A Level Playing Field

by Rachel Wise

  “Wow!” said my mom at the end of my venting. “You certainly have an awful lot going on!”

  I nodded miserably. “And now the love of my life hates me, and we’ll never work together again!” I wailed.

  My mother smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. He’s just angry and disappointed. He’ll come back around. He loves the paper as much as you do, right?”

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  “As for the dance, you can always dance with your friends, or you don’t have to dance at all. You could just hang around by the punch bowl and talk to people.”

  “The punch bowl? Seriously, Mom?”

  “The punch bowl, the snack bar, whatever you kids have today. You know what I mean.” She tapped her desk with her fingers as she thought.

  “There’s only one thing bothering me about all this,” she said finally.

  “What? The Duanes?”

  “Well, two things. I feel very badly for the Duanes, but what’s really bothering me is that I don’t like the idea of you being worried about your opinion piece. Why should you be ashamed of your opinion, if it’s an informed one?”

  I cringed. She was right.

  “I don’t know,” I said quietly.

  “Is it because you’re worried what Michael Lawrence will think of you if you don’t agree with him?” she asked quietly.

  “I guess,” I admitted.

  “And may I suggest something?” she asked, smiling.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Have a really fun girls’ weekend. Ask Hailey and some of your other pals to sleep over, and we’ll do something fun. I think you need to take a break from all this serious stuff for a while. And maybe you need to take a break from thinking about boys, too.”

  “Thanks, Mom. That’s the best advice ever!”

  “That’s music to my ears!” she teased.

  So that’s how Saturday night became girls’ night at 17 Buttermilk Lane. Hailey, Meg, and Tricia slept over, and best of all, Allie slept at her best friend Gretchen’s house, so we had the place all to ourselves! Good Times! Girl Power Soothes Stressed Spirits.

  Everyone arrived at four p.m. First, we watched a really funny movie. Then, my mom ordered pizzas for us. After that, it was makeover time. I had told everyone to bring what they were thinking of wearing to the dance next Friday, plus any accessories or items they’d be willing to share. Everyone spread their outfits out on the twin beds in my room, and then Meg, who is really into style, helped swap things around until we all liked our outfits. Hailey was not thrilled when we insisted she follow Allie’s advice and wear a really girly top. It was Tricia’s, and it really looked perfect on Hailey. It had a pale blue cotton tank top sewn in, and then a gauzy peasant blouse over it, with tiny red and blue flowers. The neck had a drawstring so you could wear the shirt loose and off your shoulders or drawn tight and just kind of scoop-necked in front. Over Hailey’s skinny blue jeggings, it looked amazing.

  Meg handed out bracelets and necklaces and helped me with my outfit too. I decided on a pair of lightweight, tan wale cords, with brown knee-high riding boots, and two different colored tank tops and a blue blazer on top, with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows. Meg gave me a bunch of beaded chains to pile on to soften the boyish look and some jangly bracelets. Then she sorted out her own outfit, and Tricia and I were in charge of her hair and makeup.

  “I’m just saying, how come you get to wear boy clothes and I can’t?” pouted Hailey when she looked at my finished product.

  “Because I wear skirts all the time and you only ever wear jock clothes! People want to see you in something different at a big event like this. You owe it to your public!”

  “Who’s my public?” asked Hailey, half annoyed and half hopeful.

  “Oh, you know, Scott Parker, Jeff Perry, Prince Charming . . .”

  “Scott who?” joked Hailey.

  “Right.” I said. Tricia offered to make over Hailey, and Meg said she’d do me, then we’d switch. Except no one wanted Hailey to do them, so we’d have to kind of trade off among the three of us.

  Hailey’s feelings weren’t hurt. She was relieved to not have to fake an interest in makeup.

  It was so much fun just having a get-together with friends and not worrying about anything—like the latest Dear Know-It-All column, which I hadn’t even started yet, and I’d promised Mr. Trigg we’d publish three letters this issue! Before I could stop myself, I let out a big sigh.

