Old Story, New Twist Page 3

  From,

  Messy But Happy

  Hmm. That was a pretty good one. I set it aside and opened the next one, which was written on pink Hello Kitty stationery:

  Dear Know-It-All,

  Am I weird? I still love my Barbies. I don’t act out dumb pretend stories with them, but I do like to dress them up and set up their Dream House and stuff. My friends don’t know I still do this. I know I’m too old, but it’s fun. My older brother teases me and says it’s time to throw them away. What do you think?

  Signed,

  Barbie Girl

  Oh, I could relate to that. Allie and I loved our Barbies for a long time, but somewhere along the way, we stopped playing with them. I don’t know why. Maybe Allie did and I just followed suit, like usual. I think my mom still has them in the attic. Not that I’d take them out. I mean, if they were still lying around, it might be fun to put an outfit together. Like maybe that cute denim dress she had . . . . Yeah, this could be another good letter. I set it aside.

  The next one was boring. It was about how to get more sleep. But the fourth and final one really caught my attention. Written on simple blue stationery in a matching envelope, it read:

  Dear Know-It-All,

  I’m in seventh grade, and I really, really want to try out for the gymnastics team, but I don’t know if I have what it takes. I’ve taken some classes at the Y, so I’m okay at some of the things like the beam, but I stink at the bars. I’m too embarrassed to try out at school where people I know can see me. I’d be so humiliated if I fell or got hurt during tryouts. I’m already really shy as it is. What should I do?

  Signed,

  Gymnastics Team Hopeful

  I sat back in my desk chair and swiveled a little from side to side as I thought. It was like this girl was a mind reader, except her issue was with bars not beam. I was dying to know who’d written it. Maybe we should team up and train together. I drummed my fingers on my desk as I tried to think of who it could be.

  “Girls! Bedtime!” my mom called up the stairs. Sighing, I folded the letters up and put them back in their envelopes, then back in my big Dear Know-It-All folder. Then I leaned over to wedge it behind my desk so my snooping sister wouldn’t find it.

  Naturally, it was just as I was tucking the packet behind the desk that Allie walked in, knocking as she opened the door.

  “Allie, knocking isn’t really polite if you do it while you’re opening the door,” I said with exasperation. Now I’d have to find another new hiding place.

  Allie looked at me suspiciously. “What are you hiding back there?”

  Reminding myself that it’s easier to hide things in plain sight, I held up the folder. “I’m not hiding anything. My newspaper clippings file slid down behind the desk. I was retrieving it,” I told her.

  “Oh, can I see your articles?”

  This girl has to work for the CIA when she grows up.

  “No,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I heard on Buddybook that you’re trying out for the gym team,” she said.

  “What?! That’s insane! How would that get out?” I cried.

  “So it’s true?” she said.

  “Yes, but . . . ”

  Allie turned to leave, conversation over. “Thank you!” she singsonged. “Next time, might be nice to tell your own family first, before everyone else.” Then she closed the door.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Reason number 512 that I hate Buddybook. It knows you’re going to do things before you even do, and then it tells everyone! Journalist Sues Buddybook, Loses.

  I hid the Dear Know-It-All folder underneath my socks in my top drawer, then I went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. A few minutes later, I was in my pj’s, doing my assigned “independent” reading, when my mom came in to say good night.

  “So Allie told me you’re trying out for the gymnastics team, honey! That’s great news!”

  “Aargh!” I threw my book across the room.

  “What?” said my mom, innocently (for real).

  “Oh, never mind. Yes. I am. Or, I’m thinking about it anyway.”

  “That’s wonderful. You can do anything you put your mind to, Sam Martone. You know that, right, sweetheart?”

  “Thanks, Mom.” We hugged and she turned out the light. I snuggled down and wound up dreaming that I was competing against Barbie for a spot on the gymnastics team in a room filled with someone’s Hello Kitty collection. Weird.

