Read All About It!

by Rachel Wise

  GIRL GENIUS STRIKES AGAIN

  I was up early the next day, sifting through my usual news haunts and checking my e-mail. There was one from Mr. Trigg, without anything in the subject line.

  I clicked on it and read it. It said, “Samantha, hello. How is the new column coming along? I’d like to see a draft by Tuesday. Mr. T.”

  I gulped. A draft? I hadn’t even decided for sure on the question yet and here it was, Friday! I slid out the packet of letters from behind my desk, where it was hiding. There were seven in total because I’d picked up four more yesterday.

  Some were a little too heavy to deal with (like the bad home-life guy), especially for the first column of the year. Some were dumb (a girl who can’t remember her locker code). The one that kept drawing me back was the one from the guy who had a crush on his best friend’s crush. I knew it would be a superpopular topic, and I wanted to lead the year with something hot. But what advice would I give? I couldn’t even figure out my own crush!

  I clicked back on Mr. Trigg’s e-mail and hit reply. “Okay,” I typed. That was all. I pressed send and bit my lip. As a total spazz in the romance department, I was really unqualified to answer this question. But whom could I ask for advice?

  There was a knock on the door. “Mom told me to make sure you’re up!”

  Bingo!

  I quickly closed my computer and stashed my envelope of letters, then I bounced over to the door and flung it open. Allie looked surprised to see me all bright-eyed so early in the morning. She had obviously assumed I was still asleep.

  “Allie,” I said seriously. “I have a question for you. It’s . . . uh . . . it’s part of something . . . something . . . we’re working on in the new curriculum!” Eureka! Girl Genius Strikes Again, I thought. I smiled my most winning smile.

  Allie looked at me suspiciously and folded her arms. “Okay . . .”

  “What should someone do when he has a crush on the same girl his best friend likes?” I asked.

  Allie’s eyebrows knit together. “This is for school?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “It’s . . . like a role-playing thing in our humanities class.”

  “Okay. Well, I know someone that that happened to . . .”

  I knew I’d asked the right person! “And?”

  “Well, there’s really no right or wrong way to proceed in this situation,” said Allie.

  Wait, what? “But I need a concrete answer, fact based, you know? I have to, like, pick a side. Go for it or back off, buddy. Which one is it?”

  Allie shrugged. “It’s not that easy. You have to really look at all the factors. How important is the friendship? Is the crush really worth it?” Just then her phone buzzed and she answered.

  Ugh! “Hello? We are talking here!” I said, annoyed.

  Allie pressed the phone to the side of her head and put her finger in her other ear to block me out. Then she turned away to walk to her room.

  I found myself standing alone in the hall in my pj’s.

  Great. Nothing like being the least important person in someone’s life.

  I was dissatisfied with Allie’s answer but I didn’t have a better one myself. Maybe I should just pick a different question, I thought as I headed off to the shower.

  TGIF! After my last class, I went to the newspaper office to check my mailbox (desperate to find a new letter that would be positively awesome for my column) before I left the building to meet Hailey down at the soccer field. I was sleeping over at her house tonight and was really looking forward to it. I felt like I hadn’t seen her for days. I’d been so engrossed in reporting the curriculum article, typing up the soccer tryouts article, and trying to stay on top of my confusing new homework. Plus, tracking cutie Michael Lawrence whenever I had the chance!

  And speak of the devil! I pushed open the office door and instantly heard Michael’s laughter. Yay! I had worn a new top today that Mom bought me that even Allie said looked nice. I was beginning to think Michael would never get to see me in it!

  Inside I saw him and Jeff Perry leaning over the art director’s large computer monitor. They looked up.

  “Sammy! C’mere! You’ve gotta see this!” said Jeff, laughing and waving me over.

  They were looking at photos Jeff had taken at the PTA meeting.

  “Here. Check out Pfeiff,” he said.

  The picture opened up huge on the screen and it was a picture of Mr. Pfeiffer sitting quietly on the stage. Unfortunately, his hand was up at a weird angle and it looked exactly like he was picking his nose.

  “Isn’t that killer?” said Michael.

