Read All About It!

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON SPOTLIGHT

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster

  Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuter.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Text by Elizabeth Doyle Carey Designed by Laura L. DiSiena

  0612 OFF

  First Edition

  ISBN 978-1-4424-4402-7 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-5382-1 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-4403-4 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number

  2011943077

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Martone Says School Year Off to Good Start!

  Chapter 2: Best Friends Reunite

  Chapter 3: Girl Sues Classmate for Harassment—Then Marries Him!

  Chapter 4: Buddybook: Now More Addictive Than Ever!

  Chapter 5: Martone Throws in The Towel

  Chapter 6: Martone Fires Best Friend, Becomes Hermit

  Chapter 7: Martone Back From Brink of Disaster

  Chapter 8: Stomach Ruckus Drives Away Hottie

  Chapter 9: Girl Genius Strikes Again

  Chapter 10: Murder on The Soccer Field

  Chapter 11: Girl Leaves Best Friend’s House—Forever!

  Chapter 12: Martone Distraught Over Turn of Events

  Chapter 13: Deadline Panic Sets In!

  Chapter 14: Peace Achieved by Warring Factions

  Chapter 15: Best Friend to The Rescue

  Chapter 16: Lucky In Love?

  Chapter 1

  MARTONE SAYS SCHOOL YEAR OFF TO GOOD START!

  Do you need to know everything about everything? I do. I’m kind of a newshound, which is what my parents call me. My sister, Allie, calls me weird. She’s only interested in news about celebrities and certain cute guys in her class. But I am all about real news and how to get it. According to my mom, ever since I could talk, all I’ve done is ask questions. Now that I’m older, asking questions is a habit (sometimes a bad one). The hard part for me is stopping to listen to the answer, because as soon as someone begins to answer, I’m already forming the next question in my mind! This is okay, though, because I want to be a journalist when I grow up, and journalists need to ask lots of questions.

  The best thing ever happened to me this summer (sorry, sometimes I switch gears fast too!). My aunt Louisa, who is a reporter, and my idol, gave me the most amazing birthday present: one week at a sleepaway writing camp! My best friend, Hailey, goes to sports camp, and she thought writing camp sounded sooooo boring, but it wasn’t at all. And the best part was you got to pick what kind of writing you focused on while you were there. I picked journalism, of course. My teacher was this cool old guy named Mr. Bloom, who’d been the international news desk editor for the New York Times. He was old, but he was really smart, and he taught me a ton about journalism.

  Journalism is reporting and writing what is going on in the world around you, near and far, and it is really fun because you get to ask lots of questions and learn lots of facts! Every story you write has to answer these questions: What? Who? Where? When? Why? And how?

  Like if I were reporting a story about myself right now, I’d write:

  Monday, September 7

  MARTONE OFF TO A GREAT START!

  Samantha Martone headed back to Cherry Valley Middle School today for her first day of school. When her alarm rang at 6:30 a.m., she hopped out of bed to check all the blogs and news websites she likes to read first thing every morning. After showering and drying her long brown hair, she dressed with care, “Because first impressions matter,” says Martone.

  At school Martone was thrilled to discover that both her best friend since kindergarten, Hailey Jones, and her major crush, Michael Lawrence, would be in her homeroom this year.

  During lunch hour, Samantha visited the office of the Cherry Valley Voice, the school newspaper, to sign up as a reporter again with Mr. Trigg, the Voice’s faculty supervisor. (Shh! Don’t tell: Martone would like to be the editor in chief of the Cherry Valley Voice next year!) Samantha Martone is looking forward to another great year at Cherry Valley Middle School. “Cherry Valley rules!” said Ms. Martone.

  Isn’t that funny? It sounds like real news, right? Pretty much when you call people by their last names, it makes things sound official. That’s just one of the things I’ve learned about journalism during the past year.

