all this research. There was no way I could stop at this point. If she made me turn out my light, I could still Google stuff in the dark after she left, so I knew I’d better look at the new Dear Know-It-All letters while I still had my light.
I reached over to the folder behind my desk where I keep all my DKIA correspondence; I’d stowed today’s new letters there earlier. There were only two, and I pulled them out and glanced at them; one was actually a postcard from Disney World, which was kind of funny. Mr. Trigg had already slit open the other letter and had read them both; he does that to protect me because I had a kook one time sending me hate mail.
The postcard said:
Dear Know-It-All,
I learn so much from real life. Why do I have to go to school? Seriously, what’s wrong with just traveling the world and learning that way?
From,
The Wanderer
I smiled. It was a cute question, and I thought for a minute about whether it would make a good column. One rule of thumb I use in picking the letters is that if my answer will come out sounding like a parent, which I do not want, then I don’t use that letter. I want to sound like a sympathetic friend, or maybe a smart older sister or brother, not someone who’s lecturing the readers and sounding like a parent. But this one would be kind of like that.
I sighed and put it aside.
The second one was on nice pale green stationery with a little floral design on the back of the envelope and at the top of the sheet of paper when I took it out. It said:
Dear Know-It-All,
I think eighth grade is a lot harder than seventh. I can’t deal with all the homework, extracurriculars, and projects. I’m not happy. I never have time to hang out with my friends anymore, plus I feel soooo stressed out all the time. What should I do?
Please help!
(signed)
Stressin’ in the Valley
Wow. I could totally relate to this one. I sat back to think about what I would say in response and knew I could come up with something that didn’t sound too lecture-y or adultish.
There was a knock on the door, and I wedged my computer between my sheets and jolted up in my bed to fumble the mail back into the folder in case it was Allie, the nosiest sister ever. But it was just my mom.
“Sam?”
Shoving the folder back behind the desk, I called, “Come in!”
My mom opened the door with a smile on her face. “Lots of fumbling around in here. Everything okay?” she asked, looking around the room suspiciously.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Yes. Just my . . .” and I mimed writing and mouthed, “Dear Know-It-All.” My mom nodded and winked in understanding. She was in on Dear Know-It-All—the one person besides Mr. Trigg whom I could discuss it with—and it was often a relief to have her as a sounding board.
“Sleepy?” asked my mom, sitting down on the edge of my bed, closing my computer, and transferring it to the floor under my bedside table. She smoothed my hair back from my face.
I closed my eyes, then snapped them back open. “No,” I said.
She laughed a little. “You just reminded me of yourself when you were a toddler. You went through this period where I could not get you to go down for the night. It was a nightmare! Then you’d be exhausted when I woke you up for day care the next morning, and you’d cry and cry.”
“That’s what I’ve been feeling like all week!”
She shook her head. “You poor thing.”
“I just lie here and stare at the clock and count the hours all night long, all the while I’m getting more and more upset because I can’t fall asleep! But then the next day I’m exhausted, and all I can think about is going back to bed. But then it happens all over again!” I punched my pillow hard and flopped it over.
My mom looked around my room. “Well, I see a can of soda there—which, by the way, no food or drinks outside the kitchen, please—is not helpful. What time did you drink that?”
“After school,” I admitted.
“I’d avoid caffeine for a few days and see what happens. I’m pretty sensitive to it, and you might be too.”
“Okay,” I agreed, but it was too late for tonight.
“Is everything else going okay?” asked my mom, her head cocked sympathetically.
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Just . . . it’s a lot.”
She looked at me in concern. “The schoolwork? The extracurriculars? The social life?”
“All of it,” I admitted.
My mom sighed. “I love to see you having such a rich and busy life. You’re so much more organized and motivated than I was at your age. But maybe I’ve pushed you too hard.”
“No, it’s not that, and you don’t push me. I like it all, but it’s just hard to fit everything in and . . . do it well,” I added. Then I gulped and admitted, “Like, I got a C on the earthonomics test I got back today.”
“Oh, Sammy! That’s too bad. Did you study for it?”
I shrugged. “Kind of. I mean, I’m sure
if I’d had more time I could have done better, but it was hard. And now I have to do an extra-credit project to make up the grade, and I just don’t know when I’ll find the time!”
