by Meg Haston
“Duh.” Molly already sounded bored. “Get to the good part.”
“Ummm… been going out with this girl for a few weeks, really likes her, thinks she’s the one… but lately she’s been hanging out with his best friend…”
“Awesome,” Molly approved. “Draaaamaaaaaa.”
“… not sure, but thinks she may have more in common with the best friend than him…. What should he do?” Liv looked up expectantly. So did the rest of the girls.
I chewed on my lip. Reading these letters used to give me an adrenaline rush, but now I felt more exhausted than if I’d just telecast live for an hour straight. I blinked at my friends. Molly twirled her hair expectantly. Liv leaned closer. Nessa stopped conjugating.
“Umm… dear Jilted Joe,” I began, knowing they wanted me to break it to the kid that it was too late—he’d lost his crush forever. But as my friends stared at me, waiting, my mind went blank. It sounded like the poor kid really liked this girl and he’d lost her to his best friend. What could possibly be funny about that?
“Uhhh, dear Jilted Joe,” Molly jumped in, champing at the bit. “First of all, Simon Says is supposed to be anonymous. So thanks for cluing us in to your identity, moron.”
“Joe, there’s this great book out there that you should totally pick up.” Nessa’s voice was smug. “It sounds like it was written just for you. I can’t remember the title…” She pressed her index finger to her lips, pretending to think. “Oh. Right. I got it.”
“SHE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU!!!!!!” Molly, Liv, and Nessa yelled in unison.
While the girls howled with laughter and high-fived one another, I stared numbly down the tracks, praying the train would come immediately and take me away from this platform. Their laughter grated on me. How had I never heard the way we sounded before—the way I sounded? We were ruthless, ignoring other people’s feelings for the sake of a laugh, or a segment on a stupid middle school news show. No wonder Paige and Zander wanted nothing more to do with me. I wanted nothing more to do with me.
At that moment, the train barreled around the corner, its white headlights as harsh and unforgiving as I’d been to my classmates. In the bright light, I saw myself for what I really was. Not an honest, hard-hitting journalist, but a mean girl who spoke her mind. And hurt everyone she’d ever cared about in the process.
DESPERATE MEASURES
Monday, 7:42 A.M.
“I need airtime.” I barged into the television studio at top speed, almost taking out two camera guys hanging by the doors. “Sorry. Airtime. Now.” I stalked over to the stage and slung my bag under the news desk with unnecessary force. And just the slightest hint of despair.
Carlos was lounging in his director’s chair and flipping through the Trib. A glowing Bluetooth flashed in his ear. “No, he didn’t. OH NO, HE DIDN’T!”
“CARLOS! YES, HE DID!” I barked, plopping into my rolling chair. “Now get me some airtime. Please!”
“Hold up.” He rolled his eyes toward me with an irritated sigh. “Miss Thing has entered the building. I’ll have to get you back.” He yanked out his Bluetooth. “I was in the middle of breaking a story,” he snapped. “And listen. You may have rocked the house Saturday night? Fabulous cast party hair, by the way?”
“Thanks.” I pawed self-consciously at my tangled waves. I’d been in such a hurry to catch Paige that I’d forgotten to brush my hair.
“But you’re not on my rundown. And you look terrible today. Your eyes are all red.”
“I know, I know,” I protested, leaping out of my chair and hurrying around the desk. “But this is really important.” I stopped just short of calling it a matter of life and death; the turning point in my future at Marquette, in my future as a journalist. My last chance to redeem myself. Even though technically, it was all of those things.
I grabbed his clipboard and did a quick scan. Abra’s feature on the play… the lunch menu… an OpEd on the new art teacher…
“Look as hard as you want—you’re not on that schedule,” Carlos said.
The red digital clock in the back of the studio left me exactly seventy-two seconds to make my case.
“T-turkey hot d-dogs, cole slaw, and apple suss. Sauce.” To the left of the anchor desk, a sixth grader shuddered in front of the green screen. “With yogurt berry parfait, a-and a selection of a-ssorted cookies for dessert.” He gripped his script in both hands. “T-turkey hot dogs. Turkey hot dogs. Turkey hot dogs.”
