by Rachel Wise
“Hello, Mikey,” I said, opening the door wide.
“Hey, Paste. I’m sorry about earlier, about missing lunch. Really, I—” He reached behind his back and brought out a Tupperware container. “Here,” he said, stretching his hand out to me. “I brought you these to make up for it.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” I said. “Leftovers?” I looked into the clear plastic container from the side.
“Not leftovers. Cinnamon buns. I made them last night.” Michael Lawrence makes the best cinnamon buns in the world. They’re his specialty. Gorgeous and he can cook! My irritation melted. “Thanks!” I said. “Come on in.”
I led him to the kitchen. “Hailey’s here,” I said as we walked up.
“Hey, Lawrence,” said Hailey, all jocky cool.
“Hi, Michael!” said Allie. “Long time no see.” She smirked at me. Annoying!
“Hi. I’m sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.
I stared daggers at Allie and Hailey. They’d better not even say the word “dance,” or I would physically attack them. They looked at me, then they looked at Michael.
“Actually, I’m just here for some tutoring help,” said Hailey. I sighed in relief.
“Yeah, we’ll get going and leave you two . . . alone,” said Allie. I knew she wanted to say “lovebirds,” but she knew I’d tell Mom and she’d get in major trouble.
“Hey, Hailey, do you have any more of that pink stationery your grandma gave you?” asked Allie as they left the room.
I gritted my teeth and fake smiled at Michael. “Why don’t you sit down?” I asked, gesturing awkwardly at the table. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Sure. Thanks. I’ll just have some water, please. I can get it,” he said.
“I’ve got it. So what’s up?” I asked, turning away and trying to be all cool, as though the crush of my life sat in my kitchen every day. I wasn’t going to mention lunch again. I filled a water glass, but when I turned back to the table, Michael was looking forlornly down at his sneakers. “Michael, are you all right?” I walked over to where he was sitting and squatted next to him so I could look up at his face. It was like a scene out of a movie. Martone Gets Chance to Comfort Partner! Is Romance in the Air?
Michael looked back up. “Yeah. Sorry. I just . . . Thanks.” He reached for the glass of water and took a big, long sip. I stared at him in concern. He put the glass down and looked at me. “You know Frank Duane? The star on our team? First-string quarterback?” I nodded. “His parents both lost their jobs in the past week, and with five kids, they’re really in a tight spot. Frank is looking for an after-school job, and he’s probably going to have to quit the team to do it.”
I sat down. “That’s terrible. Sorry to hear that.”
“I know. It’s tough on him, on the whole family, and with the holidays coming up so soon . . . But it really stinks for the football team. We were doing so well, mostly thanks to Frank.”
“Bummer.”
Michael nodded. “Anyway, today we had a last-minute meeting with the coach at lunchtime, and it ran late, and I just couldn’t get back in to tell you why I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s all right,” I said. He really did look sorry. We sat at the table in silence for a minute, and I suddenly realized I could hear music and thumping from Allie’s room upstairs.
Michael started to laugh. “Are they dancing up there?” he asked. I nodded, not sure exactly what he thought of it.
“That’s funny,” he said, shaking his head. “What subject would assign dancing for homework?”
“Music appreciation?” I said, trying to make a little joke. Mentally, I reminded myself to kill Allie and Hailey later.
“So when will Frank know for sure if he needs to quit the team?” I asked.
Michael shook his head. “I don’t know. But by the way, all the Duane kids play three sports in school,” he added, nodding at me. “They’re all superathletic. That’s also what I’ve been talking with Frank about.”
“What?” I asked.
“I asked if he’d be willing to be interviewed for our article. And also if he’d be willing to speak at the next PTA meeting against Pay to Play, if it comes to that.”
I nodded. Frank would be a good face to put on the cause, I thought. I wondered how I could make a case for Pay for Play if it would be so hard for a family like Frank’s. I bit my lower lip.