“Maybe you should just accept the C on this test and resolve to get an A on the next one?” suggested my mom. “I don’t want to see your world turning upside down over just one grade.”
“No. Accepting the C seems kind of weak,” I said.
My mom thought for a second and then she said, “Listen, sweetheart, if you need to take a break from the paper, or your column, or whatever, I’m sure Mr. Trigg would understand. I’d be happy to speak with him.”
But then I’d never see Michael! “No. It’s okay,” I said. “Let me keep going for a while. I’ll tell you if it is really too much.”
“Pinkie promise?” asked my mom, crooking her little finger and holding it out to me. I crooked mine and we linked pinkies and wiggled them around. I giggled.
“Pinkie promise,” I said.
“Okay then, lights out. And no more computer! I put your laptop under your bedside table, and I expect it to stay there. No exceptions!”
“Fine,” I huffed.
She kissed me good night, pulled my covers up to my chin, turned out the light, and went to close the door. Just before she did, though, she said, “Maybe you could do the science project with a partner?”
As much as I wasn’t really in the mood to accept her advice, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Okay. I’ll see. Maybe.”
She blew me a kiss and left, while I settled in for what was sure to be a long night of ceiling staring.
About an hour later, I was so frustrated, my heart was racing. I couldn’t sleep, and my anger at this fact was making me even more awake. I decided to get up and watch some TV.
Downstairs, I snuggled onto the sofa in the den and found a funny movie to watch. Wrapped in a cozy blanket and engrossed in the movie, I lost track of time. What felt like minutes later, the movie was ending, and suddenly Allie was at my side.
“Sam!” she whispered sharply. “What are you doing up?”
I nearly shrieked in surprise, I was so engrossed in the movie. “Allie!” I cried.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” she demanded in a low voice.
“I couldn’t sleep!” I protested. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Same,” Allie huffed. “Listen, why don’t you try some hot milk with me? Watching teen flicks at two a.m. isn’t exactly good for your biorhythms.”
“Hot milk sounds gross.”
Allie sighed, suddenly sympathetic, though I’ll never know why. (Scientist Cracks Code to Teen Mood Swings, Wins Nobel Prize!) “I’ll make some for you. It’s supposed to really work.”
We crept up to the kitchen, and Allie quietly filled a small saucepan with milk and heated it gently on the stove. Then she filled a mug and gave it to me with a small napkin. Sometimes she can be really nice. I’m not sure why.
“Thanks,” I said, and I took a tentative sip with Allie watching.
“Well?”
“Well, what? Like is it good, or am I about to fall asleep right here at the table?”
Allie giggled. “Both.”
I took another sip and tipped my head to the side to think. “It’s not good, but it’s not awful. It’s kind of just milky and warm.”
“That’s because it’s warm milk!” Allie laughed. “Are you tired yet?”
I thought again. “Maybe. Let me drink some more and I’ll see.” For some reason, this was really funny to us and we got laughing quietly but really hard. The quieter we tried to be, the funnier it was until we were in hysterics.
I took the last slurp of the milk and stood up to put the mug in the sink. “Well, that was the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” I said to Allie, my eyes still watering from my tears of laughter.
“We’ll have to do it again sometime,” said Allie, and because we were in that dumb state of mind, we got laughing again.
Sisters Get Late-Night Giggles!
By the time I got into my bed, I really was spent, and I conked right out, still smiling, I’m sure.
And though it wasn’t a great night’s sleep, even twelve hours wouldn’t have helped; nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I got to school the next morning.
Chapter 4
WRITER REJOICES AS CRUSH AND PAL BATTLE FOR HER TIME!
As I was opening my locker, I felt a tap on the shoulder. I stood and turned to see who it was. It took a second to register that it was Hailey because she had dyed her short, spiky blond hair bright, neon pink!
“Hailey!” I gasped. I could not believe my eyes.
“It’s just temporary!” she protested quickly. “Does it look just awful? I think I made a huge mistake!”
“Um,” I said.
Teen’s Tongue Tied in Knots as Grooming Tragedy Unfolds!
“Oh gosh. I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I was so mad about Molly Grant copying me all the time that I decided I’d do something so obvious that if she copied me, everyone would know and would call her out on it. But in trying to punish her, I think I punished myself!” she wailed quietly.