  Jeff tried to look modest. “‘Pfeiffer Picks a New Curriculum’?” he said with a shrug and a smile.

  Mr. Trigg walked in and called out a greeting. “Happy weekend and all that!” he said.

  Jeff and Michael looked at each other. “Show him,” said Michael.

  “Show me what, old chaps?” Mr. Trigg crossed the room and came to stand behind the monitor. “Oh. That is rather unfortunate,” he said.

  “There are a few other good ones,” said Jeff proudly. He scrolled through three more of Mr. Pfeiffer, one where he looked like he was going to throw up, one where Jeff had caught him with his eyes mid-blink so he looked like he was falling asleep in his chair, and one that was just kind of an ugly, unflattering shot.

  “Well, you certainly managed to catch Mr. Pfeiffer at some awkward moments. You have quite the quick shutter speed, Jeff. Let’s see some of the good ones, though.”

  Jeff looked up at him, his hand still on the mouse. “These are the good ones.”

  Mr. Trigg shook his head. “No, I mean the ones that we’ll be choosing from to run with the article.”

  “That’s what these are. I’ve narrowed it down. ‘Pfeiffer Asleep at the Switch,’ ‘Pfeiffer Picks a Choice New Curriculum,’ and ‘Pfeiffer Sick of the Complaints.’ Those are the captions.”

  Mr. Trigg was quiet for an extralong minute and we all got serious because we realized he was not happy. “Jeff, gang, stop for a moment. Think about what we are here for.” He looked at the three of us carefully, eye to eye. Jeff shifted uncomfortably. After a long pause, Mr. Trigg continued. “Are we here to report the news? Or are we here to make people look like fools?” He looked around at us again. “I think you know the answer to that. We are not a tabloid, going for the quick laugh or the hurtful moment, are we?”

  I shook my head no, and finally, so did Jeff and Michael.

  “Mr. Pfeiffer may be a public figure, of sorts, and so technically he is fair game. But to make a mockery of him takes away from the hard reporting about the facts that I know Michael and Samantha are doing. We must treat our subjects respectfully and be mindful of our own credibility. These photos do tell a story of sorts, but they are not the story we are reporting. They are a sideshow. Do you all understand the difference?”

  We nodded. I think Jeff felt bad. Not that he felt sorry for Mr. Pfeiffer but more that he was embarrassed that Mr. Trigg might think he was doing a bad job as photo editor. I looked at Michael. I wasn’t sure he felt bad.

  Mr. Trigg looked around again. “Would you like a bad photo of you out there for all the world to see? Maybe on Buddybook?”

  I looked at Michael and saw that Mr. Trigg had just driven his point home. Michael felt bad now too, I could tell. I wondered if Mr. Trigg had seen Jeff’s page when the football pictures were up. I wondered if he’d heard about Jeff’s almost-fight with Andy Ryan.

  Jeff clicked on the thumbnails of the bad photos of Mr. Pfeiffer and quietly dragged them into the computer’s garbage can.

  “Well done,” said Mr. Trigg. Then he continued in an upbeat voice. “Now. Any fun weekend plans? I, for one, am off to hear a talk on Winston Churchill by a visiting professor from Oxford! Can’t wait!”

  I smiled. Good old Trigger. “Have fun!” I said.

  Mr. Trigg left with a “Cheerio!” and Michael looked at his watch and announced it was time for football practice. Jeff was still sitting
at the computer, looking thoughtful.

  “You okay, bud?” asked Michael. “He wasn’t mad at you or anything.”

  Jeff sighed. “I know. I just hate to waste a good photo.”

  “I hear you,” said Michael.

  “Do you think I should put them on Buddybook?” asked Jeff hopefully.

  “No,” Michael and I said in unison, then we laughed.

  “Okay. Emptying trash,” said Jeff with a sigh, clicking a few keys. “Have a good weekend, guys.”

  I realized Michael and I were leaving at the same time and probably heading in the same general direction.

  “So guess what?” said Michael as we left.

  “What?”

  “I did an Internet search on the state funding that Mr. Pfeiffer got for the new curriculum.” He had a small smile on his face.

  “And?”

  “And it’s a little sketchy.”