“Give me the lunch menu slot,” I said forcefully. “I’ll throw it in at the end of my segment.”
The sixth grader flashed me a grateful glance.
Carlos checked his nail beds, purposely making me squirm.
Fifty seconds.
“Look at him,” I argued, my voice strained tighter than the strings on Zander’s guitar. “If he turns the same color as the green screen, he’ll disappear on camera anyway.”
“It’s t-true,” said Lunch Menu Kid. Then he pressed his first two fingers against his pursed lips like he was going to vomit. “False alarm.”
“You know I hate changing my rundown,” Carlos reminded me, re-rolling the sleeves on his button-down until they were completely symmetrical. “Unless… you had something really juicy.”
“Totally,” I said. “I was going to break it on air, but I could always stop by the Gazette office on my way to homeroom.”
“Wait!” Carlos leaned forward in his chair, his eyes flashing with fresh interest. “So we’re talking breaking news?”
I nodded. “Breaking news. Swear.”
“So spill.”
“I will,” I said coyly, leaning back in my chair. “In fifteen seconds, when you put me on the air.”
Carlos paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Got your script?” he finally asked with a sigh.
“Don’t need it. Just need one thing, and I’m all set.” I leaned forward in my chair and reached into my messenger bag.
“You’re on in three, two—”
Time seemed to slow as I looked directly into the camera lens. Everything around me felt sharp and clear. Except for my stomach, which felt like it had been twisted into a balloon animal. “Morning, Marquette, and welcome to the final edition of Simon Says. I’m Kacey Simon, and this will be my last broadcast.”
Carlos gasped from the sidelines, but as the words left my mouth, I felt one hundred percent positive they were the right words. It didn’t matter what Carlos or anybody else thought. I wondered if this was how Zander felt when he was onstage.
“Marquette, I’d like a few minutes of your time.” As I spoke, every muscle in my body unclenched, even the tiny ones in my forehead. It was like all the anxiety, frustration, and confusion of the past week were evaporating and leaving me lighter than Sugar Daddy’s low-cal whipped cream. “This week marks our fortieth Simon Says episode. Which means I’ve been broadcasting my views on everything from relationship problems to fashion disasters for the past year.”
I glanced at the teleprompter, which had suddenly lit up with the words DON’T DO IT!
Ignoring the urge to roll my eyes at Carlos, I turned back to the camera. “And a good friend of mine pointed out that in the past year, instead of helping people with the segment, I’ve actually been hurting them.” I swallowed, wondering if Paige and Zander were watching. “There’s such a thing as being too honest. And I crossed the line between being honest and being brutal a long time ago. Maybe… maybe I never really knew where that line was.”
My voice grew stronger. “And so I just wanted to say, I’m sorry, Marquette. I’m sorry to everyone who wrote in to the show. I made you feel like it wasn’t okay to be you. And Simon Says: That is definitely not okay.” The words tumbled out of my mouth with ease, as if they’d been waiting forever for me to say them. “Before we go, I want to thank Paige Greene for being a total inspiration for this broadcast. Paige should be a role model for us all. She’s always been herself, even when it hasn’t been easy. And that’s the mark of a true lea
der.” I flashed my Kacey Simon Smile. “So go Greene. And vote Paige Greene for eighth-grade student body president. Also, it’s turkey hot dog day. So I’d suggest a vending machine run between classes.”
My fingers closed around the plastic frames in my lap. “In closing, if I’m asking all of you to be your real selves, that means I have to, too.” I unfolded my glasses and slid them on my nose. Over my contacts, the glasses made the entire studio go fuzzy. “I hope I’ll be back on the air someday. But until then…” I stared directly into the camera, pretending it was Zander and Paige. “Thith ith KAYTHEE THIMON. Thining off.”
THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH LIVE TELEVISION
Monday, 7:47 A.M.
Eight seconds too late for me to take it all back, the sheer terror settled in.
“Uhhhhh…” Camera Guy One stammered, positioning the camera between the news desk and his body. “Good show?”