  “Why are you sighing?” Meg asked. “I haven’t even tried any makeup on you yet.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “It’s not you. I just have a lot on my mind. Go ahead. Make me beautiful!” I said, and we both laughed.

  Meg took her time with me, selecting a soft brown eyeliner, some pale pink blush, a light pink lip gloss, and some kind of clear mascara. She put it all on very slowly and gently. It seemed to take forever. But when she was finished, I liked what I saw. If you didn’t know me, you might not think I was even wearing makeup.

  “Wow!” I said, turning my face from side to side in the brightly lit bathroom mirror. “Thanks, Meg! This looks really good! Will you help me before the dance too?”

  “Sure. We can all get ready at my house next Friday,” agreed Meg. That was good because Meg lived even closer to school than I did.

  We turned to look at Tricia’s progress, and Meg grabbed my arm. “Uh-oh,” she whispered. My eyes widened at what I saw.

  Tricia had tried to really outline Hailey’s eyes and lips, but she’d used way too heavy of a hand. Hailey’s mouth looked like a clown’s and her eyes resembled a raccoon’s.

  “Oh nooo!” I cried out, before I could stop myself.

  “What?” Hailey turned to me in alarm and caused Tricia to draw a lipstick streak across Hailey’s face. I started to laugh.

  “Oh, Hailey. You need to go wash your face and start over,” I told her.

  Tricia sat back to look at her handiwork. “You think it’s too much?” she asked. Talk about the understatement of the century! We all started laughing (well, Meg, Tricia, and I did) until tears streamed down our cheeks.

  Hailey stomped to the bathroom. “I look like a psycho killer!” she wailed through the open door, which only made us laugh harder. After some ferocious scrubbing by Hailey, we all calmed down and even Hailey agreed it had been funny. “But we’re not doing that for the dance, right?” she said, stating the obvious.

  That made us all collapse again, howling with laughter, until my mom came up to see what was going on.

  “Well, it’s Make-Your-Own-Sundae time anyway, girls, so why don’t you change out of those pretty outfits and put on your pj’s and come on down to the kitchen, okay?”

  Downstairs, Tricia, Meg, and I created the world’s most over-the-top concoctions of marshmallow cream, hot fudge sauce, ice cream, nuts, and banana slices. Hailey made a raspberry sorbet piled high with Gummi Bears. She’s not that much of a chocolate person, but she made up for it in the number of Gummi Bears she ate.

  When we finished the treats, we felt kind of sick. It wasn’t that late, so my mom suggested that she take us for a quick walk around the block in the cool night air. No one felt like changing back into clothes, so we just threw our coats on over our pajamas. Outside, the stars twinkled in the crisp November air and leaves crunched underfoot on the sidewalk. We whispered a little as we walked, feeling like the whole world was already asleep. And then, up ahead, we saw a figure coming toward us on a bike. I nudged Hailey.

  “Do you see that person?” I asked. My mom heard me.

  “Yes. Awfully late for a bike ride, don’t you think?” my mom said. We watched as the person pedaled along toward us, and then, as the figure moved under a streetlight, I recognized Michael! I had a moment of panic—should I call out to him? Should I just let him ride on by? I was dying to talk to him, but he was mad at me and he had quit the paper!

  But Hailey was as impulsive as ever. “Yo, Lawrence!” she called out.

  Michael
slowed down and dragged a foot to stop. “Who’s that?” he replied.

  “It’s Hailey, and Sam, and Meg—”

  “And Tricia!” piped in Tricia.

  “And Mrs. Martone!” called my mom. We all laughed. He walked his bike slowly over to us. He had a smile on his face.

  “What are you all doing out . . . in your pj’s?” he asked, his grin widening as he took in Meg’s fuzzy bedroom slippers. I’d forgotten how we were dressed. I was mortified!

  “We’re sleeping at Sam’s and just had an ice-cream feast, so we decided to walk it off,” explained Hailey.

  “Where are you coming from at such a late hour?” my mom asked him. Why did she have to be so embarrassing? Couldn’t she just not say anything, instead of accusing Michael of breaking curfew or something? Ugh.

  He shrugged. “Oh, I was over at the Duanes’. A bunch of guys from the football team just went over to chill and watch a movie we brought.”

  “That’s the nice family you were telling me about, right, Samantha?” asked my mom.

  Embarrassing again. “Yes. The ones whose parents lost their jobs.”

  “Wait!” said Meg. “My older brother is good friends with Jonas Duane, and Jonas told him that his little brother’s football team has been bringing over meals and stuff for them every day. Is that true?” She turned to Michael.

  “We’re trying to help, any way we can,” he replied.

  “Wow. That’s really nice,” I said admiringly.

  “Lovely,” agreed my mom. “Friends make all the difference in the world.”

  Michael flushed slightly. Aw, he’s embarrassed! I thought. And that made me love him even more.

  “Well, I’d better get going, My mom told me to be home by nine, and if I’m late, I don’t know if she’ll let me have friends anymore!” He laughed as he said it to show he was joking.

  “Bye!” we all said as he rode off.

  “What a cutie,” my mother said after he was out of earshot. I shushed her, just as a matter of habit. But of course I agreed. “And so nice,” she added.

  Most of the time, I thought.

  “And he loves Sam,” added Hailey.

  That’s funny, because he didn’t even speak to me directly, I thought. But I blushed anyway. Why did Hailey have to tease me about Michael—and in front of my mom, no less! “He does not!” I protested, but my mom was smiling at me.

  “Does too!” cried Hailey.

  “Does not!”

  Hailey and I continued this exchange for the rest of the night, off and on, trying to say it when the other person was least expecting it.

  “Does too!” whispered Hailey after Meg and Tricia had fallen asleep.

  “Okay, maybe,” I agreed sleepily. “Hopefully.”

  And we giggled and then fell asleep too. Hope Springs Eternal for Lovelorn Journo.

  Chapter 11

  MARTONE TRIES TO STRIKE ZEN BALANCE, GETS LESSON FROM MOM

  The girls’ night was just what the doctor ordered. By Sunday morning after everyone had left, I felt refreshed, rejuvenated, and much less stressed. First, I tackled the three Dear Know-It-All letters I’d run this week. For the kitten one, I wrote:

  Dear Desperate,

  Getting a pet is a big commitment, and an expensive one. Sorry to be a killjoy, but kids don’t realize how much work it is for parents to take care of an animal and how much it costs to buy food and supplies like cat litter, and pay doctor bills for shots or if your pet gets sick. On the other hand, pets are great for families. They bring joy, humor, and relaxation into the house, and if you have a bad day, it can be really comforting to snuggle with your pet. Cats are a little easier than dogs because you don’t have to walk them. If your mom is against it, why don’t you try taking her to a shelter just to play with the kittens for a little while? Do it a few times, and while she’ll think you’re getting it out of your system, she’ll actually be falling in love with the little critters. Also, you might think of adopting an older cat—even a one-year-old. While kittens can be supercute, they are also superactive and stubborn. An older cat is a lot easier to handle, and many of them really need good homes.

  Good luck!

  Dear Know-It-All

  For the aspiring jock, I wrote:

  Dear Basketball Dude,

  It is important to have big goals in life. It’s even better when you meet them. Why don’t you try scheduling a private meeting with the coach? Tell him how you feel and ask him what he needs for this year and what he most wants to see in his players. I know from a lot of my friends who play sports that many times coaches are looking to fill holes left by older players who have moved on, or they’re looking for kids with as much heart as skills. Make sure you do all the obvious stuff, like be early for practice, offer to help carry or care for equipment, and raise your hand whenever the coach asks for a volunteer. If you make yourself valuable from the start, the coach won’t be able to imagine a team without you.

  Best wishes,

  Dear Know-It-All

  Finally, I stared at the letter from Hungry, feeling responsible that the girl was in this predicament and sad for her that she couldn’t buy the good food for sale. See, with Pay to Play, not everyone plays, so why should everyone foot the bill? But with Pay to Eat, everyone does eat, so it should really be covered. I couldn’t get that piece of it out of my head.

  “Samantha!” my mother called from downstairs. “Want to come do some errands with me? We can stop for ice cream.”

  Mint chocolate chip, here I come! I wedged the pink stationery back into its envelope and locked it back in my desk drawer. (I long ago became sure that Allie spies on me and goes through my stuff when I’m not home, so the locked drawer is my only salvation.) I could deal with that last letter before the deadline.

  Downtown, my mom and I stopped first for ice cream, then we went to the bookstore to buy a birthday present for my aunt. After that, we were on our way to the grocery store when my mom spotted the car wash. “Let’s go for it!” she said, pulling in. It was the car wash the Duanes’ uncle owned. I craned my neck but didn’t see Frank anywhere. Not that he knew me, but I would have felt strange if he was working on our car.

  There was no line, so we were quickly inside the bubbly brush chamber, jerking along the track. I love the car wash. It’s so fun, it almost feels like a ride at an amusement park. When we plunged back out into daylight and the car slunk off the track to the drying area, my mom and I got out. There were a couple of older guys with rags, but then who should come around the corner but Frank Duane, with an armload of freshly washed rags in a laundry basket. I felt bad seeing our school’s star athlete here, knowing he was forced to quit the team for this pretty crummy job.

  “Here, guys,” he said, tossing the laundry basket at the side of the drying area. “Hey,” he said to me with a smile that showed he recognized me, even though he didn’t know my name.

  I waved. “Hi!” I said. “Nice day!”

  “Yeah, we’re going to be swamped later, once people are up and out,” Frank said.

  “Makes the day go faster,” said my mom.

  Frank laughed. “It does, you’re right!”

  In a few minutes our car was ready and it was time to pile back in. As we passed the clear bucket labeled TIPS FOR THE GUYS, I saw my mom toss a ten inside. One of the other guys saw too, and he saluted her.

  “Thank you!” he called, and she waved.

  Inside the car, I said, “Mom! That was a lot of money!”

  My mom looked thoughtful. “I know. But I was thinking about his family situation. I know it’s not even a drop in the bucket for what it costs them to live. But at least it makes me feel better knowing that I helped a little bit.” She started the car and turned to smile at me. I smiled back.

  “It was nice of you.”

  “Thanks. You know, Samantha, you can’t help all the people all the time with everything. We need to do what we can along the way, but it’s a good idea to pick one charitable thing to
focus on. It can be something that interests you—like maybe you could tutor younger kids in writing. Or maybe you decide you really care about world hunger. But it can be hard if you take on too many people’s problems and too many causes. You start to feel like there’s so much out there and you can’t possibly solve it all. Take your time to decide where you can make a difference, then do your big help there. Does that make sense?”

  It did. And with Dear Know-It-All for a job, it was easy to get bogged down in other people’s problems, that was for sure. Martone Tries to Strike Zen Balance, Gets Lesson from Mom.

  The rest of the day passed quietly, but Sunday night I had a dream that the Duanes were losing their house. Mrs. Duane was outside crying and Mr. Duane was packing a U-Haul with their belongings. Frank wasn’t really in the dream, but Michael was there, helping to bring things to the truck. I woke up Monday morning feeling unsettled, and the feeling stuck with me all day. After school I went home to do my homework so I’d be free for the PTA meeting. My mom had offered to give me a ride and also stay for the meeting, and I accepted. As for Michael, I didn’t see or talk to him at all at school, so I figured he was still a little mad at me, despite seeming friendly on Saturday. I assumed he and I wouldn’t be sitting together at the meeting, and that made me sad.

  While my mom parked the car, I went in to scope out some seats. The room was already packed, even though we were early. Down in the front row, Michael was already seated with the Duane family. I bit my lip. Should I go say hi? But I felt kind of left out. I had hoped in my heart of hearts that this meeting would proceed like our newspaper meetings. Meaning that when I arrived, Michael wouldn’t be there yet. I’d save him a seat, and he’d dash in late with a grin and a granola bar for me. But no. It wasn’t going to be that way today. Maybe not ever again.