“Okay. First of all, I’m glad it’s temporary. Second of all, what did your parents say?” Hailey’s mom and dad are pretty mellow, but her mom is kind of a hippie and she doesn’t like it when we use cosmetics or other chemicals on ourselves.
Hailey rolled her eyes. “Well, my mom actually thought it looked cool—she said it reminded her of herself in her ‘punk rock phase’ back in the eighties, a million years ago. But then she made me get the package so she could Google the ingredients; I’m sure I’ll get an earful after school today. And my dad just laughed and rolled his eyes. My brothers tortured me, of course, calling me cotton candy. . . .”
I giggled, and Hailey smiled.
“But I think we could have predicted something like that would happen anyway. They’d torture me even if I won the Miss America Pageant.”
Behind Hailey’s back, everyone who walked past us did a double take at the sight of her hair, and Jeff Perry called out, “Hey, Pinkie!” then snapped a photo when Hailey turned.
“I think you’re going to have to brace yourself for the reactions,” I said.
Hailey nodded miserably. “I know. I’m dreading getting through the day.”
“Well, it’s not a great look, but . . . it was brave of you, anyway!” I was trying to look on the bright side.
“Hey, want to have a sleepover on Friday night?” asked Hailey.
“Sure!” I said. We hadn’t planned anything fun in a while.
“Good. I just need something to take my mind off this hair.”
Suddenly, Molly Grant appeared at our side. “Hailey! Wow! Your hair looks amazing!” she gasped in awe. “I love it! Where did you have it done?” She was looking all around Hailey’s head, trying to see every angle.
“In my bathroom!” snapped Hailey. She looked at me in frustration, like, See what I have to live with? Maybe it was a little annoying, I admit, but it wasn’t like Molly was being mean or anything.
“Wow, Hailey. It looks so pretty. You look like a rock star or something. Pink is totally your color. You’re so brave to take this step!”
“Well, I’m taking another step right now, and it’s to language arts class, so . . . on your way!” Hailey gestured Molly along with a shooing motion.
Molly didn’t even seem offended. “Okay, enjoy your great new look! Bye, Sam! Bye for now, Hailey!”
“Bye for always,” muttered Hailey.
“Hailey,” I chided her. “I know she’s a little perky and maybe bold, but she clearly likes you and means well and thinks you’re supercool.”
Hailey rolled her eyes and scoffed. “She’s a pill. But at least I finally hit on something she won’t copy.”
At lunch, Michael Lawrence was on line with me at the Organic Option table, so he joined me and Hailey for lunch (woo-hoo!). We talked a little about our article, and I admitted I hadn’t had a
chance to research teen sleep problems yet.
“She was very busy helping me with my homework,” said Hailey, batting her eyes.
“Okay, Pinkalicious, but she needs some time to herself today so she can get going on this thing. Neither of us likes waiting until the bitter end and turning in subpar work!” joked Michael as he wagged his finger at Hailey.
Writer Rejoices as Crush and Pal Battle for Her Time!
I put my hands in the air. “I’ll do it today. I promise! Right after I do my stupid proposal for my extra-credit science project.” I sighed.
“Oh! You too?” said Michael, buttering a slice of bread.
I nodded. “Why, you have to do it?” I was surprised Michael would ever get a bad grade on anything. He’s so smart and he has a photographic memory.
Michael nodded. “I got a D.”
“D?” I was stunned. “Did you even show up?”
Michael smiled wryly. “I didn’t know we had a test that day. I thought Dr. Shenberg was joking when he said to put our books away and take out a pencil. I don’t know how I missed it; I thought it was the following day.”
“That happens to me all the time,” offered Hailey, and we all laughed.
The wheels in my head started spinning. “Um . . . want to see if we could do the extra-credit project together?” I asked, thinking of my planned field trip to the printer. It would be much more fun with Michael along.
I was thrilled to see his eyes light up. “Yeah! That would be great! What are you thinking of doing it on?”
I explained my plan and my topic and the little bit of research I’d already done and how I thought we could take a field trip with Mr. Trigg and get some cool samples of the paper in different stages of printing.
“I love it. You’re a genius, Pasty!”
I rolled my eyes at the nickname, but inside I was happy at the compliment.