Late Edition

by Rachel Wise

  Dear Stressin’,

  I know how you feel. Eighth grade is no joke, and there’s so much to fit in—fun stuff and work. But stressing only makes things worse. My advice is to learn to put yourself first, in a nice way. Make sure you prioritize (schoolwork does come first at our age, unfortunately) and then you should save time to get the things done that matter for your health and well-being (see my list below). Extra things come last. Most important, you need to be flexible and always be reprioritizing.

  Also, you’d be surprised how understanding and flexible your friends and teachers can be if you take the time to talk to them about your workload or schedule before things get out of control. Don’t be shy. Ask for help and don’t be afraid to say no to friends’ plans and requests for your time. They will still like you. And don’t forget that your parents and even your siblings can be your biggest helpers if only you ask.

  If you start to feel stressed, follow this checklist:

  SLEEP: Did you get enough last night?

  EXERCISE: Did you get some today?

  SUNLIGHT: Did you spend time in the sun today?

  NUTRITION: Make sure you are eating properly (not too much junk!).

  WORK: Have you studied or done something productive today?

  FRIENDS: Did you have a little fun or at least have some contact with your buds?

  RELAXATION: Did you do something today that made you totally slow down and zone out?

  LAUGHTER: Try to laugh a little every day even if it’s only watching giggling baby videos on YouTube.

  All of these things contribute to your physical well-being, and you wouldn’t believe how important that is to your mental well-being. You can’t be happy or feel peaceful if you’re not eating well or sleeping well. Stress kills, so do everything you can to fight it off, and always remember, we are still kids. Nothing is life or death. If you start to feel it is, tell a trusted grown-up as soon as possible.

  Good luck, and try to have some fun today!

  Best wishes,

  Know-It-All

  Before I e-mailed it to Mr. Trigg, I showed my reply to my mom and she loved it, which made me feel really good. Of course, a lot of it was her advice, so maybe she was just happy I’d been paying attention!

  It wasn’t until Wednesday night that I began to really feel crunched. I had a math test on Thursday, plus the final draft of the sleep article. My mom was baking for Hailey’s bake sale, but I didn’t want to totally ditch her so I’d offered to do the dishes after. My mom said, “We’ll see,” but it was still my goal. I studied for my test and did a bunch of sample problems to test myself and then got a few other scraps of homework out of the way. Finally, it was time to tackle my final draft of “Sleep.”

  You won’t believe it, but the sleep article kept me up all night!

  First of all, I couldn’t find a sheet of notes I’d taken at Michael’s. I had to call him at nine o’clock, which is kind of late, and ask him if he could either scan the notes on his printer and e-mail them to me, or if he could read them over the phone. I felt guilty asking for his help again on something that was officially my project, and I hated to take time away from his work.

  “What was it you said about not being a Last-Minute Lucy the other day?” he teased.

  I gulped. “Um. Sorry about that. I guess we all have our moments.”

  “Just keeping you honest, Martone.” He chuckled. He sounded like his old self.

  “I haven’t seen you this week,” I said. I hoped it didn’t sound clingy, so I quickly added, “I’m sure you’ve been super busy, and I’m glad you’re getting your work done.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I’ve been trying to get stuff done during the day, like at lunchtime, in the library. Also, I made the final cuts for the basketball team. I’ve been there every day after school. Actually . . . I . . . I don’t want to brag, but I’m the captain this year, so that’s kind of time-consuming.”

  “Michael! Congratulations! I can’t believe that’s not the first thing you told me! You jerk!”

  He laughed. “Seriously? Like, ‘Hi, Pasty. They made me captain of varsity basketball this year?’ ”

  “Yes, just like that! That’s what friends are for—to celebrate the good times with you!”

  “Oh, I thought friends were for scanning things when you’ve left them till the last minute!” he teased.

  “That too!” I said, laughing. “Thanks. And that’s great news. I’m happy for you.”