“Anyway, I’m sorry about today,” Michael said. “I’ll make it up to you. Let’s meet tomorrow at lunch instead, okay? But we’ve really got to hustle after that because it’s already Wednesday. With the paper coming out every other Friday, we’ll have to start writing by Monday at the latest. It doesn’t leave us a lot of time.”
“Let me know if you think there’s anything I can do to help Frank,” I said. “And good luck with the team and everything.” I’m obviously not a sports fan, but needless to say, I am a Michael Lawrence fan, and I hated to see him stressed out and down in the dumps. He nodded solemnly and stood up, pushing in his chair.
“Thanks for the water,” he said, depositing the glass in the sink.
I walked him to the door. “Thanks for the cinnamon buns,” I said, suddenly feeling a little awkward.
And that was when Michael turned around and gave me a hug that was so quick, it was over before I realized it was happening.
“And thanks for understanding, Pasty,” he said, and he hurried away.
I fainted right there in the doorway.
Just kidding. But I almost did. I began climbing the stairs to find Hailey, but my thoughts were clouded with images of Michael Lawrence hugging me. Upstairs, the music was much louder. I opened the door to Allie’s room, and Hailey was dancing—some crazy dance I’d never seen before. Allie was observing Hailey from the beanbag chair next to the iPod dock. I stood there and watched as Hailey went nuts to the music with her eyes closed. And you know what? She wasn’t half bad.
She definitely was dancing, in her own kooky, ball-juggling kind of way. One knee up, the other knee up, head thrown forward, shoulder rolled back . . . It looked like fun. I couldn’t help myself; I jumped in and started trying to do the same moves.
But suddenly, the music stopped, “Whoa, whoa, whoa—stop right there, missy!” Hailey and I froze, like we’d been awakened from a dream. We didn’t know who Allie meant.
Hailey pointed at herself with a cocked thumb. “Me?” she said.
Allie shook her head sadly. “No. My sister Spaghetti Legs over there. Sam, you look like a Muppet that just chugged three espressos! What on Earth are you doing?”
Hailey giggled.
“I’m . . . doing the juggle, like Hailey.”
“Well, you can’t. So don’t,” said Allie, and she turned the music back up. Hailey began dancing again, and I sat morosely on the side of Allie’s bed and watched. When the song was over, Hailey stood panting.
“So, have I got moves?” she asked.
Allie, mean old witch that she is, didn’t answer right away. She tilted her head to the side as if really weighing her answer and finally said, “Yes.”
“Really?” Hailey squealed and jumped up and down, clapping like she’d just won a TV dancing competition. I rolled my eyes, annoyed at her for being thrilled by a tiny crumb of praise from such an obnoxious source. I mean, who really cared what Allie thought anyway? Allie nodded. “Yup. I think you’ll be fine. Just make sure to wear something . . . feminine.”
“Feminine? You mean like a skirt?” Hailey looked horrified. You would have thought Allie told her to put on false eyelashes and red lipstick. She is a total tomboy.
“It doesn’t have to be a skirt, but maybe something on top that’s flowy or flowered. Do you have something like that?”
Hailey most certainly did not, but she nodded. “I’ll check.”
I raised my eyebrows at her and Hailey shrugged at me, irritated. “What?” she said.
“Whatever. Let’s go, J.Lo,” I said.
Allie waved modestly, like Queen Elizabeth. “It was no problem. You did it all yourself.”
“No! It was all you!” protested Hailey.
I pulled Hailey away from her idol. I was ready to puke.
“Bye!”
Once we were inside my room, I closed the door and explained everything Michael had told me about Frank Duane. I didn’t mention the hug. I don’t know exactly why. I just wanted to keep it to myself. It seemed more special that way.
“Well, I’m glad Michael didn’t ditch you for no reason today, but I don’t like the reason he ditched you,” said Hailey. She more than anyone would sympathize with an athlete who might be forced to a quit a team. Hailey looked at her reflection in my bedroom mirror and fluffed her hair.
“I’d be happy to help out a family in need, but I don’t think the sports fees are the main issue,” she continued.
