Everyone's a Critic

by Rachel Wise

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Newspaper Staff Plays Musical Chairs. Everyone Loses!

  Chapter 2: Girls Saves Best Friend from Losing Crush!

  Chapter 3: Possessed Washing Machine Eats Secret Letters!

  Chapter 4: Girl Tells the Truth. Best Friend Spontaneously Combusts

  Chapter 5: Innocent Girl Discovers She’s a Big Fat Liar

  Chapter 6: Girl Chokes on Peanut Butter, Misses Great Date Opportunity

  Chapter 7: Soccer Player Asks Out Best Friend’s Crush By Accident

  Chapter 8: School Play Opens, Everyone Survives

  Chapter 9: Art Reported Has Nervous Breakdown at Theater

  Chapter 10: Advisor of School Newspaper Ruins Great Romance

  Chapter 11: Boy Asks Girl to Watch Movie at Unkown Location

  Chapter 12: Innocent Reporter Gets Ambushed

  Chapter 13: Unlikely Hero Saves the Day

  ‘Digital Disaster’ Excerpt

  About Rachel Wise

  Chapter 1

  NEWSPAPER STAFF PLAYS MUSICAL CHAIRS. EVERYONE LOSES!

  Have you ever wished you knew everything? My name is Samantha Martone and I’ll tell you a little secret. I’m supposed know everything, at least once a week.

  It’s a little funny that I write a column for my middle school newspaper, the Cherry Valley Voice, called Dear Know-It-All, where I’m supposed to act like I know everything, which I don’t.

  Here’s another secret: I can’t tell anyone I write the column—not my annoying older sister, Allie, who’s always getting into my business, and not even my BFF, Hailey Jones. But those are the rules, and if I want to be editor in chief of the paper next year, I’ve got to stick to them.

  Sometimes people write in about boy problems. What do I know about boys, anyway? They remain a constant mystery to me. My forever crush, Michael Lawrence, who I’ve known since kindergarten and who still calls me Pasty just because I decided to sample an itsy-bitsy taste of paste once when I was five, still hasn’t asked me out, at least I don’t think so. I haven’t asked him out either. At least I’m pretty sure. Hailey says that when I asked him over to work on a story, that was asking him out, but I’m not really sure. This year we’ve been closer than ever, since Mr. Trigg, our newspaper advisor, puts us together on big investigative stories all the time. Michael will call me or I’ll call him to get together for Voice stuff, but then the story we’re working on tends to complicate things and I end up getting confused. Are we just cowriters, or are we friends, or possibly more than that? It’s hard balancing two things I love: being a good investigative reporter and Michael Lawrence.

  Trigger, or Mr. Trigg to the general public, says that it’s a reporter’s job to keep an open mind. It’s our job to be good listeners and find out the real facts. It’s not our job to know everything. We present the facts and the reader makes up his or her mind. So if I don’t actually have to know anything, then I guess I’m doing a great job!

  This is what I have to put up with as far as not knowing how to read Michael Lawrence. Today I was late for the meeting we always have after the Voice comes out to review the issue. Usually I’m one of the first people there, and I tried to save Michael a seat. But I was having one of those days—you know those days when nothing goes right?

  First I slept past my alarm. Then Allie, who truly does think she knows everything, took back the green hoodie I was going to wear (after she was the one who gave it to me and told me how good it looked with my long reddish-brown hair!). Then, when I got to school, Hailey seemed annoyed. Our lockers are right near each other, and she was unloading her backpack. She gave me a quick glance and looked away. Hailey always looks great in a natural, sporty way. She’s forever tan because she spends so much time outside playing sports and running around. Honestly, she’d look cute in a garbage bag. Today she had on a turquoise-and-white-striped long-sleeved T-shirt that looked great with her blue eyes. I glanced down at the old stretched-out purple sweater I was wearing and sighed. It was the only thing I could find that was somewhat clean after Allie raided my room.

  “Um, hello?” I said.