  “Me too. I just hope I can juggle it all because . . . I just want to make sure we still have time together. I mean, you know . . . like, writing together and stuff,” he finished awkwardly.

  I couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across my face. I was sure he could hear it in my voice, but I didn’t mind. “Yeah. Me too. Well, thanks for your help with the article. I’ll cc you when I send it to Trigger later.”

  “Hopefully not much later!” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  I was still grinning when we hung up, and shortly thereafter came his e-mail with the sleep notes scanned into it. It said, “Good luck, Pasty!” and he signed it, “Xo, Michael”!!!! I couldn’t believe it! Impulsively, I typed back, “Thanks! Xo, S” and hit send before I could chicken out. I pictured him getting it and smiling too.

  But after that, my night took a turn for the worse. I was having a hard time getting a thesis going for the article, and I learned how much I’d come to rely on bouncing things off Michael when we were writing together. I tried a couple of lead sentences and noodled around with pulling out a different part for the sidebar, but I kept getting stuck. As the minutes ticked by, I found myself compulsively checking the red digital numbers and thinking about my old friend Diet Coke.

  When my mom came in to check on me at ten thirty, she was dismayed. “Samantha, you should have been asleep by now. What about the new sleep regime?”

  I shook my head sadly. “Ironic, isn’t it? Up all night working on the sleep article.”

  “Oh, Sammy. I feel terrible, like I pushed you into doing it. I’m so sorry. You were trying to give yourself some breathing room in your schedule, and I was the one who encouraged you to just finish it.” She went to sit on my bed, then remembered my sleep rules and stood back up.

  I laughed. “It’s okay. You can sit on the bed. I just can’t!”

  She sat down. “Is it too late to back out now?”

  I nodded. “But you know what? It’s okay. I know the tricks now to getting back into a good sleep routine. I know what it takes. And I don’t feel alone, you know? I feel like you’re involved, Michael cares, Mr. Trigg is in this with me. It’s a good feeling. Sometimes when you feel like you’re swamped and all alone, that’s what makes it worse.”

  She bit her lip and looked at me sympathetically. “I’ll stay up until you finish it.”

  “Mom, that’s crazy! Why waste a good night’s sleep of your own on this?”

  “So you know you’re not in it alone. I’m going to get my book, and then I’ll come hang out with you. Be right back.” In a flash, she was gone.

  A few minutes later there was a tap on my door, and my mom reappeared with a small tray. The tray had two freshly baked gooey chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk on it. She set it down on my desk and then settled back against my bed pillows to read. I ate the cookies and, after a minute, felt reenergized. I tried a new thesis for the article, one that would mean cutting out a whole section and leaving the article quite a bit shorter, but it was much better. I had gotten a little bogged down with the facts and they were holding me back. Now things were flowing. Within the hour, I was finished and spell-checking the article.

  My mom was starting to yawn about every other minute, so I think my timing was good. At eleven thirty I sent it to Mr. Trigg and Michael (no “xo” this time!), and when I turned to tell my mom, she was asleep.

  “Mom?” I whispered. Her eyes snapped open.

  “Just resting!” she said, fake perky.

  “I’
m done,” I said.

  “Good for you!” She sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “By the way, meat is done; people are finished,” she scolded.

  I smiled. “I’m finished. I think it was the cookies that helped.”

  “Good,” she said. “The rest are boxed up in the kitchen to bring to school, so if you want any more you’re going to have to pay Hailey for them.” She stood up and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “Off to bed now!”

  “Thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything. I love you.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart. Good night.”

  Even though it was late, I still followed all the good sleep hygiene stuff that I could. It couldn’t hurt, right? I drifted off quickly (lots of practice lately) and hoped the article would be a hit.

  “We made two thousand doll-ars! We made two thousand doll-ars!” Hailey was dancing around the cafeteria on Friday at lunch with a huge smile on her face.

  “Hailey, that’s awesome!” I cried, and I threw my arms around her and hugged her.

  “Thanks! And thanks for your help and support!” she added. “Your cookies were great. I can’t believe you had time to make so many!”