“What do you mean?” I asked. I was surprised to hear her say that.
“Well, I bet the school would cut them a break or something, at least at first. If they need a food drive or some funding from a bake sale or something, we could do that. But right now I’m the one who needs help! Let’s finish this homework so I can get home in time for dinner.”
“Stir-fried tofu again?” I teased. Hailey’s mom is a health-food nut.
“Probably.” Hailey sighed. “But you know what? I’m so hungry after all that dancing, even tofu sounds pretty good.” We both laughed as we dove into Hailey’s language arts book.
Chapter 7
JOURNO’S NOSE FOR NEWS FAILS HER!
Later that night Hailey called me. She rarely calls me, preferring to IM or e-mail, so I was surprised when my mom yelled up the stairs to me after the phone rang. “Hey,” I said. “What’s up?” As usual, Hailey cut to the chase, as if we’d just been speaking seconds ago.
“My parents and I were talking at dinner about all the Pay to Play stuff and the Duanes and everything, and my mom said this rang a bell. She still gets the PTA minutes and agendas and everything from when she was really involved a couple of years ago, remember?”
“Of course, how could I forget?” Hailey’s insider knowledge of the PTA saved my butt a couple of issues back, when I needed proof of something from a PTA meeting and she knew exactly where to find it.
“Anyway, after dinner she went to her desk to sift through her e-mails and she found what she was looking for. It sounds like the Pay to Play thing might really happen. Soon. It’s scheduled for a vote at Monday night’s meeting.”
“What?!” I couldn’t believe my ears. How had I not heard about this? Journo’s Nose for News Fails Her!
“Yeah,” said Hailey with a sigh. “And by the way, my parents are for it.”
“Well, I’m for it too. Or I was, until I heard about the Duanes. Now I’m not sure what to think,” I said. We were quiet for a moment. “I guess I’d better call Michael,” I said.
“You go, girl,” said Hailey.
“He will not be psyched,” I predicted. “And, Hails, thanks.”
“No prob,” said Hailey, pleased with her usefulness. “Bye.”
I hung up the phone and went to look up Michael’s number in the phone book.
Ha! Just kidding! Of course I know it by heart, even though I’ve only used it like once or twice. I dialed, and someone with a deep voice answered (his dad? a brother?).
“Hi, is Michael there, please?” I asked.
“Sure, just a minute,” said the voice. “Who’s calling?”
“It’s . . .” I hesitated. “Sam” sounded so boyish and boring. Impulsively, I said, “Samantha.”
“Okay. Hang on.” Then I heard the voice yelling, “Mikeyyy! Samaaantha calling!” The voice was kind of teasing. Definitely a brother. I blushed up to the roots of my hair. If I’d been walking, I would have tripped. I tried to take deep breaths to calm myself.
“Hello?” said Michael, his voice peppy and maybe even a little breathless, too.
“Hi. It’s Sam,” I said.
“Oh.” Michael laughed. “You threw me for a loop with ‘Samantha’! You should have just said it was Pasty.”
“Very funny,” I said. I heard a receiver jostling.
“Hang up, Will!” yelled Michael. I thought I heard laughter as the receiver clanked into its base.
“Sorry. Those guys are torture,” said Michael, irritated now. “What’s up?” He had sounded so happy when he first answered the phone that I hated to burst his bubble.
“I have some news,” I said. “The PTA is voting on Pay to Play on Monday night. They’re not really publicizing it, so it makes me think they don’t want any debate. What do you want to do?”
Michael whistled. “Sneaky. Where did you hear this?”
I hesitated. Hailey had had a little crush on Michael not that long ago, and when I found out, I’d wondered if he secretly liked her, too. “Hailey,” I said finally. “Her mom still gets the PTA executive board e-mails.”
“Wow,” said Michael. “So it’s definitely true, then.”
I bristled. “I told you it was true. Don’t you trust me?”
“Sorry. I mean, I’m just thinking out loud. Of course I trust you.”
“Humph,” I said. “So what should we do?”
Michael was quiet.