  My favorite thing is writing headlines. I write headlines in my mind all day long. Like, right now I’m on my way home from school. In just one more suburban block (left on Buttermilk Lane), I will reach number seventeen, where I live, and the headline will be Martone Home, Shares Day with Mom. Later it might be Martone Kids Riot, Meatloaf Again! or Reality Sets In as Homework Pile Is Revealed. Actually, that one might be too long. I usually like my headlines to be catchier than that (“pithy” is the word Mr. Trigg uses), but you get the idea.

  “Mom!” I yelled as I entered the house. We live in a split-level so she could have been upstairs or down. “Mom!”

  “In the den, honey!”

  I clomped down a level and found her at her desk.

  “Hi! How was it?” she asked with a grin. My mom is a freelance bookkeeper and she had a project spread out all across her work area.

  “What’s that?” I asked, peering over her shoulder. “Who’s it for? Why do you have so many ledgers? Hey, when did you—”

  “Stop!” My mom held her hand up in front like a crossing guard. It’s a sign we agreed on for when I’m asking too many questions and not listening enough, which drives her crazy. “Sit,” she commanded with a smile.

  I sat. I was smiling too.

  “Hi, honey,” she said, starting over.

  “Hi, Mom.” I tried hard to be quiet and not ask any questions for a second. At writing camp they said journalists have to know how to be quiet, too, because sometimes the best information isn’t even spoken aloud. Plus, being a good reporter means you have to be a good listener, too.

  “How was your day?” she asked.

  I told her all about homeroom and how cute Michael Lawrence looks with a tan and how great it was to see Hailey, who’d only gotten back from camp a week earlier and was coming over in an hour to do homework (yes, we have homework already!), and how I’d signed up for the school paper again and I was thinking of trying out for the soccer team with Hailey, and how we have a new curriculum, and what was for lunch and . . . everything.

  “It sounds wonderful!” said my mom. “What a great day!”

  I was happy too. It had been a great day. Now it was my turn to listen while my mom talked.

  “In brief, I am working on a project for a new client, and they have three retail stores, so three accounts. Their old bookkeeper wrote everything by hand in ledgers, so I’m putting everything into computer files for them. It’s fun.”

  “Good!” I said, though I was fibbing. I truly cannot imagine how bookkeeping is any fun, but it’s important to make people feel good about the work they do so that they will continue to give you information that you might need for a story. That’s another piece of advice I learned at camp. Not that I had to worry about Mom withholding information, but it was good practice anyway.

  My mom hadn’t finished. “But more impor
tantly, Mr. Trigg called from school right before you got here. He asked you to call him back. Here’s his direct extension.” My mom handed me a piece of paper.

  “Why was he calling?” I asked. I took the slip of paper and studied it as if it might contain more information, but all it had was the number. I didn’t like the idea of a call from a teacher. That didn’t sound good. Maybe he was kicking me off the paper! Maybe he thought my writing wasn’t good enough! Now I’ll never stand a chance to be editor in chief. . . . “What did he say?” I asked.

  My mom shrugged. “Give him a call,” she said. “Use the phone in the kitchen so I can finish up here.”

  I stood up and, still staring at the number in my hand, trudged up the stairs and across the hall to the kitchen. I hesitated to pick up the phone and dial. Usually I love making phone calls. I’ll call anyone! I’m never shy on the phone. But when it’s something about me . . . well.

  Martone Axed by Trigg, I thought. But no, he wouldn’t call me at home for that. I shook my head, squared my shoulders, and dialed the phone.

  “Hello?” It was Mr. Trigg. Gosh, he was a fast answerer.

  “Hi, Mr. Trigg. . . . It’s Sam Martone. Uh. You called me?”

  “Samantha! Thank you for calling me back so promptly! I have a very important question for you and I couldn’t ask it today at school because there were too many people around. Too many newshounds!” He laughed his big guffaw. Mr. Trigg is British and kind of a nerd, but I like him. He thinks grammar and vocabulary are the most important things on Earth. Also impartiality. He used to be a journalist in London, or as he would say, a “journo.”

  I giggled nervously. “Okay,” I said. “What’s up?”

  Mr. Trigg collected himself. “Samantha, I will cut to the chase. Would you like to be our Know-It-All this year?”

  My jaw dropped. Dear Know-It-All is the most important column in our school paper! It’s kind of like Dear Abby, where kids write in anonymously about their problems, and the Know-It-All answers. And no matter what is on the front page of the paper, Dear Know-It-All is the first thing all the kids read when the paper comes out, and it is the thing people talk about the most. Whoever writes it each year is a mystery. No one has ever guessed who it is. I actually thought Mr. Trigg himself might be the writer, but apparently not. Anyway, me? Know-It-All? But I don’t know anything!

  “Uh . . . oh my gosh. Wow! Mr. Trigg! That is so major. I don’t know what to say!” I felt scared, flattered, excited, inspired . . . everything all at once! This was huge.

  “Well, I hope you will say yes!” said Mr. Trigg.

  It hadn’t occurred to me to say no. I mean, why would I say no? Okay, I didn’t know a lot about a lot of things. Like boys, for instance. And there were always a lot of letters about boys. But I could learn. Isn’t that what a journalist does? Investigate? Research? Figure it out? Plus, if I did a really good job, maybe it would help me get to the editor in chief position, which is what I really, really wanted for next year.

  I had to accept. “Well . . . then, yes! Okay. Thank you! I’d love to!” I laughed nervously.

  I couldn’t wait to tell my friends.

  “Excellent. I will e-mail you the guidelines we use for the column and I will collect the student letters each week. I am happy to help you pick an appropriate one for each issue, and then you will e-mail me your written response, which I need to approve. It will all be kept strictly confidential. You understand that no one must know your identity, right, Samantha?”

  “Right.” I nodded. Wait, I can’t even tell Hailey? I thought. Really? Hailey could keep a secret. . . .

  “Not even your best friend,” continued Mr. Trigg, as if he was reading my mind.

  Oh well, that answers that question. “Okay,” I agreed. I hadn’t thought about that. I tell Hailey everything. This could be harder than I thought.

  “Confidentiality is the most important part of the job. Loose lips sink ships!” He guffawed again. Mr. Trigg is a World War II buff and I think that line comes from the war or something. “I spoke to your mother, of course, but she assures me that our secret is safe with her!”

  Whew, I thought. At least Mom knows. But Mom always said we didn’t have secrets in our family. I wondered if she would tell Allie. I loved the idea that we had a secret from Allie.

  “All right! Thanks, Mr. Trigg.”

  “Righty-ho, Samantha. I will e-mail you with utmost alacrity! So long!”

  “Bye.” I hung up the phone, then whipped out the notebook and pencil that I carry with me everywhere. I wrote “Dear Know-It-All, by Samantha Martone.”

  It looked amazing. But then I crossed it out really dark so no one could ever read it. I just needed to get it out of my system. I closed the notebook, stashed it and the pencil back in my pocket, and just spaced out for a second in the kitchen.

  Wow. Me? Know-It-All?

  Really?

  Chapter 2

  BEST FRIENDS REUNITE

  The front door banged open while I was eating a snack and thinking about my new column.

  “Helloooo!” It was Hailey.

  “Hail-ooooo, Hailey! In the kitchen!” I yelled. Darn, I wished I could tell her!

  “Hi, honey!” my mom called from her office.

  “Hi, Mrs. M.!” Hailey yelled back.

  A second later my best friend, Hailey Jones, popped her head into the kitchen doorway. “What’s up, sister?” she said with a grin.

  Hailey and I could not look less alike. I have long dark brown hair and she has bright blond short hair. (A “pixie cut” is what she calls it.) I am tall and she is . . . well, not tall. She’s not totally short but sometimes people do mistake her for a fourth grader, which drives her crazy and makes me laugh. Hailey is really muscle-y and coordinated, and I am pretty much a weak klutz. We both have a lot of energy, but mine is more for talking and hers is more for doing, if you know what I mean. I think it’s because she has two older brothers and she was always chasing them around and playing sports with them and stuff. Whereas at my house, my older sister, Allie, and I talk, talk, talk and read, read, read. (And sometimes fight, fight, fight!)

  Hailey hopped on to the stool next to me. She propped her head on her hand and looked at what I was eating. I am always hungry and always eating. Hailey isn’t that big of an eater, but her mom is such a health-food nut that when Hailey comes to our house she sometimes goes crazy on our junk food—even the stuff that isn’t that junky to most people, like white bread and regular milk. It’s like she has to just have it when she gets the chance, because the opportunity might not come along again soon.

  “Want some?” I asked, pushing the peanut-buttered English muffin toward her.

  She scrunched up her nose. “Nah. So what did you think?”

  “About today? Pretty good,” I replied. “What about you?”

  “Yeah, me too. Pretty good,” said Hailey, nodding. “Are you going to try out for soccer with me this year, or what?” she asked, grabbing the English muffin and taking a bite after all. She chewed quickly and watched me for my response about soccer. This was an ongoing battle between us. I don’t know why Hailey even has to try out. She was the star center last year!

  I sighed. “Maybe,” I said.

  “You always say that!” she cried, punching me in the arm.

  “Ow.” I looked down at my arm and brushed off some imaginary crumbs, then I looked back at her. “Physical violence never solves anything,” I said, mimicking my mother. It’s one of her big lines.

  “Yes it does!” said Hailey through a mouth full of peanut butter.

  “‘Girl Maimed by Best Friend,’” I said. “How does that sound, huh?”

  “Great!” said Hailey wickedly. “Now come on. This is the year. Come with me and just go for it! It would be so much more fun if we did it together!”

  Even though Hailey is a doer and I am a watcher, we get along because Hailey gets me to try new things, which is good. Mom calls it “pulling me out of my comfort zone.”
I guess it’s good but I like my comfort zone. It’s comfortable. “When is it?” I asked, thinking it might be a good story to cover for the paper: Soccer Hopefuls Give It Their All.

  “Tomorrow, Wednesday, and Thursday.”

  I pretended to consider it. “I’ll come tomorrow,” I said finally.

  “You will?!” Hailey threw her arms around me. “Yay! I love you!”

  “Down girl!” I said, laughing. “I’m not trying out. Just reporting.” I could pitch a story to the sports section.

  Hailey unhugged me and did a fake pout. “Now I hate you.” She crossed her arms.

  “I hate you too, but not forever. What else about today? Who’s in your English section with you?”

  “Language arts,” Hailey said, correcting me. Since we have a new curriculum this year, all the subjects have fancy new names. It’s really confusing.

  “Right! Language arts,” I said to correct myself.

  “More like language farts,” said Hailey, cracking herself up. The girl really does not like to read or write.

  Hailey moved restlessly around the room, picking things up and putting them back down. “So who are the hotties this year?” she asked.

  “Oh, the usual. Looking better than ever with that awesome tan.” I didn’t even need to say his name. Michael Lawrence had been my crush for years. Really since I met him. The only bummer is that I met him in kindergarten when a onetime paste-eating experiment earned me the nickname Pasty (I thought it was frosting! I swear!). He still calls me that on a regular basis, and it makes me want to die. If he weren’t so cute, I’d have Hailey punch him for me.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He looks good.”

  “Who do you like?” I asked, not expecting an answer. Hailey never liked anyone real. Most of her crushes were on famous guys.

  “Oh . . . I don’t know. Maybe I’ll like someone this year,” she said.

  I perked up, my journalist senses tingling. “Like who?” I pressed.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I just think . . . I think it’s time I liked someone,” she said.

  I nodded and grinned. “Interesting. And when do you think this liking will begin?”