  “Well . . .” I said, thinking of my mom slaving away in the kitchen. “It helps to have a nice mom.”

  “I’ll thank her later when I come over for you to tutor me in language arts.”

  “Hailey!” I protested.

  “Kidding!” She laughed. “But let’s do something fun tonight, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, look! The paper!” Mr. Trigg was in the doorway of the cafeteria, handing out the fresh issues of the Cherry Valley Voice. This is always my favorite part of the journalism process: watching people read my work.

  Hailey set off to get a copy.

  “Bring me one!” I called after her, and she waved in acknowledgment.

  Suddenly a voice behind me said, “How’s it going, Sleepy?”

  I jumped a little but then smiled. “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on people, Captain!” I said, turning around to see him.

  Michael blushed. “Hey, cut that out!”

  “Oooh, finally! A nickname that bugs you! This is my lucky day!”

  All around me kids were starting to read the paper and the chatter was beginning. Hailey returned.

  “Yo,” she said to Michael.

  “Yo,” he said back.

  “Anything good this issue?” I asked Hailey.

  “Well, there’s a front-page article by Sam Martone, with additional reporting by Michael Lawrence. But I’m reading Dear Know-It-All first, as usual!” said Hailey.

  “A loyal customer,” said Michael. I didn’t dare look at him for fear he was implying she was loyal to me. I also didn’t dare ask her if Know-It-All was better this week, because I didn’t trust my voice not to betray me in some way. “Thanks for the credit. You didn’t need to do that, you know.”

  I shrugged. “You earned it.”

  Suddenly Molly appeared. “Hailey! Know-It-All is awesome this week! Did you read it yet?”

  “Reading it!” murmured Hailey.

  Molly turned to me and said, “Sam, I loved your article. And, oh my gosh, I totally worship your sister! She is so awesome! She’s telling me today where she got her boots so I can get some just like them!”

  “Great!” I said. “Hailey will be so psyched to hear that news.” Molly looked at me in confusion, and I had a little giggle.

  Hailey snapped her paper shut. “I read it. What a relief!”

  I had to laugh. “Why?”

  “Know-It-All is back to his usual self. This was a great one. I thought he’d lost it, but he’s back!”

  “Maybe he got a good night’s sleep,” said Michael, nudging me with his elbow.

  OMG, does Michael know?

  I gulped and said, “Well, Know-It-All hasn’t read my sleep article yet, so how could he have? Unless he worked on the sleep article with me?” It never hurts to cast suspicion elsewhere in these situations.

  Michael laughed. “I wonder if he or she is so tired, he or she falls asleep in conference rooms?”

  Okay, he totally knows! What to say? What to say? Act cool, Martone . . .

  “Happens all the time,” I said. “You’d be surprised, Captain.”

  Journalist Has the Last Word. Rejoices in Victory!

  Extra! Extra!

  Want the scoop on what Samantha is up to next?

  Here’s a sneak peek of the twelfth book in the Dear Know-It-All series:

  Stop the Presses!

  SPRING BREAK FAILS TO GARNER EXCITEMENT AT MARTONE HOUSEHOLD

  Have you ever gotten up close and personal with a piece of paper? Like when you’re writing a report for school, do you stop for a moment and hold the page up to the light, examining it in all its glorious papery beauty? Sometimes the paper shines so much that the words look like they’re vibrating on the page. Sometimes it’s so thin that you can almost see right through it and it’s almost like a magic trick that there are words on the page.

  But I’ve always loved to write—and read—but it wasn’t until my date—er, field trip—to see our newspaper’s print run with Michael Lawrence that I began to fully appreciate the unique beauty of the printed page. We took a tour of Flyprint, the company that prints the Cherry Valley Voice, and Mr. Dunleavy, our sales rep, showed us the enormous rolls of paper, the printing plates, and the presses in action. It was, like, the coolest thing ever. I mean, I love the rush of writing a story for the paper on a deadline but actually seeing the story being printed? Totally cool.

