Everyone's a Critic (2 page)

“So what do you think of the new arrangement,
Paste?” he asked. “Maybe Trigger has really lost it this time.”

“Well, I'm thinking of it as a little vacation,” I said, smiling, trying to be positive.

“A vacation from me?” he said, suddenly going all puppy dog on me.

My face fell. “No, of course not, I just meant—”

“I'm just messing with you, Trippy,” he said, and gave my ponytail a tug. “See ya. Gotta get to practice!”

I watched as he turned left and walked down the hallway to his locker. He ran into Frank, the quarterback who's on the football team with him. They gave each other a high five and continued on.

I realized I was just standing there, blatantly staring. I forced myself to hustle straight ahead to my locker. Boys. If I ever figure out Michael Lawrence, then maybe I
will
actually know it all.

Chapter 2

“What do you think you're doing?” Allie said, marching into her room with her head down, fingers flying on her phone, texting.

“How can you even see me with your head buried in your phone like that?” I asked, trying to distract her since she just caught me raiding her closet for something cute to wear tomorrow. Allie's the neat one, and actually bothers to fold all her clothes on her shelves and in the drawers. I have to remember to put back everything as it was. Allie will notice if just one tiny thing is different from how she left it. She'd probably make a great detective.

“I'm going to get a padlock,” she said, finally looking up at me.

“I thought you had play practice.” I said.

“Oh, so this is what you do when I'm not around—steal my clothes? Trying to figure out what to wear to impress Mr. Crush? Get out,” she said, flinging herself on her bed. She went back to answering her text, paused for a second to check out her sparkly blue manicure, then continued poking at her phone.

Since Allie started rehearsals for the school play, her inner diva, which was already sort of there, has been fully unleashed. She has one of the big supporting roles in
West Side Story
, but you would think she'd been nominated for an Academy Award. I'll admit, the school play is a really big deal in my town. The middle school joins together with the high school to put on a huge production. The sets take almost a year to make. People from all over the town, not just family and friends, come to it. It's an amazing opportunity for the middle school kids too. They rarely get leads, but they do get some of the parts and play
a major role on the stage crew. Our drama club always wins lots of awards, regionally and even nationally. But this doesn't mean Allie can walk around like she's the next Selena Gomez. At least not at home.

“Fine, I'll go. I'm sorry,” I said, hanging my head and trying to look hopeless. Allie may be a diva, but she has a soft spot for helping me.

“Oh, all right,” she said, looking up. “I'll let you borrow one thing.”

She bought it.
Potential Thief Fakes Hurt Feelings and Scores!
I felt a little bad, but she did take away the one shirt she actually said I could wear before I even got a chance to wear it.

“The green shirt?”

“You can wear it tomorrow, promise,” she said, and then she was back with her phone.

I went into the den. I needed to call Hailey ASAP. I wanted her to get a call from me the moment she got home from soccer practice. I settled into the big leather armchair and dialed.

“Hey, how was practice?” I asked when Hailey
answered. My stomach started making noises. Suddenly, I realized how starving I was. I seem to need to eat all the time, and I get really grumpy when I'm hungry—another lovely fact about me that Michael knows, since he's heard my stomach during
Voice
meetings. No wonder he hasn't actually asked me out.

“Whoa, a phone call from Samantha Martone! Where's the fire?”

“Okay, okay, I know I deserved that, but we've moved on, right?”

“Right, right,” Hailey said.

I brought the cordless with me into the kitchen and started rummaging for food. I found a bag of cashew nuts and started chomping away.

“Are you eating?” Hailey asked. “Or rather, what are you eating?”

“Cashew nuts.”

“Why would you eat those when you have so many better choices?” she asked. Hailey is really picky. She probably eats about ten foods and wishes that high-fructose corn syrup was a food group. Her mom cooks superhealthy stuff
all the time—like tofu veggie stir-fries and lentil burgers. She thinks our regular dinners, like chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, are the bomb. She considers pretzels junk food. I, on the other hand, need lots of different foods to keep my tummy happy.

“I like cashews.”

“Okay, so can I come over tomorrow?”

“Sure. Actually, you could come over every day this week! I found out that I don't have to write an article for the next paper, except—,” I said, and stopped myself.

“Except what?” she asked.

I took some time to chew a big handful of cashews and gather my thoughts.

“Except (chew), um (chew, chew), that . . . once again, I won't see Michael as much.” Wow, that was crazy close. I almost said “except the Dear Know-It-All column.” It's not easy to keep one of the biggest things going on in your life from your best friend. You know how a wet paint sign makes you want to touch the paint? Well, sometimes, just because I can't say the name of
the column, it's always on the tip of my tongue. “But I'll get to see you more. You'll be sick of me by the end of the week.”

“Sick of you? Never. But I'm kind of getting sick of the sound of cashew nuts being chewed in my ear.”

“Sorry,” I said over a big mouthful.

“Okay, enjoy your snack. See you tomorrow!”