  “What! No way!” Of course I was paying such close attention to Michael that I wasn’t looking where I was going. Someone must’ve spilled something on the floor and I slid in the puddle. “Whoa!” I yelled, clutching his sleeve to keep from wiping out.

  I steadied myself without actually falling. “Sorry,” I muttered, letting go of Michael’s sleeve.

  “I think we need to change your name to Trippy! Forget all the other nicknames!”

  “Thanks,” I said, annoyed. “So what did you find out? How much money is it? What’s it for?” I was excited! This was like real reporting stuff.

  “Down, Trippy!” said Michael, holding out a hand and laughing. “I’m not really sure. I need to show it to my dad and have him explain it to me. But it looks like the money is for the teachers, to develop the curriculum. Not really for the students.”

  “Wow.” That could be an interesting angle to the story. “‘Pfeiffer Secures Funds for Teachers, Not Kids,’” I said, trying it out. “Keep me posted.”

  “I still need to get a quote from Mrs. Jones,” said Michael. “Then I’m pretty much done.”

  “Yeah, I just need a teacher quote. I’m going to ask Mrs. Frosch and then it’s all wrapped up.”

  We had reached the boys’ locker room. I stood there feeling a little awkward all of a sudden. The idea of kissing him good-bye flitted through my head and I was mortified that I’d even thought it! I prayed Michael couldn’t read minds.

  “So we need to get together and write the thing,” said Michael.

  “Yeah.” The idea of getting together with Michael was very appealing.

  “Let’s meet at the library next week. Tuesday? Fourth period like last week?”

  I nodded, allowing myself to imagine Michael was asking me on a real date. I felt all swoony inside.

  “I’ll wear a suit of armor and bring lots of food,” he said. “I don’t want to get hurt and I know how hungry you get. See ya, Trippy!” And he went in the door.

  My bubble was totally burst. I had made an impression all right. But Michael hadn’t noticed my new shirt. He noticed that I was a klutz. Right then I hated him.

  Chapter 10

  MURDER ON THE SOCCER FIELD

  I stomped down to the bleachers by the soccer field. Michael Lawrence was a jerk! Why was he always ragging on me? I didn’t stand a chance with him. He thought I was a klutzy, overeating idiot!

  I slammed my messenger bag down on the bench and sat down heavily next to it. Hailey looked over and waved. Thank goodness for Hailey. Boys were too confusing, and friends were the only people you could count on in life. Girl friends!

  “Hey!” called Hailey from the field. I guess I was reading more than watching and hadn’t noticed practice was over. I jump-stepped down from the bleachers and over to Hailey. She was all sweaty.

  “Hi. How was practice?” I asked, not really interested.

  “Awesome! Our coach went to a training camp this summer and she has all these new drills and . . .” I hate to say it but I tuned Hailey out and just let her talk. I could never be a sportswriter (my soccer tryouts article focused on the human element and the numbers, not the moves). In the end, who really cares? It’s just a game.

  The football team was coming in and they caught my eye as they crossed the soccer field to hit the locker room. I quickly looked away and averted my eyes from number fifteen. Let him think I didn’t see him. I had nothing to say to Michael Lawrence right now.

  But apparently Hailey did. “Hey, fifteen!” she called. Michael broke from the line and walked over to us.

  Ugh. “Hailey!” I whispered in my meanest whisper. But she ignored me.

  “How was practice?” she asked as he drew near.

  “Hey, Hailey. What’s up, Trippy?” he said.

  I rolled my eyes and didn’t reply.

  Those two got chatting about drills and new kinds of stretching while I busied myself with checking my to-do list in my notebook.

  I looked up, and Hailey had found a soccer ball and was doing this thing where she tries to see how many times she can bounce it off her foot and head and knee without it touching the ground. “Juggling,” she was calling it. I was a little bit proud of her because she is very, very good at it. She could do it so many times in a row.

  Michael clapped. “Way to go!” he said. “Here, let me try!”

  Hailey booted it over to him and he caught it with his foot, then he started doing the juggling thing. He got to fourteen and lost the ball. Then Hailey said, “I can beat that!” and gave it another try.