  “Hi,” she said without looking at me, and went back to digging in the depths of her locker.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked, my heart beating a little faster. I hated when Hailey was mad at me, which she hardly ever was. If she was, she usually had a good reason.

  She finally looked at me. “It’s just that . . .” And then she stopped.

  “What?” I said.

  “Oh, Sammy, it’s just that I feel like you’re so wrapped up in other things—the Voice, Michael, your schoolwork—and we don’t have enough time to hang out. And I’m always the one e-mailing or calling you. I feel like I need to make an appointment just to talk to you lately.”

  “Sorry, Hails,” I said, my stomach feeling kind of grumbly. I didn’t have time to eat breakfast. “You got me. I have been swamped. But I’ll do better. Double promise.”

  “Okay. Or else I just might have to find a new bestie,” she said, her eyes twinkling. With that, she side-kicked me in the butt. That’s the great thing about Hailey. She doesn’t hold grudges. I side-kicked her back and we were on our way to first period. One problem solved. I made a note in my notebook: Call Hailey tonight. She was right. I needed to make more time for her, and I felt kind of bad about it.

  The rest of the day wasn’t too bad, but at the end of the day, while I was rushing to make the Voice meeting, I tripped on some invisible bump in the floor and my notebook, where I keep all my lists and notes for the paper, came flying out of my bag. Seriously, this day needed to end. I knelt down to pick it up and two sneakered feet stopped right in front of me.

  “Hey, Trippy! Need a hand?” Ah, another nickname—just what I needed. Michael Lawrence is always coming up with ridiculous new nicknames for me. “Pet names,” as Hailey calls them. Maybe they were, but they just felt annoying most of the time, especially right now. I looked up and there he was, flashing his baby blues at me, holding out a hand. He must have seen me trip, and it’s not the first time he’s witnessed my klutziness. My cheeks went hot. How come I always trip in front of him and not in front of Hailey?

  “That’s okay, Mikey.” I got up and dusted myself off. “They really should fix that!” I said, glaring at the spot on the floor where I’d tripped. Michael looked where I was looking.

  “Yeah, you really gotta watch out for those dangerous flat floors,” he said with a grin. “You okay?”

  “Just fine; let’s go. We’re late,” I said, trying to ignore the cute smirk on his face. We rushed off and burst into the newsroom. It was full and we had to stand in the back, which is why I’m usually always early.

  “It’s a tad loud in here. Listen up, fellow journos!” bellowed Mr. Trigg, clapping his hands. The room quieted down.

  “Okay, the Voice is doing great this year, but we don’t want to get stale. Writers must stay on their toes to keep it fresh. That’s why we’re all going to stretch our comfort zones for this issue and do a little switcheroo.”

  Now you could hear a pin drop. Michael nudged me and raised his eyebrows. I just shrugged.

  “So for the next issue, the news reporters are going to covers arts, the sportswriters are going to tackle the news, and the arts reporters are going to do sports. Clear?”

  Arts? Was he serious? I mean, I love plays and movies and books and all that. But what really gets me excited about writing for the paper is getting the unexpected story. We’ve covered things like the new school curriculum; our school’s possible Pay for Play program, where kids will have to pay to play after-school sports; and why the cafeteria food is, or was, so bad. In all these cases, we unearthed a story that not only surprised us and made people thin
k, but also usually created change for the better. No offense to the arts reporters, but writing a movie review isn’t the same. Then a headline popped into my head, as they often do: Newspaper Staff Plays Musical Chairs. Everyone Loses!

  The editor in chief, Susannah Johnson, raised her hand. “Mr. Trigg, I’m not sure this is going to work. The reporters have all worked hard to develop their beats. We could end up with one of the worst issues of all time!” Lots of people murmured to one another and nodded. Michael let out a “Here, here!” This time I nudged him.

  “Winston Churchill said during World War Two, ‘I never worry about action, only inaction!’” Mr. Trigg proclaimed. “Trust me, folks, this challenge will make you better reporters. Now let’s shuffle around the assignments; we don’t have much more time.”

