Read All About It! (7 page)

“It's interesting,” said my mom. “I can see both
sides.”

“What
are
both sides?” I asked. A
lot of this was still unclear to me.

“Well, the traditionalists like the subject-based approach, where
in math you learn math and in English you learn reading and writing. But in the new
curriculum you learn to look at topics from many angles. You learn how to sift through
different kinds
of information. You learn how to ask questions. It
might not work for every kind of student.”

“I already know how to ask questions,” I said with a
grin.

“You sure do, sweetheart,” said my mom, rubbing my back
briskly. “So you will do just fine. Just remember, not everything has a one-word
answer. Not everything is cut-and-dried.”

“I know, Mom. I tried to remember that when I was sitting in the
principal's office this afternoon.”

“WHAT?!” Her shocked reaction was just what I'd hoped
for.

“Gotcha!” I laughed. “I interviewed him about the new
curriculum.”

“Oh, Samantha, you nearly gave me heart failure! Well, just
remember to always be polite and be pleasant. My dear grandmother used to say . .
.”

“I know, I know . . .”

“You catch more bees with honey!” We said it at the same
time and laughed.

Chapter 8

STOMACH RUCKUS
DRIVES AWAY HOTTIE

I was lying in bed that night, thinking back over the day and
especially about the meeting with Mr. Pfeiffer, when suddenly, I sat bolt upright.

Oh my goodness! We'd been snowed!

The whole time that Michael and I had been meeting with Mr. Pfeiffer,
the principal's enthusiasm swept us along and we'd never asked him any hard
questions or anything! How had I, of all people, not asked any probing questions? How
had I, of all people, gone though that whole half hour without trying to poke any holes
in his story or his facts? Was it because I wasn't using my notebook? Yes. Was I
distracted by Michael's presence? Yes. Was I distracted by the hand-slamming
incident? Yes. Was
I intimidated by the principal? Yes, yes, yes,
and yes!

Martone Blows First Major Interview!

I was ashamed of myself. I'd wasted an important opportunity and
Mr. Trigg would have been very disappointed in me. It was not the behavior of an editor
in chief in training! I was behaving like a rookie!

Now my adrenaline was pumping and I had to turn on the light and grab my
notebook. I brainstormed some questions for Mr. Pfeiffer and wrote them down, vowing to
myself that I would ask them at the PTA meeting. I could not let another opportunity
escape me.

Once I had everything safely logged in my notebook, I began to calm
down. Reviewing my new set of questions, my heart stopped racing and I began to feel
like I was back in control. I turned off my light and lay there in the darkness,
resolving to be tougher than ever in my reporting.
Facts
matter
, I scolded myself.
Don't be distracted by
your emotions
, I chanted in my head.

As much as I love news reporting, I still have a long way to go.

The PTA meeting in the school auditorium on Thursday night was
mobbed. Nearly everyone who was there was ready to debate for and against the new
curriculum. It could get rowdy. Actually, I hoped it would! That would make a great
story.

I got there early and snagged a seat in the second row near the center.
I put my messenger bag on the chair next to me. Michael had said if I got there first, I
should save him a seat, but I hadn't seen any sign of him. I knew he had football
practice, but it didn't usually run late. Meanwhile, I wished I'd had a
chance to get a snack between study hall and visiting the final day of soccer tryouts
for my story on that. I was starving.

The room filled quickly. I didn't realize this was going to be
such a hot event! About twenty people asked if someone was sitting in the seat next to
me and after I'd said yes enough times, I started getting a little annoyed with
Michael. If he didn't come, I would look like a liar.

Finally at 6:01, Mrs. Jones, the parent head of the PTA, called the
meeting to order. She and Mr. Pfeiffer
and the dean of students and
the assistant principal were all sitting at a table up on the stage. They did a bunch of
meeting-ish stuff, like making announcements, and then Mrs. Jones said they would
welcome any commentary on the curriculum changes so far. I didn't want to lead
with my questions so I sat back and bided my time, taking notes.

The first person to stand was a sixth-grade parent. She read from a
prepared statement that said American education is about learning the basics in common
with everyone else in the country. To take a new approach was un-American. A bunch of
people clapped. Mr. Pfeiffer listened thoughtfully, but he didn't say
anything.

Next Mrs. Perry stood up. Jeff was at the event taking photos for the
Voice
and I looked at him to see if he was happy or
embarrassed that his mom was talking. It looked like he was pretending he didn't
know her, but he did snap her photo.

“Our children spend enough time on the Internet,” she said
angrily. “We are not paying huge school taxes to have our children sit on
computers all day. They can do that at home!”
Mrs. Perry sat
down in a huff.

A bunch of people clapped and now Jeff's face was red. Looks like
Mrs. Perry is a little sick of Jeff's Buddybook obsession.

Just then there was a little activity at the end of my row and I turned
to see Michael sidling in, apologizing. A smile bloomed on my face and I tried to force
it away. This was business after all and he was late.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” I whispered back, trying to collect myself now that
he was sitting so close I could feel the warmth radiating off his arms. He had obviously
come straight from football practice, since his hair was wet and he smelled all soapy.
All of my annoyance melted away.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“Only Perry's mom freaking out about Buddybook in the
classrooms,” I whispered.

“Seriously?” he said, turning to face me.

“Nah.” I shook my head and smiled, and he swatted my knee
with a flyer he had in his hand.

“You should've been there yesterday when
Andy Ryan threatened to beat the tar out of Perry if he didn't take down his
photo,” whispered Michael.

Some lady shushed us, and Michael turned to listen to the meeting.