  Since the trip, though, I’ve been looking around and noticing that not a lot of my friends seem to feel the same way I do about the whole paper experience. It seems like everyone’s always wrapped up in some electronic device. Take my sister, Allie, for instance. Sometimes I’ll be sitting in my room when I hear my phone chime and see that there’s a text message from her. She is texting me from her bedroom, which is right next to my bedroom. Would it really be so difficult for her to walk across the hall and talk to me in person?

  Allie isn’t alone, though. I was reading a study (and I admit, I was reading it on my computer), and it said that 63 percent of teenagers use text messages to communicate with their friends every day. Meanwhile, only 35 percent said that they talk face-to-face with their friends outside of school on a daily basis.

  You want to know what’s even more tragic? I haven’t heard from Michael Lawrence in five whole days. Not a face-to-face conversation, not a phone call, not even a “Hey, what’s up, Pasty?” text. It’s reaching crisis level, for sure.

  I was kind of in a grouchy mood, since on top of my not seeing Michael, my mom suggested that Allie and I clean out our bedrooms. Allie and I don’t have much in common except we both are kind of pack rats. I like to keep books, newspapers, and magazines. Allie likes to keep every bit of clothing she’s ever worn. I’m not a happy camper. I like my room the way it is and I hate change. So you can see the problem.

  I heard my mom rustling around in her room, so I decided to go and see what she was doing and maybe torture her a little by whining about how bored I was. But instead of finding her buried in a pile of receipts and bank statements, I caught her looking in a furniture catalog.

  “What are you doing, Mom?” I asked.

  “Oh, Sam, I’m glad you’re here,” Mom said. “I want to talk to you about the new bedroom project you and Allie have been working on. I know that cleaning out your rooms hasn’t been fun for you two. So here’s my proposal. I’m not going to be able to dig out from the pile of papers I’ve been buried under for a while. But once this project is finished, I’ll have a lot more free time on my hands. And that’s where these come in. . . .”

  Mom opened up her night table, pulled out a stack of magazines, and spread them out on the bed. They were all glossy and printed on really beautiful paper (sorry, I just can’t let it go)—magazines like Elle Decor, House Beautiful, and Home and Design.

 
; “Are you giving me an assignment?” I asked. “Write an article about the horrors of cleaning your room to pitch to one of these magazines?”

  “No, but that’s not a bad idea, if you’re up for it,” Mom said. “I am giving you a different kind of assignment. It’s a redesign partnership. These magazines are just a start. You and Allie should use them as a springboard to build a plan for redesigning your rooms. You know, cut out pictures of furniture you like, collect swatches of colors and patterns that we could use, stuff like that. When you’ve got a good idea of what you want, we’ll work together after school and on the weekends to make it come to life.”

  “A new bedroom?” I cried. “Thanks, Mom. That would be awesome.” I love my room, but it’s probably time to get rid of the curtains that have little bows on them. I started thinking about bedrooms I’ve seen on TV or in the movies that were really cool and looked like you’d want your friends to hang out there with you. “So,” I said, “do you think maybe in the next few months we could do this?”

  Mom gave me a hug and kissed the top of my head.

  “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry you’ve been at the mercy of my schedule,” she said. “I really am. I promise it will be within the next month. First things first: Clean them out so we have a fresh space to work with. Maybe you and Allie can spend some time together this weekend working on this project. You know, some big-sister-little-sister bonding?”

  Hmm. I had to spend “quality time” with Allie? But I’d get a new bedroom in return. In the end I supposed it would be worth it.

  RACHEL WISE loves to give advice. When she’s not editing or writing children’s books, which she does full time at a publisher in New York, she’s reading advice columns in newspapers, magazines, and blogs, and is always sure her advice would be better! Her dream is to someday have her own talk show, where she could share her wisdom with millions of people at once; but for now she’s happy to dole out advice in small portions in Dear Know-It-All books.

  LOOK FOR MORE BOOKS ABOUT