“Hello?” I said after a few seconds.
“I’m thinking,” he replied. “You know what? I need to really think this one through. Can I sleep on it, and we’ll meet by your locker in the morning to make our plan?”
“Sure. What time?”
“Eight ten,” he said. “See you then.”
I hung up and double-checked that the phone was off. Then I gave a big whoop of post–nervous energy, crush-calling nerdiness and sort of danced back to my room to finish my homework. Thank goodness no one saw me. (And by “no one,” I think we all know I mean Allie.) Back at my desk, I tried to picture myself dancing in the darkened school gymnasium with Michael, but somehow my imagination failed me. Would I ask him to dance? Would he ask me? Would I trip over my own two feet as soon as I hit the dance floor? I sighed and decided to Google the Pay for Play thing some more. Anything to stay online and check out news sites.
The next morning Michael was at my locker when I arrived. What a great feeling to have the cutest guy at school standing there waiting for me first thing! But he was not happy. “Frank got a job drying cars at his uncle’s car wash. He’s off the team for now,” he said.
“Oh no!”
Michael looked angry. “And if Pay for Play goes through, we’re going to lose other valuable players. We really need to organize a protest. Maybe a sit-in. Like Occupy Cherry Valley, I’m thinking.”
“Wow. Really?” I said. But what if I’m not sure I’m against it? I thought.
Michael nodded firmly.
“So . . . everyone you’ve discussed this with is against it?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Michael confidently.
But what about your own writing partner? I wanted to ask. “Have you done a survey online?” I asked. Michael had done that once before, and it was very successful.
“Not yet, but I’m putting one up on Buddybook tonight. I’ll present the results at the PTA meeting on Monday.”
Michael was so riled up, I had to wonder if he’d be able to report any of this objectively. In fact, I knew he couldn’t, but I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to make him mad. Or madder than he already was. Or anyway, mad at me!
“Okay . . .,” I said hesitantly. “So what should I do?”
“For one thing, spread the word about the meeting and try to get as many people as possible to go. Maybe your sister could mention it on Buddybook or something.”
I cringed. I hated getting Allie involved with anything, but if Michael was doing the asking . . . it was hard to say no.
“And let’s go to the newsroom at lunchtime and create a flyer to hand
out that invites people and their parents to the PTA meeting on Monday,” he added. “Tell them to search for ‘Pay for Play’ online.” Michael looked up at the ceiling as he brainstormed.
I thought about everything Michael was asking me to do. Letting people know about a meeting was a good use of our reporting and news resources. So as long as we just did that, we weren’t taking any sides. We were just reporting the news, like any good journalist would. I was just nervous to get into sit-ins and things like that. That didn’t sound very objective to me.
“I’ll spread the word that we need to be ready to stage a protest if the vote doesn’t go our way on Monday,” Michael said.
“Are you going to put that in writing?” I asked. I was alarmed by that idea.
“No, of course not.” Michael looked at me like I was an idiot, which I did not like.
“Sorry, just checking. Sheesh.” Inside, I was really torn. I wanted to tell him I still wasn’t sure I was on his side, but I wanted him to like me. I didn’t know what to do, and I was starting to feel really stressed out.
“All right, I’ve got to run to class. Don’t forget: newsroom at eleven, okay, Pasty? Later.” And off he ran.
I sighed, hoisted my messenger bag over my shoulder, and trudged off to language arts.
Chapter 8
JOURNO CONVINCES TRUE LOVE HE’S WRONG
All through my morning classes, I stressed.
I stressed about Michael and how he’d hate me if he found out I wasn’t really against the Pay for Play idea.
I stressed about how Michael was getting overly involved in this story. Journalists weren’t supposed to get personally involved!
I stressed about Frank Duane and his family.
And I stressed about the school dance.
I even stressed about my Dear Know-It-All column. Which question would I run this week? I couldn’t decide. There was only one thing to do and that was to go see Mr. Trigg. But how could I talk to him without seeming like I was ratting out Michael? That was stressing me out more than anything.