  Chapter 4

  DREAMS OF OLYMPIC HOPEFUL DASHED BY MIDDLE SCHOOL SQUAD

  The next day I began interviewing eighth graders for my article on their memories of Cherry Valley Middle School. I was glad to have something to do so I wouldn’t be focusing on Michael Lawrence strategizing with Austin Carey in the cafeteria. I was also glad that I got to choose the order in which I interviewed the subjects, because there was at least one of them I was dreading.

  When Susannah had made the list of eighth-grade interviewees and e-mailed it to me, it looked like a pretty well-rounded lineup at first glance. But then one name jumped out at me: Danny Burke! I immediately replied to Susannah that I didn’t think he was a good choice, but she got right back to me saying he was the only new eighth grader this year and she really wanted that perspective. She added that he was pretty cute so maybe I wouldn’t mind, and then she put a little smiley icon at the end of her e-mail. I wanted to puke, but I knew then that I was stuck, since the editor in chief is the boss.

  Cintra Noble was a “cool” eighth grader, and I was a little nervous about approaching her. But she’d been friendly in our e-mail exchange and had readily agreed to meet me. I knew some people loved being interviewed and others hated it. I hoped Cintra would be somewhere in the middle.

  At lunchtime, we grabbed sandwiches and met on a bench in the hall outside the library. I ate my sandwich one-handed while I took notes in my trusty spiral-bound reporter’s notebook. I had prepared a list of questions for my interview subjects, including Who was the strictest teacher you had at Cherry Valley? Which class do you think will be the most useful in your life? What was your favorite lunch menu item in the cafeteria? Stuff like that.

  At first, Cintra was a little quiet—giving short answers, not really elaborating on anything. But I encouraged her, and after a while, she relaxed and began to talk more. I wondered what she’d be like if her friends were there, or a boy. Lots of times, that makes people act differently.

  It turned out Cintra had moved here in sixth grade, so she hadn’t known anyone when she started at Cherry Valley Middle. As we talked, she told me more about how shy she’d felt in the beginning and how she had only hung out with the one or two people who’d been nice to her but didn’t share any of her interests. She’d been really sad.

  “I wish I hadn’t been so nervous when I was the new kid. I wasted so much time feeling sorry for myself back then when I could have been making new friends.”

  I nodded, copying down what would prove to be a great quote. I looked up to see a new girl from my grade, Jenna Palmer, walking by. I smiled and waved, and Cintra looked up and smiled too.

  Jenna looked panicked, like she couldn’t quite believe I was waving at her. I watched her struggle with whether or not she should look over her shoulder to see if I was waving at someone else, and she finally gave up and made a tiny wave back. I felt bad. How was it that more than four months of the school year had gone by and I had never really talked to this girl?

  After she’d entered the library, I pointed my thumb at the door and whispered to Cintra, “Also a new girl.”

  Cintra nodded. “I could tell. That’s how I was. Scared of my own shadow. Dying for friends and wishing I knew how to make some.”

  I made a mental note to make a bigger effort the next time I saw Jenna.

  “Any other thoughts on your time here?” I asked, beginning to wrap things up with Cintra.

  “It has been great. I hope the kids here know what a great school they’ve got and
that they take advantage of everything the place has to offer. If you feel intimidated here, you shouldn’t. Just imagine what things will be like when you get to a huge high school or college! Better to gain your confidence now.” She smiled, and I stuck out my hand to shake hers.

  “Great interview. You’re going to be hard to top!” I said.

  “Thanks,” said Cintra. “I’m sure you’ve got some other interesting people coming up.”

  I scanned the list. “A good mix,” I said. “It should be a pretty good article.”

  “I can’t wait to read it.”

  We said good-bye, and I dumped the remains of my lunch before going to the library for the remaining fifteen minutes of my free time.

  Inside, I crossed to the wall of computers. There was only one available, and Jenna was sitting at the console right next to it, looking at something on Wikipedia.

  “Hey,” I said, sitting down.

  She smiled nervously at me. “Hi,” she said, and looked back at her computer screen.

  “What are you working on?” I asked, thinking of how Cintra had felt when she was new—eager for friends but unsure of how to break in.

  “Oh, it’s for a paper for earthonomics,” she said.

  “Cool. I love that class,” I said. “I’m Sam, by the way. Sam Martone.”

  “I know. I’m Jenna Palmer,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you, officially.”

  I turned to my computer and logged on. I wanted to go to the USA Gymnastics website and see if I could watch some videos of routines. Hailey was meeting me in the gymnastics room after school to help me practice, and she said my assignment was to come armed with a list of moves I wanted to learn. How a soccer player was going to coach me, I had no idea, but just the very knowledge that someone would be waiting for me so I couldn’t bag my practice made a lot of sense. Otherwise, I just wouldn’t go.

  I logged on, and one link led to another, until pretty soon I was watching Olympic routines on YouTube. Jenna stood up to leave, and I paused the video to say good-bye.

  “Oh, cool! I’m obsessed with gymnastics!” she said, looking over my shoulder. “Can you push play, just for a minute?”

  Smiling, I agreed, and we watched in silence as Gabby Douglas executed a perfect backflip on the balance beam.

  “Wow,” sighed Jenna when it was over. “I so wish I had the nerve to do that. I’ve taken classes, but I pretty much stink.”

  “I know. Me too,” I said.

  “If we could do that, we’d be the stars of the gymnastics team!” Jenna giggled. Suddenly, something clicked in my mind. Jenna: petite, fit, interested in gymnastics, shy, the word “stink” to describe her abilities. It had to be! I almost came right out and asked her if she’d written a letter to the school paper, but then I would have revealed that I was Dear Know-It-All. There must be a subtle way to find out.

  “Hey, are you . . . ,” I began. But then I was rudely interrupted.

  “What’s up, girls?” It was Danny Burke.

  “Hi,” I said, immediately annoyed.

  But Jenna blushed. “Hey, Danny,” she said.

  He pointed at her and gave her a thumbs-up. “Lookin’ good today. So what’s going on? Any weekend plans?”

  Jenna blushed even harder and looked down at her shoes. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  What was it with this guy? Why did he make perfectly normal girls lose their brains when he was around? And why didn’t I feel the same way? Journalist’s Resistance to Romeo’s Charms Puzzles Locals.

  “I’ll IM you,” he said. And then he winked at both of us, and walked away.

  I didn’t know Jenna well enough to say anything bad about Danny, but I was dying to ask her what she saw in that guy. He was such a phony! He’d said the exact same thing to Hailey! But Jenna stood there watching him walk away, a big smile on her face.

  “Wow,” I said tentatively. But Jenna didn’t catch my sarcasm.

  “I know,” she said, as if agreeing with my amazement at his awesomeness.

  O-kayy . . .

  The bell rang and lots of people stood up. I had to get going because my next class was clear on the other side of the building. I’d missed my chance to find out more about Jenna and whether she’d written the Dear Know-It-All letter.

  “Well, see ya,” I said.

  “Yeah. Thanks for sharing the video. I love watching anything that has to do with gymnastics. It definitely inspired me.”

  Inspired her! Ha! So there! It was her. It had to be.

  Wow, I am getting really good at this Dear Know-It-All thing, I thought, walking away. I decided that hers was the letter I’d run for the next issue. And I’d write a great response. It was the least I could do to make a new girl feel more at home.

  “Bye!” I called, and I sprinted off to my class.

  Later that day Hailey and I were walking to her practice, where I would do my homework until she was free to train me at four. She was in her usual jock clothes (sweats, long-sleeved T-shirt), while I was in a skirt and sweater with my gymnastics outfit balled up in my messenger bag.

  “Okay, so I did a lot of research online, and I spent some time on Buddybook asking around about gymnastics routines and levels and school tryouts . . . ” Hailey was being all official, and it was kind of irritating. After all, I’d made her my trainer, but it wasn’t like I’d made her my boss! “And here’s the plan. An hour and a half of practice a day, every day, for the next nine days. Plus, homework: studying videos online, reading the gymnastics tips on these websites”—she handed me a printed list—“and this workout regimen at home.” She handed me another printout.

  “Phew, that’s a lot,” I said skeptically.

  “That’s not all,” said Hailey. “Here’s your diet plan. You need to bulk up those muscles a little, so I want you drinking protein shakes. And make sure you pick up some flaxseed and omega-3 oils at the health-food store, and add some form of lean protein to every meal. Here are some suggestions.” She handed me yet another printed sheet.

  “Hailey! Whoa! Slow down! What’s up with all this? I’m not even totally sure I’m going to try out!”

  Hailey kind of came to, like she’d been in a coaching daze. “What? Yes you are.”

  “But I don’t know if I’m good enough!” I protested.

  “Well, if you follow these plans, you will be,” she said.

  “Hailey, listen. I am not an athlete. I think we both know that by now. If, by some miracle, I can pull together a routine that is snappy and clean enough for me to try out with, I will do it. But even if I make the team, I might not join. I’ve been pretty clear about that from the get-go. I’ll never be as good as the other girls, and it might be very stressful. Got it?”

  Hailey waved her hand breezily. “Details,” she said. “Once I’ve trained you, you’ll be ready. You’ll make it, you’ll join it, and you’ll love it. I promise, or I’m not the best darned coach you’ll ever have!”

  I bit my lip. If I didn’t make it, I didn’t know who’d be more disappointed: me or Hailey. Dreams of Olympic Hopeful Dashed by Middle School Squad, I thought. And I didn’t mean the athlete. I meant the coach.

  “Well, all I’m saying is, we’ll see,” I said.

  “You sound like my mom,” grumbled Hailey, heading off to dump her book bag in the locker room.

  Later, as we struggled over my vault sequence, I heard the gym door open. Oh no! I thought. Please don’t let it be Michael!

  But it was Kristen Durkin, a nice girl from my class that I’d never really gotten to know. We waved across the gym, and she started stretching. She’s on the gymnastics team already, I think, so she was probably just getting back into the swing of things.

  “Focus,” said Hailey.

  “I am!” I protested.

  Hailey consulted a gymnastics book she had checked out of the library. “Okay, the vault run is about getting enough speed to hit the springboard with the force you need to propel you over the table and through
your trick.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know. Run fast, hit hard, go high,” I said.

  “Right!” Hailey smiled as if proud of herself for how quickly I was catching on.

  “That’s, like, lesson number one in beginner gymnastics,” I said. She was being such a know-it-all (ha-ha) that I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d taught me something I already knew.

  I glanced over at Kristen, who had checked in with Coach Lunetta and was now on the high balance beam. She steadied herself and then did a handstand into a roundoff dismount, perfectly sticking the finish.

  “Wow,” I breathed.

  “How come you can’t do that?” whispered Hailey at my side.

  I elbowed her. “’Cause I have a lousy coach!”

  “Very funny,” she said. “Not. Now come on.”

  I have to admit that the day’s practice was productive, and it was inspiring to watch a real member of the team doing such neat tricks. I didn’t get a chance to see Kristen on the bars, which I would have loved, but I was already trying to come up with a plan for how I could get her to train me on the beam without hurting Hailey’s feelings.

  We wrapped up early because I had a test the next day, but Kristen stayed on, practicing. Leaving, we walked past the boys’ basketball team practice, and I slowed my pace to see if I could spot Michael.

  “There he is!” I whispered to Hailey.

  He was off to the side breathing hard, all sweaty and cute, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. I waved but he didn’t see me. I considered staying to watch, but there’s kind of an unwritten rule at our school that anyone can go to games for opposite-sex teams, but you can only watch practices if you’re actually dating someone on the team. I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, so I took one last long look and I left.

  Outside school, Hailey gave me a little pep talk about stretching, conditioning, and eating right. I began to wish I’d started all this jock stuff long ago so that it would be second nature to me by now. It’s kind of hard to wedge all this exercise into a life of reading and writing.