“Thanks.” I slid off my glasses and stared as the red digits on the clock counted down. To what, I wasn’t exactly sure. The end of my life at Marquette? Of my career? Of my friendship with Molly and the girls?
I groped under the desk for my messenger bag, my forehead beading with sweat. What had I done? Was this the end of Kacey Simon, on-air talent? Had my sudden burst of conscience ruined everything? Would I now have to spend years slaving away to get my career back? I’d probably have to start at the very bottom, with the lunchroom beat.
In a fog, I stood up and made my way into Silverstein, where I ran smack into Paige.
“Hey.” Hallway light reflected off her lenses, making her eyes impossible to see. “So… I heard the broadcast.”
“Oh. Hey.” I rocked back on my heels, my heart humming in my chest. A million questions flew around my brain like flurries in a snow globe. Had she noticed my fashion tribute to her campaign? Would my on-air apology be enough? Or would she ditch me, like I’d ditched her in fifth? Maybe I deserved it.
“That was a really gutsy show. Seriously gutsy.”
“Really?” I allowed a tiny bit of hope to creep into my voice.
“Really.” Paige shuffled in her scuffed black loafers. After a few seconds, she broke out into a huge, excited grin. “I can’t BELIEVE you just did that! You’re CRAZY!” She pulled me in for a bony hug.
“Owww. Paige!” Happy tears filled my eyes as I hugged her back. “I can’t believe it, either.”
And then it hit me. No band, no show, no play… what did regular kids do with their mornings and afternoons?
“I guess I have a lot of free time on my hands now.” I sniffed and hooked my bag over my shoulder.
“That depends,” Paige said, linking her arm through mine and pulling me down the hallway toward homeroom.
“On…”
“On whether you agree to be my full-time campaign manager. Think about it.” She gestured excitedly with her hands, looking like she was speed-conducting an orchestra. “I need somebody who’s not afraid to tell me the truth, even when I don’t want to hear it. Somebody who’ll be straight with me.” She elbowed me in the side. “And you need a hobby.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” I groaned. Kacey Simon: Campaign Advisor to the Political Stars. Actually, it had a ring to it. “So… campaign manager. Does that include, like, being your media spokesperson or whatever? Because I think we could get Abra to do a profile on you.”
“Yes!” Paige squealed. “Exactly! So are you in?”
“Do you even need to ask?” I elbowed her back.
She shrieked and hugged me all over again. “Awesome. Awesome.” She pulled away and straightened her glasses on her nose. “So… first things first,” she said as we hurried down Silverstein. “My promo. Do you think there’s any way your mom would broadcast it during a commercial break? Because that kind of exposure would be pretty much invaluable.”
“Paige. It’s a middle school election,” I reminded her. We rounded the corner and headed for Hemingway. “Let’s just stick with Channel M for now, and we can think about other markets later.”
“Good call,” she decided briskly. “Start small, and conquer.”
As we neared Sean’s classroom, my stomach felt like I’d just stepped onto a high-speed elevator. Molly, Zander, Nessa, and Liv were loitering outside the door, chatting. Possibly about me.
Paige’s eyes fell on the group. “You gonna be okay?” she muttered under her breath.
I nodded. “Think so.” But the knot in my gut begged to differ.
“Kacey?” Molly’s eyes widened the second she saw me. “Um… tell me I didn’t just see you give up your show.” But instead of saying it in a mean way, she just looked confused.
“Um, yeah.” I searched Zander’s face for clues. He stared back, unblinking. His eyes were a listless gray. “I did.”
“Okay, so question one,” Nessa planted her hands on the wide cognac belt cinched around her hips. “Why? And question two, did you actually just apologize to the entire student body on air? You were doing those viewers a favor!”
Paige sighed.
“I just…” I caught Zander’s eye. He blinked and looked away. “I just need to take a little break from the show, is all.”
“Reconnect with your soul.” Liv nodded, like she understood. “Oooh! Or you could do that on the air! You could have a segment where you review local spas!”