I got off the phone with Hailey, went to my room, and logged in online. I scanned my favorite news Websites and our local town newspaper blog. I always keep up with the town news. Allie was still in her room, blasting music, and my mom was in her home office. It was a perfect time to look through the latest Dear Know-It-All letters that I had shoved into my pocket. I fished them out and read them. As usual, there were some goofy ones like
“Dear Know-It-All, I can't get to school on time”
(Get up earlier?) or
“Dear Know-It-All, my math class is too cold. What should I do?”
(Bring a sweater?) I read the second-to-last one, hoping it wasn't from the last living brain cell in the school:

Dear Know-It-All,

My friend recently asked me for some honest advice and I gave it to her. The problem is that she didn't like the advice, and told me I was wrong, and now is mad at me. I'm okay with her disagreeing with me, but why did she ask me if she didn't really want my opinion? Isn't it okay to have different opinions?

Signed,

Too Honest

Hmm. Is there such a thing as being too honest? I think of the times that Allie was certainly too honest with me, even though sometimes I actually ask for her opinion. It's always annoying to hear something negative. She never misses an opportunity to tell me I need my hair trimmed or cooler shoes, or that I just need to look more like her. But we're sisters, and if we're talking honestly here, I never miss an opportunity to tell her when she looks like she's trying too hard with too much makeup or supertight jeans.

But friends are different. If Hailey asks me if I like her shirt or if she's being too pushy or something,
sometimes I tell her the truth and sometimes I don't. It depends on whether I think I'll really upset her or not. She was honest with me this morning and I guess I needed to hear what she told me, so that was okay. Were there really different rules for when to be honest? Or is it that sometimes you shouldn't be
as
honest as other times?

Maybe
I
need to be more truthful. I constantly cover up the Dear Know-It-All column, but that's because I have to. I just manipulated Allie into letting me borrow a shirt. If I turn up the “honesty” volume, will people get upset? Boy, this is a tough one.

I read another letter in a bright red leftover Christmas card envelope:

Dear Know-It-All,

I'm good friends with a boy who I like. We do stuff together, but I never know if it's a date. How do I find out?

Sincerely,

Just Friends?

Yeah, I know a little something about that. Lately, though, I've been wondering if Michael and I even fall into that category anymore, since we haven't spent much time together.

“Sam! Can you help me set the table?” my mom called from the kitchen. I guess the Dear Know-It-All column would have to wait. I stuffed the letters back into my pocket.

The next day, at lunch, Hailey and I sampled the organic sweet potato fries from the premium table, where we can pay extra to get something healthy. Believe it or not, it's usually extra-yummy, too, and I'm talking about things like kale chips, chickpea fritters, and whole-grain carrot muffins. Even Hailey eats it, or some of it, kind of.

“These are awesome,” I said, waving a fry in Hailey's face. “Have one.”

“Are they mushy?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed.

“Just take one!”

“Oh, all right,” Hailey said. She sat up and took a bite. Her face lit up. “They're just like regular fries, only, um . . .”

“Sweeter? As in
sweet
potato?”

I looked up and saw Michael come into the cafeteria. He didn't even walk over to our table to say hello, which he usually does, but sat at a table full of guys on the baseball team.

“Is he ignoring me?” I asked.

“No, why would he be?” Hailey said, stealing another one of my fries.

“I don't know. No reason.”

“Don't worry. He didn't forget about you when he wrote that story with Austin.”

“I know.” I just wanted to get back to our routine. For the last issue, Michael worked on a story with Austin Carey about the school district's investments. Now we were skipping this issue. By the time we really got working on it, a month would have gone by since we'd actually spent some quality time together. When you have a crush, it seems like every day something happens to change your situation one way or another.

Hailey must have seen the panic on my face. “Okay, I have an idea. Get out a pen and paper and write down what I say.”
Girl Saves Best Friend from Losing Crush!
At least I hoped so. Since Hailey has dyslexia, it's hard for her to write fast. I'm usually the list person.

“‘How to Keep Michael Lawrence's Interest,'” she said.

“Shh!” I hissed.

“Okay,” she said in a lower tone. “Ask him about the play.”

I wrote that down.

“Ask him how baseball is going.”

Kind of boring, but maybe.

“Ask him who he has a crush on,” she said, as if she were reciting a grocery list to me.

“I don't think so,” I said.

“Just write! Show up at his house really hungry and ask if he could make you some cinnamon buns or else you might die of starvation.”

“Are you insane?” I rolled my eyes and crumpled up the list.

“Why'd you do that? I was just joking on the
last one,” she said. She suddenly seemed kind of hurt. Now I was wondering if my reaction was too honest. I know she was joking on the last one, but
Ask him who he has a crush on
? Really?

“I might do the first two,” I said.

“Good!” She perked back up. “Let's get started!”

She grabbed my arm and I stuffed the crumpled paper in my bag. At least I was wearing the cute green shirt and my favorite little silver hoop earrings that I got last year for my birthday.

“What are we doing?” I whispered.