Black and White and Gray All Over (9 page)

“Whoa!” he said, steadying himself against the wall.

I slipped a little and banged my elbow against the molding on the wall.

“Ow!” I said, cradling my throbbing elbow.
Self-Inflicted Injuries Leading Cause of Deaths in the Workplace.

Michael laughed. “I should have known. It's been about a full week since you've hurt me or
done something klutzy in front of me, Pasty. We were overdue.”

“Very funny, not!” I said. “Ouch!” I moaned again.

Michael was grinning at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. I haven't seen you in ages,” he said.

“Really?” I asked. I was being defensive, since I knew exactly how long it had been, but when I saw the hurt look in his eyes I quickly realized I'd been too tough, bordering on rude, so I changed my tune. “I mean, I know! I noticed that too!” I wanted to add that I was surprised he had noticed since he'd been so busy with Miss United Kingdom, but I bit my tongue (not literally!).

“What's up with you?” he asked.

“Not much. You?” I already knew the answer but had to ask out of politeness.

“Just working. School, practice, and the paper. I miss—” But he stopped himself.

“What?” I asked.
Please say me! Please say me!
I was thinking it so hard I almost thought he could hear me.

“I miss your work ethic,” he said.

Oh.

“Thanks, I guess,” I said, deflating.

There was a tiny pause. “Anything you miss about me?” he prompted.

“Oh. Um. Your cinnamon buns?” I joked. Michael happens to make the best cinnamon buns in the world.

“That's all?” He pretended to be wounded and staggered a little.

I laughed. “No. I miss your steel-trap memory, too. I interviewed Pfeiffer this morning and it was a doozy! I wished I didn't have to write everything down.”

Michael was excited. “You interviewed him alone? How did it go? What was it about?”

“The school uniforms debate. He was very interesting about it, actually.”

“Wow, Paste. I can't believe you dialed that guy up and just marched on in there all by yourself. Way to go!” We grinned at each other, and then he said casually, “So how is it working alone?”

“Oh, it's . . .” I was going to fake it and say
“great,” but that was mean, and it was actually the opposite of the truth. “It's lonely,” I said, shrugging. “I miss having a partner.”

Michael smiled. “That's too bad,” he said.

“Then why are you smiling?” I asked. I couldn't believe I'd actually said that aloud.

“Oh, just thinking.”

“How is it with, uh, Kate Bigley?” I asked.

Michael's brows knit together the way they always do when he's searching for the right thing to say. I gulped while I waited, wishing I'd never asked. Finally he said, “Uh, let's just say you two have very different approaches to journalism.”

“That's all?” I pressed.

“Pretty much all I can say at this point,” he said, looking away.

“Is it going well?” I asked. I'm a fool. Why did I even want to know?

“Oh, yeah. Sure. It's going pretty well,” he said. But he wouldn't look me in the eye!

Either this guy was in love with Kate Bigley, or things were going terribly. I couldn't tell, and it was going to drive me crazy.

“Okay. Any big weekend plans?” I asked. I had to know if he was going out with her or something.

“Nah,” he said. “It's Jeff's birthday, so his mom is taking us to paintball on Saturday.”

“Fun!” I said. It actually sounded like torture to me, but I know boys love that sort of thing.

“Yeah! Anyway, that's about all. So . . .”

“Yeah. So. I need to get going to class. So bye!”

“Oh, okay. Bye,” he said. But I walked away first.

I don't know why, but I was confused and kind of sad as I walked away. I felt like there was so much being unsaid, and from his side I couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

In the newsroom there were lots of other kids working on stories, so I couldn't look for new Dear Know-It-All letters. I'd e-mail Mr. Trigg and ask him to check for me later. I hoped there'd be something superjuicy for me. If nothing else had come in, I'd have to go with what I had, since I'd need to write the reply on Sunday in order to hand it in on time next week. None of the choices were that great, but I'd have to make do. I was
looking forward to Sunday, actually, because I had a lot of parts of the school uniforms article. On Sunday I'd tie it all together in a draft, then finalize it on Monday. I was also looking forward to the sleepover with Hailey. She could set up a survey on Buddybook for me tonight to poll who was for and who was against the idea. I always like going to the people on things like this, even if it is a little skewed toward those who favor social media.

After school my mom took me and Hailey to the grocery store to get stuff for Make Your Own Sundaes. We were going to get pizza at the mall and then see the movie and have dessert at home later. My mom refuses to pay movie theater snack prices. We got all kinds of awesome toppings: crispy chocolate shell, dulce de leche, marshmallow cream, waffle cookies to crumble over the top, and three flavors of ice cream. Hailey was in junk-food heaven since her mom is a health nut. As we piled the stuff in the basket, we howled with laughter at
the possible combinations, jokingly pointing to other stuff on the shelves that we could add and making up funny sundae names. My mom was just shaking her head at us, smiling, as we reached the end of the aisle to get on line, when who should we see up ahead but Kate Bigley!