  I sighed in irritation. This was boring and I hated Michael. “Hailey, let’s go,” I said.

  Michael looked over at me. “In a rush?”

  I shrugged.

  “No,” said Hailey.

  Murder on the Soccer Field, I thought. Couldn’t she tell I wanted to get out of here?

  Hailey got to twenty-seven juggles, or whatever they were called, and Michael whistled with his fingers in his mouth. I love when guys can do that, even though I hate Michael.

  “Hey, Pasty, you try,” he said. Oh great, now we’re back to the original.

  “No, I . . .” But Hailey had already booted me the ball. I tried to reach it but I slid and went kind of sprawling. My bag swung forward and I tipped over. My face burned as I stood up and those two were laughing.

  “Does she do this all the time?” Michael asked Hailey.

  “That’s why we love her!” replied Hailey.

  I picked myself up and adjusted my bag, which had flopped open. Fine. I can play at this game. I pulled the ball over with my toe and gave it a few little kicks. It kind of hurt. I bent down to lift it and start it off in the air, but they both hollered, “No hands!”

  I dropped it like a hot potato. “Chillax!” I said. Sheesh.

  I wiggled the ball around and got it in the air. I managed two juggles a few times and once even three, but there was no way I was getting as many as those two.

  They called out tips and encouragement, and I wasn’t sure if it would be worse to quit or keep trying and failing. Finally, I booted the ball back to Hailey.

  “We have our work cut out for us tonight,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said, even crankier. As if I was going to spend quality sleepover time learning soccer moves!

  “Well, let me know if you ever need some extra help coaching,” said Michael.

  Hailey laughed. “I need all the help I can get!”

  “That’s not what it looked like yesterday!”

  “Well, that was just a casual scrimmage,” said Hailey. “Next time I’ll really take you down!”

  Michael laughed. “I dare you!”

  Wait, were these guys flirting? I looked at Hailey and she was flushed. She fluffed her hair and smiled at Michael really big. He smiled back.

  “What was yesterday?” I asked, as casually as I could manage.

  “Oh, we just had a friendly shoot-out after practice,” said Hailey.

  “It wasn’t so friendly, actually,” Michael said with a laugh.

  “Well that’s your
own fault, trash-talking me like that.” Hailey wagged her finger at him.

  “Yo, Lawrence! Chalk talk!” A coach shouted from the locker room door. Michael looked at him and waved.

  “Gotta go,” Michael said.

  “See ya!” said Hailey, really energetically.

  “Bye!” replied Michael. “Later, Paste,” he said to me, and gave me a salute before he jogged off.

  Paste? Now my nickname had a nickname?

  I looked at Hailey. She was laughing to herself and shaking her head as she scooped up the ball with her toe.

  “Are you laughing at my nickname?” I asked. I felt really annoyed with her but I couldn’t exactly say why. If I had to break it down, I guess it was because they had kind of left me out of that whole conversation in a way, even though they were talking to me. It was weird.

  “What? No! I just . . . He’s funny.”

  “Humph,” I said crankily.

  I was thinking about them having a scrimmage and how neither of them had mentioned it before. And it had been yesterday. Which meant that while I had been waiting at the PTA meeting for Michael to come meet me, he was playing soccer with Hailey! Now I was even madder at him than before!

  “Let’s hit it. I can shower at home,” said Hailey.

  I looked at her long and hard. Was there something up with her and Michael?

  No. No way.

  But it was annoying that they had that whole sporty, jokey thing going. Really annoying.

  It wasn’t until much later that night that I realized I’d lost my notebook. I couldn’t believe it. I went to my bag to write down an idea I had for the curriculum article, and the notebook wasn’t there. It must’ve fallen out of my messenger bag back when I wiped out at the field.

  I felt sick.

  Hailey and I were already in our pj’s and had mud masks on our faces. I couldn’t even scream because my face would crack.

  “I ost i ote-ook,” I said to Hailey desperately.

  “Ut?” she asked. She looked at me in confusion.

  “I ost i ote-ook!”

  There was a pause. Then Hailey figured it out.

  “Ait! Ur OTE-ook?” She mimed writing on a pad of paper.

  “Ess!” I nodded emphatically.