  Mr. Trigg, who’s British and obsessed with World War II, always finds a reason to throw in a Winston Churchill quote. After he gave out a bunch of assignments, he called on me and Michael.

  “Okay, Lawrence and Martone, investigative reporters extraordinaire, this time you guys are going to ‘investigate’ the school play and review it. Since it won’t be performed for a couple of weeks, you’ll both take a break this week to think about your new roles on the arts beat.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted a break. A break meant that Michael and I would spend a lot less time together, which added more points to the “against” column of Mr. Trigg’s crazy idea.

  Ugh. I thought for a second. Well, maybe it would be a good thing. I would only have to write the Dear Know-It-All column for the upcoming issue instead of a news story as well, and that would mean I could spend more time with Hailey.

  Michael and I walked back to our lockers together. I kept stealing glances at him. He was wearing my favorite outfit of his, a blue-and-white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. I could see his strong tan arms. He looked at me, and I looked down fast.

  “So what do you think of the new arrangement, Paste?” he asked. “Maybe Trigger has really lost it this time.”

  “Well, I’m thinking of it as a little vacation,” I said, smiling, trying to be positive.

  “A vacation from me?” he said, suddenly going all puppy dog on me.

  My face fell. “No, of course not, I just meant—”

  “I’m just messing with you, Trippy,” he said, and gave my ponytail a tug. “See ya. Gotta get to practice!”

  I watched as he turned left and walked down the hallway to his locker. He ran into Frank, the quarterback who’s on the football team with him. They gave each other a high five and continued on.

  I realized I was just standing there, blatantly staring. I forced myself to hustle straight ahead to my locker. Boys. If I ever figure out Michael Lawrence, then maybe I will actually know it all.

  Chapter 2

  GIRL SAVES BEST FRIEND FROM LOSING CRUSH!

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Allie said, marching into her room with her head down, fingers flying on her phone, texting.

  “How can you even see me with your head buried in your phone like that?” I asked, trying to distract her since she just caught me raiding her closet for something cute to wear tomorrow. Allie’s the neat one, and actually bothers to fold all her clothes on her shelves and in the drawers. I have to remember to put back everything as it was. Allie will notice if just one tiny thing is different from how she left it. She’d probably make a great detective.

  “I’m going to get a padlock,” she said, finally looking up at me.

  “I thought you had play practice.” I said.

  “Oh, so this is what you do when I’m not around—steal my clothes? Trying to figure out what to wear to impress Mr. Crush? Get out,” she said, flinging herself on her bed. She went back to answering her text, paused for a second to check out her sparkly blue manicure, then continued poking at her phone.

  Since Allie started rehearsals for the school play, her inner diva, which was already sort of there, has been fully unleashed. She has one of the big supporting roles in West Side Story, but you would think she’d been nominated for an Academy Award. I’ll admit, the school play is a really big deal in my town. The middle school joins together with the high school to put on a huge production. The sets take almost a year to make. People from all over the town, not just family and friends, come to it. It’s an amazing opportunity for the middle school kids too. They rarely get leads, but they do get some of the parts and play a major role on the stage crew. Our drama club always wins lots of awards, regionally and even nationally. But this doesn’t mean Allie can walk around like she’s the next Selena Gomez. At least not at home.

  “Fine, I’ll go. I’m sorry,” I said, hanging my head and trying to look hopeless. Allie may be a diva, but she has a soft spot for helping me.

  “Oh, all right,” she said, looking up. “I’ll let you borrow one thing.”

  She bought it. Potential Thief Fakes Hurt Feelings and Scores! I felt a little bad, but she did take away the one shirt she actually said I could wear before I even got a chance to wear it.

  “The green shirt?”

  “You can wear it tomorrow, promise,” she said, and then she was back with her phone.

  I went into the den. I needed to call Hailey ASAP. I wanted her to get a call from me the moment she got home from soccer practice. I settled into the big leather armchair and dialed.