She was heading toward the checkout line with her own mom, and we called out to her. She smiled and waved, so we went to stand behind her and there were introductions all around. Her mom was pretty and chic, in very trim, fitted clothes that were simple but stylish. She and my mom chatted while we showed Kate all the junk food we'd bought, but I was feeling terribly guilty. I wished there was a way I could have a telepathic conversation with Hailey that Kate couldn't hear. I wanted to say,
I feel bad for Kate and feel like we should invite her, but I don't want to share my special evening with you with her, too!
I thought about the shoe being on the other foot (shoes again!), and how I'd feel if I were Kate, and that's when I decided to invite her. Only, to my surprise, Hailey beat me to it.

“Hey, why don't you come with us? You could
come to Sam's, then the movie, and sleep over afterward with us!”

Kate's eyes lit up at the invitation. Hailey looked questioningly at me to see if I was on board and I nodded. “Yes, please come! It will be fun!”

“Oh, that's so sweet of you,” said Kate. “And I wish I could, but my parents are having some dinner guests I'd really like to meet, so I've got to stay home, you see?”

“Ooh! Who are they?” asked Hailey as I stared daggers at her. She can be sort of clueless, like not realizing it's sort of an impolite thing to ask someone that.

“Well, it's . . . my mom's actually a writer, and it's her editor and his wife, who's an agent. I think they're neat because they know all sorts of famous literary people and they like to talk books all night long and gossip about authors!”

“Wow!” I breathed. I couldn't imagine a night like that. “That's so cool that your mom is a writer. What does she write?”

“Oh, fiction. Short stories. She's had a novel published. She writes for British
Vogue
sometimes and
Tatler
,
which is a magazine back home.”

“That's so cool! How come you never said so?” I asked. I was actually kind of hurt that she hadn't shared that with me at lunch the other day, or ever.

Kate shrugged. “It's . . . I don't know. It's her gig, you know?”

“Is she famous?” asked Hailey, her eyes agog.

Kate laughed. “To a very small group of people, yes.”

“Wow. Cool,” said Hailey. “I can't imagine wanting to write.”

“Hailey, come on!” I said.

“Ready, girls?” asked my mom. “Is Kate coming along?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Martone, but I'm going to stay home tonight. Sam and I have plans for tomorrow, though. Have fun, girls!”

“You too! Take notes!” I said.

“Ugh! Notes! My least favorite thing about journalism!” Kate laughed. “Besides research!” She laughed again.

“Bye!” we said.

Outside, Hailey and I were quiet as we put the
bags in the car and climbed in. After a minute, my mom laughed. “Cat got your tongues back there, girls?”

I realized it was quiet. “No. I was just thinking. It's weird that Kate hates notes and research and she's a journalist, right?”

“Why?” asked Hailey. “I hate them, too.”

“Because those are like two of the main things about being a journalist, along with interviewing people and writing. That's pretty much it. It's just weird that you'd hate fifty percent of what you do.”

“Some people hate more than that,” said my mom. “And they get up and go to jobs all day long where they hate seventy-five, eighty, one hundred percent of what they do.”

“That would stink,” I said.

“Yeah,” agreed Hailey. “Almost as much as having a friend who makes all kinds of plans with other people without telling you.”

“What? Hails! Come on!” I laughed. “Are you mad I'm doing something with Kate tomorrow?”

My mom turned up the radio to give us some privacy, and she began singing along, loudly
and with the wrong words. I cringed and wished Hailey weren't mad right now so we could share a look and giggle about my mom.
Insane Mom Thinks She's Hip: Top 40 Her Ticket to Loony Bin.

But Hailey shrugged and looked out the window silently for a moment.

“I asked you first!” I protested.

“You just have so much more in common with her,” said Hailey. “I just know you're going to end up liking her more and dump me.”

I swatted her. “Don't be ridiculous! No one could ever replace you! And anyway, how do you think I feel with you hanging out with Jenna all the time?”

“I only started hanging out with Jenna because you were with Michael all the time,” said Hailey.

I wanted to giggle at the expression “got Jenna,” but I knew it wasn't the right time. It would only make Hailey madder. She gets self-conscious if she thinks I'm teasing her for being dumb (which she isn't and I never do). “Well, as long as we each know we come first,” I said.
“Deal?” I put out my hand for her to shake.

She looked down at it like she wasn't going to take it; then she quickly spit into her palm and held it out to me.

“Eeeewww!” I screamed, slapping her hand away, and just like that, we were back. If only it were that easy with Michael.

Hailey and I had a blast at the mall. Pizza was fun: We ran into a bunch of girls we're friends with from school, and we all sat together and checked out some accessories they'd bought with their babysitting money.