“Love it,” Molly decided. For a brief second, her eyes flicked over to Zander, but he just shrugged. “We could be your research team!”
While the girls pitched different ideas for Kacey Simon’s Spa Hour, I turned to Zander.
“Hey,” I said softly to his blue streak. I’d forgotten just how electric it was.
“Hey.” Brief nod. “Good show. That was really cool, what you just did.”
“I didn’t even realize what I was doing until after the broadcast, and then I got, like, stage fright or something, which never happens, and—” I stopped, realizing I was babbling. “Anyway.” I could feel my cheeks starting to burn. “Maybe I could stop by the loft before practice and tell you about it then? Plus I have your Dylan album….” My voice trailed off when I saw the hardened look in his eyes.
“I, uh… don’t think so.” Zander pressed his lips in a tight line. It was like he was sealing himself off, refusing to let me in. “Maybe you could just give the album to Molly, and I’ll get it from her if we hang out again. If she comes to the showcase Friday night.”
“Oh,” I croaked, my heart sinking to the toes of my boots.
Wait. If? “Zander—”
He lifted his palm, cutting me off. “I mean, good show, and everything. Really. But I still can’t figure out who the real Kacey Simon is.”
“This is the real me.” I kept my voice level, but inside, I was screaming. How could he not recognize it when the real Kacey was standing right in front of him? When she’d just bared her soul on television? When she’d purposely lisped in public? “Zander, I—”
But he’d already turned his back to me. He slung his arm around Molly in good-bye, then started down the hall to his homeroom. I took a stunned step back as Molly, Nessa, and Liv filed into Sean’s classroom.
I felt Paige’s hand on my arm. “You okay?”
I glanced at the ceiling and blinked a few times. “Yeah.”
“No, you’re not,” Paige said matter-of-factly. “You totally have a thing for Zander.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. “Don’t bother. I know how to read my constituents. You like him. And…” She paused. “I think he likes you, too.”
My head snapped toward her. “Really? No way.” I could feel the sweat starting to bead along my neck, and I swiped it away.
She nodded. “Way.”
I wanted to believe Paige was telling the truth. I wanted it more than anything. But from the way Zander had just treated me, how could I? A real journalist is objective, and never ignores the facts. But what if I didn’t want to be objective when it came to Zander? Maybe I just wanted to be a girl. A
girl who was crushing hard on a completely forbidden boy. A girl who couldn’t possibly do anything about her crush, since that would ruin her relationship with her newly reinstated best friend.
A girl who was totally, one hundred percent in like. Objectively.
I’M (NOT) WITH THE BAND
Friday, 8:47 P.M.
“Is Z not a jillion times more talented than these guys?” Molly yelled, cutting her eyes at the applause and whistles that had erupted inside the dim theater-turned-café next door to Vinyl Destination. The round black tables between the coffee bar and the stage were all filled. The girls and I were crammed around the table closest to the stage, waiting for Gravity to perform the last remaining set in the Rock Chicago talent showcase.
I nodded, feeling like I’d swallowed a ball of wet papier-mâché. I reminded myself that I had to be here. It would look weird if I bailed. Molly would start to ask questions, and I would not want to answer them.
“Is Quinn coming?” Liv asked.
“Oh, I didn’t invite him,” I said dismissively. I’d been avoiding Quinn all week, which was pretty easy now that rehearsal was over.
Under the table, Paige squeezed my knee supportively. She’d agreed to come for moral support but swore that if Molly called her Phoebe even once, she was out.
“This has to be so weird for you.” Nessa cleaned her cat-eye glasses on her sleeve and slid them on again. She took a long sip of her decaf cappuccino, staring knowingly over her mug like she was reading my every thought.
I shrugged and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“For real.” Liv nodded sympathetically. The applause died down and the band flashed peace signs and ambled off the stage. “I mean, coming to a show after you decided you didn’t want to be in the band anymore?”
Next to me, Paige bristled. “Uh, that’s not exactly what—”
“She didn’t come for Z, duh.” Molly cut her off. “She came to support me. Because she’s an amazing BFF.” She grabbed my hand across the table and squeezed.