  “Hey, how was practice?” I asked when Hailey answered. My stomach started making noises. Suddenly, I realized how starving I was. I seem to need to eat all the time, and I get really grumpy when I’m hungry—another lovely fact about me that Michael knows, since he’s heard my stomach during Voice meetings. No wonder he hasn’t actually asked me out.

  “Whoa, a phone call from Samantha Martone! Where’s the fire?”

  “Okay, okay, I know I deserved that, but we’ve moved on, right?”

  “Right, right,” Hailey said.

  I brought the cordless with me into the kitchen and started rummaging for food. I found a bag of cashew nuts and started chomping away.

  “Are you eating?” Hailey asked. “Or rather, what are you eating?”

  “Cashew nuts.”

  “Why would you eat those when you have so many better choices?” she asked. Hailey is really picky. She probably eats about ten foods and wishes that high-fructose corn syrup was a food group. Her mom cooks superhealthy stuff all the time—like tofu veggie stir-fries and lentil burgers. She thinks our regular dinners, like chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, are the bomb. She considers pretzels junk food. I, on the other hand, need lots of different foods to keep my tummy happy.

  “I like cashews.”

  “Okay, so can I come over tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Actually, you could come over every day this week! I found out that I don’t have to write an article for the next paper, except—,” I said, and stopped myself.

  “Except what?” she asked.

  I took some time to chew a big handful of cashews and gather my thoughts.

  “Except (chew), um (chew, chew), that . . . once again, I won’t see Michael as much.” Wow, that was crazy close. I almost said “except the Dear Know-It-All column.” It’s not easy to keep one of the biggest things going on in your life from your best friend. You know how a wet paint sign makes you want to touch the paint? Well, sometimes, just because I can’t say the name of the column, it’s always on the tip of my tongue. “But I’ll get to see you more. You’ll be sick of me by the end of the week.”

  “Sick of you? Never. But I’m kind of getting sick of the sound of cashew nuts being chewed in my ear.”

  “Sorry,” I said over a big mouthful.

  “Okay, enjoy your snack. See you tomorrow!”

  I got off the phone with Hailey, went to my room, and logged in online. I scanned my favorite news Websites and our local town newspaper blog. I always keep up with the town news. Allie was still in her room, blasting music, and my mom was in her home office. It was a perfect time to look thr
ough the latest Dear Know-It-All letters that I had shoved into my pocket. I fished them out and read them. As usual, there were some goofy ones like “Dear Know-It-All, I can’t get to school on time” (Get up earlier?) or “Dear Know-It-All, my math class is too cold. What should I do?” (Bring a sweater?) I read the second-to-last one, hoping it wasn’t from the last living brain cell in the school:

  Dear Know-It-All,

  My friend recently asked me for some honest advice and I gave it to her. The problem is that she didn’t like the advice, and told me I was wrong, and now is mad at me. I’m okay with her disagreeing with me, but why did she ask me if she didn’t really want my opinion? Isn’t it okay to have different opinions?

  Signed,

  Too Honest

  Hmm. Is there such a thing as being too honest? I think of the times that Allie was certainly too honest with me, even though sometimes I actually ask for her opinion. It’s always annoying to hear something negative. She never misses an opportunity to tell me I need my hair trimmed or cooler shoes, or that I just need to look more like her. But we’re sisters, and if we’re talking honestly here, I never miss an opportunity to tell her when she looks like she’s trying too hard with too much makeup or supertight jeans.

  But friends are different. If Hailey asks me if I like her shirt or if she’s being too pushy or something, sometimes I tell her the truth and sometimes I don’t. It depends on whether I think I’ll really upset her or not. She was honest with me this morning and I guess I needed to hear what she told me, so that was okay. Were there really different rules for when to be honest? Or is it that sometimes you shouldn’t be as honest as other times?

  Maybe I need to be more truthful. I constantly cover up the Dear Know-It-All column, but that’s because I have to. I just manipulated Allie into letting me borrow a shirt. If I turn up the “honesty” volume, will people get upset? Boy, this is a tough one.

  I read another letter in a bright red leftover Christmas card envelope: