Tabloidology

by Chris McMahen

  When they reached the window of the principal’s office, they climbed back in and returned to their chairs. With the door to the outer office still open, they had a clear view of Ms. Baumgartner as she picked up the phone.

  “Oh, hello, Mrs. Reynolds. What can I do for you?” Ms. Baumgartner said.

  Trixi could see a puzzled expression come over the principal’s face. She pulled the phone away from her ear and rubbed the earpiece with her finger. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reynolds. We seem to have a bad phone connection. You’ll have to speak a little more slowly. I can’t understand you.”

  The puzzled expression remained on Ms. Baumgartner’s face. “Did you say sword swallowing?” Ms. Baumgartner started rubbing her forehead, a sure sign she didn’t quite know what to make of this.

  “Are you sure he’s our crossing guard, Mrs. Reynolds? I’ve never heard of such a thing in all my days as a principal.”

  “Yes, she has heard of such a thing,” Trixi whispered to Martin. “She already read about it in the latest edition of the Upland Green Gossiper.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Reynolds. I’ll look into it as soon as I can,” Ms. Baumgartner said. As soon as she put down the phone, Mrs. Sledge said, “A call for you on line two. It’s the police.”

  “Wow! The police!” Trixi whispered. “Now things are getting really good!”

  Martin and Trixi could see Ms. Baumgartner’s eyebrows jump as she picked up the phone. “Yes, Constable Jones… I see…I understand your concerns…Yes, a sword swallower would be a traffic hazard. I’ll look into it right away…Thank you, Constable Jones.”

  Trixi giggled as she flipped through her copy of the Upland Green Gossiper. “I wonder what’s going to happen next?”

  Martin sat in his chair, his hands tightly gripping the sides of his head. “It just doesn’t make any sense. No sense at all.”

  “I don’t care if it makes sense or not, Marty, but look outside!” Trixi said. “It’s snowing!”

  Martin pressed his hands over his eyes. “It doesn’t snow here in September, Trixi,” he said. “I should know. I’ve studied the weather, and in the history of this town, there’s never been a recorded snowfall in the month of September. It must be ashes from a fire or seedpods from some trees or something. It can’t be snow.”

  “Well, it’s sticking to the ground, and kids are starting to make snowballs. It looks an awful lot like snow to me,” Trixi said.

  Martin heard Ms. Baumgartner shouting, “Mr. Barnes! Could you please get the snow shovels out of storage?” He lifted his head and looked out. “This is crazy,” he mumbled. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground and was getting deeper by the second.

  Students with blue lips staggered about in the blizzard. Cars and school buses were spinning their tires in the parking lot.

  Martin and Trixi could hear Ms. Baumgartner on the phone once again, her voice louder than before. “Hello? I need the maintenance department! I need a snowplow to clear our parking lot…Yes, I know it’s September!…Yes, I’m sure it’s snowing! You can come over and have a look if you don’t believe me!”

  “I have to say,” Trixi said, “the weather forecast in the Upland Green Gossiper was pretty accurate.”

  Martin shook his head. How could his own weather forecast be so wrong? And how could Trixi’s weather forecast be so right?

  As quickly as the snowstorm started, it stopped. The clouds parted, and once again, skies were blue. Unfortunately, there were now twenty centimeters of snow covering the ground. Cars and buses slid and spun in the wet sloppy snow, and kids who tried to wade through it quickly turned back to the school with cold wet feet.

  “Even though it’s stopped snowing, no one’s going to be able to get home through all that snow,” Trixi said. “Ms. Baumgartner’s going to have to hold the world’s biggest sleep-over party. Three hundred kids stuck at school for the night.”

  “Look!” Martin said. “It’s the snowplow!”

  But the longer they watched the snowplow, the more Trixi and Martin wondered if this was the snowplow Ms. Baumgartner had requested. Rather than driving in a straight line down the road, it weaved and swerved. It zigzagged across the parking lot, barely missing the teachers’ cars. Then it bumped up over the curb, onto the soccer field and around behind the softball backstop, before looping around the swings. Finally, the snowplow began to drive in a straight line. Unfortunately, it was heading straight toward the front door of the school.

  With the snowplow only thirty meters from the door, Trixi shouted, “Look! It’s Terry Springate’s dog, Sparky! He’s driving the snowplow!”

  Martin couldn’t deny what his eyes could clearly see. Behind the windshield of the snowplow, resting on the steering wheel, were the two front paws of a cocker spaniel. The snowplow rumbled across the field in a perfectly straight line, and it didn’t look as if Sparky was about to change course.

  Trixi and Martin could hear the principal shout, “Clear the front of the school! Everyone out of the way!”

  “First a flood in the library, and now a dog driving a snowplow through the front doors of the school. Ms. Baumgartner is having one bad week and a half,” Trixi said.

  “She wouldn’t blame us for this, would she?” Martin said, chewing the fingernails of both hands at once.

  But Trixi never gave Martin an answer. A quick glance at Ms. Baumgartner’s uneaten bologna sandwich on the principal’s desk had given her an idea. She grabbed the sandwich, ran from the office and out the front door.

  When Ms. Baumgartner saw Trixi run past her and out into the snow toward the approaching snowplow, she shouted, “Trixi! What are you doing? Get back in the school this instant!”

  “It’s okay, Ms. Baumgartner,” Trixi said. She stopped, knee-deep in the snow, and began waving the bologna sandwich above her head. “Hey, Sparky! Bologna sandwich! Yum! Yum!” Sparky may have been able to drive a snowplow, but Trixi knew he was a dog at heart. When he spotted the sandwich, his eyes opened wide and a wet sloppy tongue flopped out of his mouth. Trixi threw the sandwich as far as she could toward the parking lot. Immediately, Sparky cranked the wheel and turned the snowplow in the direction of the sandwich. He leaped through the window, scooped up the sandwich in his mouth and chomped it down in two bites. The snowplow slowly came to a stop, its front bumper nudging the school’s flagpole.

  Ms. Baumgartner slapped her hand against her forehead and shook her head. Then she turned to Trixi and whispered in a hoarse voice, “I suppose I should thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Ms. Baumgartner,” Trixi replied as she headed back to the office.

  Even though Sparky had cleared some of the snow away, Ms. Baumgartner’s troubles were far from over. The temperature rose, and the snow began to melt. Rivers of water rushed to fill the gutters, flood the fields and swamp the storm drains. Within a few minutes, all that was left of the great September snowfall were a few puddles and some sopping, soaking, drenched-to-the-bone students and teachers.

  Martin and Trixi were back in the office, sitting obediently in their chairs, when a bedraggled Ms. Baumgartner staggered in, her hair plastered to her head and one of her high heels broken. She stopped and leaned against the doorway with only enough energy to say two words: “Go home.”

  When Martin arrived home, he was met at the door by Sissy and her five dogs.

  “Hey, Marty! Is it true? Is it true?” she shouted.

  “Is what true?” Martin said.

  “I heard a dog was driving a snowplow around the field at the school. And he was smoking a cigar and shouting at everyone in Japanese!”

  Martin shook his head and went inside.

  “Thank goodness you’re safe, Martin!” his mother said. “I heard a terrible story about maple trees pulling people’s heads off! I was so worried about you!” Martin shook his head once again and climbed the stairs to his room.

  Razor was there, strumming his guitar. “Hey! You decided to come home! I thought you might have been one of the kids who ra
n away.”

  “Ran away? What are you talking about?” Martin said.

  “To the circus, you twerp! I heard a bunch of kids ran away from the school to join the circus and become sword swallowers.”

  Martin clasped his hands against the sides of his head and screamed, “I don’t believe this! And it’s all her fault!”

  “Whose fault?” Razor said.

  Before Martin could reply, his mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs, “Martin! Telephone! For you!”

  A look of bewilderment came over Martin’s face.

  “What did you say?” he shouted back.

  “I said it’s the telephone! For you!”

  “The telephone? For me?” Martin said. He tried to remember the last time anyone phoned for him, but he couldn’t. “Are you sure it’s for me?”

  “Yes, of course I’m sure!” his mother said. “Unless there’s another Martin living in this house that I don’t know about.”

  Martin ran down the stairs, jumped over the fifth step and bounded down the hall to the kitchen. Who could it be? What could they want?

  He grabbed the phone out of his mother’s hand, pressed it against his ear and said, “Who is this?”

  “Hey, Marty!” It was a girl’s voice. Martin had never gotten a phone call from a girl. He didn’t say anything. He just pressed the phone harder against his ear.

  “Marty? Are you there?”

  “Who is this?” he said in a quiet voice.

  “Who do you think it is? Queen Elizabeth?” Martin was just about to slam the phone down, when he heard, “It’s Trixi, you little doofus!”

  His grip tightened around the phone. “What do you want?” he said.

  “You’re the only person left to call,” she said. “All my friends are out, so you were my last resort.”

  “Last resort? For what?”

  “My mom and dad are away at a convention, and our housekeeper’s locked in her room watching some reality show finale,” Trixi said.

  “So?”

  “So I had to talk to someone. Especially after what happened today at school. Wasn’t that one crazy day?

  I mean, who would ever believe we’d get that much snow in September? And a dog driving a snowplow? And what about that crazy maple tree? Mr. Quigley better buy stronger glue, if you ask me.”

  “What do you want?” Martin said.

  “What do I want?”

  “Yes, what do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything,” Trixi said. “I just thought we could talk about what happened today, that’s all.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah. That’s all. Hey, don’t you find that once in a while you’re bursting to talk to someone?”

  “Not really. I’m not much into talking,” Martin said.

  “Anyway, did you hear what some of the parents were saying about Mr. Dodson? They were going wild with—”

  “The newspaper had nothing to do with it,” Martin said.

  “What?”

  “You’re trying to convince me that the newspaper had something to do with what happened today at school,” he said. Martin discovered that talking on the phone made him feel braver.

  “What? No! I just wanted to talk, that’s all,” Trixi said.

  “I’m kind of busy right now,” Martin said. “The dogs’ teeth need flossing.” Then he hung up.

  TEN

  At lunch hour the next day, a familiar voice came over the pa system. “Trixi Wilder and Martin Wettmore to my office, please.”

  Trixi shrugged. She’d been expecting a call from Ms. Baumgartner. The only surprise was that it took until lunchtime. When Trixi arrived in the office, Martin was already there, slumped in one of the yellow plastic chairs. Ms. Baumgartner was behind her desk, chewing on a bologna sandwich.

  She seemed calm, but Martin knew what was on Ms. Baumgartner’s mind. She was going to blame all of yesterday’s chaos and confusion on the school newspaper. She was going to shut down the Upland Green school newspaper.

  Trixi also knew what Ms. Baumgartner was thinking. The principal was going to tell her to get ready for an appointment on Saturday morning with some dirty school buses. But Trixi wasn’t going to make it easy on Ms. Baumgartner. She would go on the attack. As soon as she sat down in her yellow plastic chair, she said, “You do realize, Ms. Baumgartner, that it wouldn’t look very good if you shut the newspaper down just when it’s getting popular.”

  When Martin heard Trixi’s words, a slight sparkle returned to his eyes. Trixi had actually made a strong argument for keeping the paper going. Martin’s archenemy had given him a glimmer of hope.

  “Trixi, please listen,” Ms. Baumgartner said as she put her sandwich down and brushed the crumbs off her hands. “No one’s said anything about shutting down the newspaper. But before the next edition, there are a few matters that have to be worked out.”

  As Ms. Baumgartner spoke, Trixi and Martin both grinned, but for different reasons. Martin was grinning with relief because his school newspaper was still alive. Trixi was grinning because Ms. Baumgartner had been backed into a corner. She knew the principal had no choice but to keep the newspaper going, and Trixi had to be part of it. Her fun was just beginning.

  “First of all, the paper will not be called the Gossiper,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “It will be called by its traditional name, the Examiner.”

  “Ah, come on, Ms. Baumgartner,” Trixi said. “The Examiner sounds like a newspaper only a doctor would read.”

  “It always has been called the Examiner and will continue to be called the Examiner,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “Second of all, the stories in the next edition are to be based on facts.”

  “But all the stories in the last edition were based on facts!” Trixi said. “Everything written in that paper actually happened. Only, they happened after the paper came out, that’s all.”

  “I am not here to discuss the wild events that occurred after the last edition of the paper was published,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “Do I make myself clear when I say the stories are to be based on facts?” Martin nodded vigorously. Trixi just smiled.

  “Thirdly,” the principal continued, “I want to see the next edition of the paper in my office the day before it goes on sale. The paper will only be copied if it meets my approval.”

  “Whatever happened to freedom of the press?” Trixi said. “I thought we lived in a country where citizens have the right to express their own opinions. Isn’t there something in the constitution about that?”

  Ms. Baumgartner took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “A newspaper with the school’s name across the top, printed on school paper, using the school photocopier, and sold in the school’s hallway will be inspected by the school’s principal. I’m sorry, Trixi, but that’s the way it’s going to be. Is that clear?”

  Ms. Baumgartner’s eyes darted back and forth between Martin and Trixi. Martin was nodding enthusiastically. It looked like the Upland Green Examiner would once again be a factual, solid, reliable paper. And who knows? Maybe Trixi would quit if she couldn’t have her way.

  Trixi wore a smile that Martin knew meant one thing and one thing only: she was already figuring out a way around Ms. Baumgartner’s newest set of rules. It was a whole new challenge, and Trixi loved challenges.

  “Are we crystal clear on the rules for the next edition of the paper?” Ms. Baumgartner said. Before Trixi or Martin could reply, Mrs. Sledge opened the office door and said, “Ms. Baumgartner! A stink bomb’s just gone off in the girls’ washroom!”

  The next Monday at noon, Martin’s knees felt a little wobbly as he walked toward his school newspaper meeting with Trixi. His knees shouldn’t feel this way. After all, Ms. Baumgartner had given them strict instructions. Martin was the expert on factual reporting, so he was clearly the one in charge. Still, his knees were telling him that he was a little nervous going into this meeting with Trixi the trickster.

  When he opened the door to the computer lab, there she was,
already sitting at the table, waiting. Martin was short of breath, and he could feel his heart thumping. Why should he be nervous? This was his newspaper. It was no time to wimp out.

  He didn’t sit down. If he did, Trixi would start talking, and she wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted. Martin reached inside his knapsack, and before Trixi could say a word, he pulled out the next edition of the school newspaper and slammed it down on the table.

  “It’s done!” he said. “The next edition of the Examiner. And don’t you dare change a word! All you have to do is take it to Ms. Baumgartner, get her approval and make the copies.”

  He turned quickly to leave, expecting to hear, at the very least, a shout from Trixi, or maybe even feel a pencil hitting him in the back of the head. But he didn’t hear or feel a thing. At the door, he hesitated and looked back at her.

  Trixi was calmly turning the pages of his paper, carefully reading each story. With every page she read, Trixi nodded and smiled.

  “Good,” Trixi said. “These stories are so good.”

  “Yes?” Martin replied. “I mean, Yes! They are factual stories. Just the facts and nothing but the facts. Just what Ms. Baumgartner likes.”

  “And I like them too!” Trixi said. “Especially this article on the water quality in our drinking fountains. Fascinating.”

  “Yes. It is fascinating. I was surprised myself at the amount of dissolved oxygen in our drinking water,” he said. “Not to mention the levels of turbidity. This story has some shocking details!”

  “Oh!” Trixi said. “And an interview with Mrs. Turlington, the substitute teacher. How extraordinary!”

  “Yes, I too was amazed to learn about Mrs. Turlington’s huge tea-cozy collection.”

  Trixi read an article about a virus that made half of Mr.

  Barker’s class miss a field trip to the game farm. She also read an article about a marching band that would be performing for the school this week, a story on the grade-six class’s pet hamster named Einstein, and, of course, the weather forecast.

  Trixi didn’t complain, shred the paper into tiny pieces or scream and yell at Martin for writing the worst heap of dullness ever. Instead she said, “There’s no doubt, Marty. You’ve done it again.” She straightened the papers so that all the edges were even; then she stood up and said, “I’ll be sure to show this to Ms. Baumgartner right away and get her approval.” Although these words came out of Trixi’s mouth, this did not sound like the Trixi Wilder that Martin knew. A little voice in his head kept telling him that something was wrong. Very wrong. Trixi was never this agreeable.