Mr. Pfeiffer was still answering Mrs. Perry, saying that schools need to
educate kids how to sift through all the junk out there, and part of that is using the
Internet, and that our school is educating kids for the future, not just the present.
“Though computers will in no way replace books or teachers at Cherry Valley Middle
School,” he added. I wrote that down as a quote.

Mrs. Perry looked skeptical but didn't say anything more.

Meanwhile, my stomach knew it was my usual dinnertime. I only hoped it
wouldn't growl audibly, with Michael sitting right next to me. Holy embarrassing!
Stomach Ruckus Drives Away Hottie, Girl Dies of
Embarrassment.

An eighth grader's father stood up to ask how the school was
planning on handling reading levels now that even science and math would incorporate
reading. “With some kids very proficient, and others at a
more remedial level, how will you handle such a reading-driven curriculum?” he
asked. That was a great question, I thought, thinking of Hailey and writing it down.

Oops. I could feel a stomach growl coming. I bent to look for gum in my
bag and ended up accidentally tossing my notebook on the floor. It made a loud rustling
slam as it hit the floor, and a bunch of people turned to look—Michael among them.
He reached to pick it up for me, and my face burned as I took it from him. Great.
Another strike against my notebook—it was noisy and sloppy and always subject to
my klutziness. And after all that I didn't have any gum to hold off my hunger
pangs!

Worse, I had missed Mr. Pfeiffer's reply about reading levels.

“Did you get that?” I whispered to Michael.

He nodded.

“Good.”

There was a lull in the questioning so I flipped my notebook open and
decided it was now or never. I had to rectify our snoozing through the interview
with Mr. Pfeiffer the other day and, I had to admit, I also wanted
to impress Michael.

“Mr. Pfeiffer.” I was on my feet and talking before
I'd even had a chance to get nervous about it.

“Yes, Samantha,” said Mr. Pfeiffer with a smile. He
obviously figured this would be an easy question from a friendly person on his team.
Ha!

“Mr. Pfeiffer, who made the decision to change the curriculum and
what are you doing to train the teachers in the new curriculum?”

I didn't think I was being harsh. Mr. Pfeiffer had been nice to us
in his office and about Michael's hand and everything, but news is news.

Mr. Pfeiffer's smile faded. “That is a very good question,
Samantha. Ahem.” Mr. Pfeiffer cleared his throat. It seemed like he was stalling
for time. “The decision was reached in agreement with the superintendent of
schools and the board of education.”

“On behalf of our school who made the decision?”

“It was . . . just me. I did.” Mr. Pfeiffer looked
uncomfortable.

Ooh! This was news! Now I was getting somewhere!

“So you volunteered for us to be guinea pigs,
without input from anyone else on staff?”

A lot of the parents clapped and a couple of people shouted,
“Bravo!” I tried not to listen to them. This wasn't about me.

“It was an opportunity for our school. This is the wave of the
future. It also allowed us to secure additional funding in state grants. The teachers
were all behind it.” Mr. Pfeiffer's lips pressed into a straight line. He
looked away, as if to call on someone else but he hadn't finished answering
everything yet.

“And about the teacher training?” I pressed. It was hard to
copy his words into my notebook as I spoke. I looked up.

Mr. Pfeiffer had an unsure expression on his face. “I think that .
. . ah . . . this is a work in progress and we will be supporting the teachers all the
way along.”

Ooh! I'd just found the weak spot in all this!

“So it's kind of on-the-job training?” I summarized.
Outside, I was cool as a cucumber, but inside I was shaking like a leaf.

Mr. Pfeiffer's face hardened. “The
teachers are being given every kind of help that they need. Next question?” He
looked around the audience and called on a teacher who asked something easy. I sat
down.

“What was that all about?” Michael asked in a whisper. He
looked kind of mad.

I was fired up, though, so I didn't really care. “I just had
a sense that that part of it hasn't been thought through all that well. And I was
right.”

“Wow. You were pretty harsh though, pressing him like that. You
don't want to alienate a source before the article is finished.”

“News is news. We need to present all the facts.”

Michael looked at me like he was just really seeing me for the first
time. I couldn't tell if it was in a good way or a bad way. I looked away and
busied myself with copying down notes in my notebook. Did Michael think I'd gone
too far? Had I? Did I care?

My stomach chose that moment to wail in protest of its hunger. I clamped
my hand over it and felt my face turn beet red. I didn't know what to do. Should I
acknowledge it or just pretend it hadn't happened?

There was a long moment where I had the sinking
feeling that I'd just completely turned Michael off with my aggressive questioning
and now with my noisy body. As my adrenaline wore off and my hands steadied, doubt began
to creep in. I had a sinking feeling that Michael was angry with me.

But suddenly Michael was nudging me in the ribs. I looked over and he
was holding a granola bar. Okay, now I was totally mortified that he had heard my
stomach. But maybe this meant he didn't think I was an awful person for grilling
Mr. Pfeiffer.

I looked up at his face and he was smiling. “Go on. Take
it,” he said, wiggling it at me. I palmed it from him and casually opened the
wrapper. I broke off half the bar and handed him back the other half, but he waved it at
me. I was so ravenous I could barely contain myself, but I didn't want to look
like a pig, guinea or otherwise.

“Thanks,” I whispered, taking a bite. Unfortunately it was
the hard kind, so I had to kind of suck on the bite for a while to soften it up. I
didn't want to make a racket sitting there eating Michael's snack.

Mr. Pfeiffer was now discussing how the curriculum
changes would affect state testing. I copied down a few more choice quotes and started
to get bored. Now that I had asked my questions and had a little snack, I was starting
to feel tired, but I couldn't leave until the meeting was over. What if I missed
something?