Read All About It! (3 page)

This year we were assigned stories each week, and I had been assigned to
report and write a lead article about the new curriculum changes at the school. Lead
articles are on the front page, usually “above the fold,” which is what
newspapers call the top half of the front page. It's where the most important news
goes, and for a reporter, it's an honor to have your work placed there. It was
shaping up to be a great year for me at the paper.

Susannah and Mr. Trigg and I were working out everything the curriculum
story should contain, or as Mr. Trigg said, “hitting all the angles.” I
learned that at writing camp. To be a good journalist you have to be able to look at
something from all different angles so you aren't just reporting on one side of
the story.

“Why don't you talk to two or three parents as part of the
man-on-the-street interviews, and then call Mrs. Jones to get the PTA's official
reaction on it?” suggested Susannah. “Jeff can go with
you and get some shots.” Jeff Perry was the main photographer, and the guy I
thought would be good for Hailey.

I nodded and wrote this all on a list in my notebook.

Mr. Trigg interrupted. “Pardon me, but I think this article is too
much work for one person to do in ten days.” Part of his job as faculty advisor
was to make sure our newspaper work didn't cut too much into our homework and
sports time. “I think Ms. Martone needs a coreporter.”

He looked around the group of twelve or so kids who were assembled in
the newspaper office. “Mr. Lawrence. How about you?”

My stomach lurched and I looked behind me. Michael Lawrence had come in
late and hadn't gotten a seat. He was leaning against the wall with his hands deep
in the front pockets of his jeans. He never takes notes on anything because he has a
famously photographic (and apparently DVR-like) memory. Just another reason why I
worship him.

Michael nodded at Mr. Trigg, and Trigger said,
“Samantha, why don't you and Mr. Lawrence meet afterward and lay out
your plan of attack. Equal work, equal time.” I tried to nod casually but I
thought I might faint. This was a dream come true and a nightmare all rolled into one! I
looked down at my jeans and shirt and really wished I had borrowed a cute outfit from
Allie this morning. And by “borrowed” I mean smuggled from her closet
without her permission, because she would never give it.

Mr. Trigg had one more big announcement. “Now just a reminder to
those of you who are returning to the
Cherry Valley Voice
and
a notice to all of you who have just signed on. Facts are king in the newsroom. We print
nothing but the truth, in black and white. Any quotation, any fact, must be
substantiated. That means you need proof of everything you claim in your
stories—every statistic, every quotation, everything! Does everyone
understand?”

Duh! Facts are my life! I looked around and everyone was nodding. Of
course! We all love facts. That's why we're here! Facts and writing, that
is.

Susannah wrapped up the meeting and I gave Jeff
Perry a few ideas for shots to get around school (the principal, Mr. Pfeiffer; Mrs.
Jones, the head of the PTA; some teachers and kids). He left, and while the other kids
milled around the room, I gathered my things and tried to think of something clever to
say to Michael Lawrence when I met him at the door. But the next thing I knew he was
tapping me on the shoulder.

“Hey, Pasty,” he said. His voice is husky and kind of
deep.

I could feel my face turn red and my shoulder almost burned where he had
touched me. I stood up and turned around quickly, dropping my reporting notebook on the
floor. Darn it! Why do I have to be so clumsy all the time?

“Hey, yourself,” I said, bending over to pick up the
notebook. I was trying to play it cool. The “Pasty” thing was embarrassing,
and it was also starting to get a little annoying. I mean, it was eight years ago!

Michael was smiling at me. “Psyched to get the scoop?” he
asked, tucking his hands under his
armpits and rocking on his heels
a little.

I didn't feel nervous as long as we were talking business.
“Yeah. I think lots of people are pretty upset over these curriculum changes. I
know, just for myself, it's hard to keep track of which class is which and what
we're supposed to be doing there. I mean social studies is now called earth
science.”

Michael grew thoughtful. “I know. But I actually think in the long
run it's going to be great for the school. Anyway, let's talk to at least
two kids in every grade, the three parents, Mrs. Jones from the PTA, we'll also
need three teachers, the principal, maybe an education expert or someone from the
superintendent of schools . . .”

I had opened my notebook back up and was writing this all down. Michael
looked at my notebook. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just getting it all down . . .” I said, writing.

“You mean you can't just remember?”

That was annoying. I looked up. “No. I can't. Not everyone
has a fancy memory like you,” I said.

“It's not about having a fancy memory,” he said
patiently. “It's about being a good
listener.”

I glared at him. This was not going very well. “I
am
a good listener,” I said. (
That's why I'm the Dear Know-It-All this year and you're
not
, I wanted to scream, but I didn't.) “I just like having notes
to refer back to. I like getting everything right, and I like having
checklists.”

He stared at me for an extra second. “Okay, Listy,” he said
finally. “Let's make a list of who does what.”

Great! Another nickname! I groaned inwardly. But a huge grin had spread
across his face and his eyes crinkled up at the outer corners into fans. At least he was
cracking himself up. Two deep dimples appeared on either side of his smile, and I felt
my breath catch in my throat at his cuteness.
Girl Sues Classmate
for Harassment
, I thought.
Then Marries Him
, I
added.

We divvied up the interviews and agreed to make an appointment to meet
with the principal together, ideally during a lunch period, as soon as possible. Maybe
we'll have time to sit together and go over things after our interview. But what
if we
run out of stuff to talk about? Or what if I have to eat
spaghetti in front of him? Ugh. Messy!

As we wrapped up the details, Michael put his hand out. Seeing as how no
one my age shakes hands, it took me a second to know what he was doing. I reached out my
hand to shake his and felt myself melt into a puddle as his big, warm hand engulfed
mine.

Michael left and I realized I needed to be at the soccer team tryouts
ASAP. I smashed my notebook into my bag and headed toward the door.

“Samantha!” called Mr. Trigg, just as I was leaving. He came
hurrying alongside me. “E-mail address, please. Stat,” he said quietly, in a
very calm tone. I knew it was so he could e-mail me the Know-It-All guidelines.

I pulled my notebook back out and quickly wrote it down for him,
checking to make sure no one was looking before I ripped off the sheet and slyly palmed
it to him. He kept his eyes on the room as he received it from me. I think he kind of
enjoyed this spy stuff. I was starting to too.

“Excellent,” he said. “Update TK. Cheerio!”

TK means “to come” in writing.
It's a placeholder while you wait for more information. I knew what he meant and I
nodded, feeling like a coconspirator. Then I headed off to report on the soccer
tryouts.

As I trudged out to the school fields, my head spun with new
assignments. Besides the big curriculum article and the soccer team tryouts, I had
Know-It-All coming up and all of my schoolwork. I felt a jangly sense of nervous
excitement about working with Michael Lawrence on the curriculum article. He was so
smart, which made me think I might even learn something from him, but he was so cute it
was distracting! I just hoped I didn't make a fool of myself.

“Samm-
my
!” Hailey called out from
the far side of the field. The place was mobbed. Cherry Valley Middle School has three
girls' and three boys' soccer teams: varsity, junior varsity, and
recreational, which is for enthusiastic klutzes like me. I waded through crowds of
seventh- and eighth-grade veterans, as well as sixth-grade hopefuls who were trying to
look cool and not necessarily succeeding.

“Hey!” I said as I reached Hailey.
“This place is a zoo.”

“Why aren't you changed?” she asked.

I sighed loudly. “This is what I wear when I'm
reporting,” I said, gesturing to my jeans and my Toms shoes and the vintage
leather messenger bag that I always wear slung diagonally across my back. I
shrugged.

“Tsk, tsk,” said Hailey. “You'll never know
until you try.”

“It's not like we'd even be on the same team,
Hails.” Varsity had been doing preseason for the past week. I'd be lucky to
make the rec team.

But I did feel a little wistful as I surveyed the chatty group milling
around outdoors on this sunny Indian summer afternoon. The teams looked like fun, so
part of me really did want to participate. But I'm so clumsy and I have so much
other stuff on my plate. And honestly, I really like to work alone.

I pulled out my notebook and began to do some man-on-the-streets,
chatting with some kids I knew, some I didn't, asking for age, name, grade,
and why they were trying out. Kids had lots of different
reasons—for fun, for exercise, to get in shape, to prove to my dad I can make it
(that one was a little sad), to impress a guy. Hmm. That one gave me pause.

Michael Lawrence is a major jock. Not a rock head, but just a very good
athlete. One of those guys who never seems to stress out during a game. Not that
I've watched him. Or, okay, not that many games. Only a few.

Now I wondered in panic if he even liked girls who were not athletic.
Maybe indoorsy girls just don't cut it for him! Because, while he clearly enjoyed
writing and was good at it, he didn't spend much time on it. The paper was more of
a hobby for him, whereas football (quarterback) and baseball (pitcher) were his life.
They were what he was known for around school.

I continued to wander around, getting good quotes (“Sometimes I
imagine I'm in the World Cup and it makes me try harder,” and “I
picture a lion chasing me. It makes me run faster.”) and chatting here and there
as I made my way over to
the coaches and captains for some good
background material.

Hailey was with them now. As cocaptain, she would probably have some say
over who made varsity. That was pretty powerful. She was stretching her shapely, tan
legs and laughing with the coach. She even chucked him playfully on the shoulder with
her fist. It looked like she was having fun. As I approached, the football team began
their warm-up run right past the soccer field. All the soccer kids kind of stopped what
they were doing and watched, because the football players had been training for all of
August, and they were the acknowledged athletic kings of the school. I looked closely
and spotted Michael, number fifteen and third in line. I watched him as he ran. He was
so graceful and strong and tall. He just knew how to move.

As they passed the coaches, everyone called greetings back and forth. I
heard Hailey yell something and she reached her hand out to Michael. He high-fived her
as he ran by, and I felt a twinge of jealousy. Athletes were so easy and comfortable
with one another, always laughing and joking and
slapping one
another on the butt and stuff. I did sort of wish I could be like that.

I resumed walking toward Hailey while, of course, still looking at
Michael running by. It wasn't until I was halfway to the ground that I realized
I'd tripped over a huge pile of cones. I landed on my hands and pushed myself back
up pretty quickly, but I knew Michael had seen. He was turned back toward me and pumped
his fist in the air. I thought I heard him yell, “Way to go, Pasty!” My face
burned a hot, deep red.

Aargh!

“Sammy! Oh my gosh! Are you okay?!” Hailey was at my side in
a flash but she was laughing. “That was classic! Did you do that on
purpose?”

“What do you think?” I asked, annoyed.
Girl Wipes Out in Front of Crush
. As if I'd do something that dumb on
purpose. “And Michael saw me.”

Hailey giggled. “I know. He laughed too.”

“Great,” I said.

“Well, it
looked
like you were doing it
on purpose,” said Hailey, not laughing anymore.

I sighed and made sure I had all my gear stowed in
its proper place. Hailey picked up my notebook and handed it to me. It had flipped open
to the page where I had written “Dear Know-It-All, by Samantha Martone” and
then crossed it out.

“What's this?” she asked, looking curiously at the
scribbles. She looked at me.

I grabbed the notebook. “Nothing.” Great, that's all I
needed. To blow my crush and my top secret job assignment all in one klutzy move.

Hailey was eyeing me carefully, though. After a brief silence she seemed
to decide to lighten things up. “Practicing your signature, Mrs. Michael
Lawrence?” she teased.

I nodded. “Yup.” Great, now I was telling lies to my best
friend too.

I decided I'd had enough of soccer tryouts for the day.
“I'm hitting the road,” I said.

“You don't want to stay and watch me shine? I'm way
better out here than in language farts!” Hailey laughed at her own little
joke.

“Taking a pass. I'll come back tomorrow and interview the
coaches. Have fun.”

Hailey looked like she wanted to say something more
but the coach blew the whistle. She took one last look at me, then something caught her
eye over my shoulder. I turned to see what she was looking at. It was the football team
heading off through the woods trail. I looked back at Hailey and she looked at me. Then
she saluted me and walked away.