Read All About It! Page 4

  “Whatever. This is stupid. Just take ’em down, Perry!” Michael snarled, and he left the office, the door banging shut behind him.

  Um. Yikes.

  “Thanks a lot, Martone,” said Jeff, shaking his head. He collapsed into the office sofa and laid his head back, closing his eyes. “Way to back me up.”

  “You never should have put them up,” I said, and I left the office too. Should I have told Michael he looked good in the photos and not to worry? Would it seem like I liked him if I did that? Maybe I insulted him without meaning to. And now Jeff was mad at me too. This day stinks!

  Maybe the Know-It-All letters would be great and it would cheer me up. I was dying to read through them but where could I go to get some privacy?

  Duh!

  I strode down the hall to the girls’ bathroom and pushed open the door. Phew. Empty.

  Inside a stall, I locked the door and put the lid down on the toilet, then I sat and opened the envelope. There actually were curriculum materials from Mr. Trigg, but there were also three letters in envelopes that had been slit open. Mr. Trigg reads them all first to make sure they’re not hostile letters to the editor disguised as Know-It-All letters, not that that ever actually happens.

  The first one was on pink stationery with a matching pink envelope. Obviously from a girl. Or maybe from someone who wanted us to think it was from a girl, I suddenly thought. Hmmm. My journalist antenna tingled as I began to read.

  Dear Know-It-All,

  I still sleep with a teddy bear named Pal every night. This is kind of embarrassing because I am now in the eighth grade. I don’t want anyone to know, but when I have sleepovers I can’t get to sleep without him. What should I do?

  From,

  Sleepless without Pal

  Ha! That was a funny one! Time to grow up, I’d say. Lose the Pal. I wondered if a boy had stolen his sister’s stationery to write the note and throw us off his trail. It was possible. I felt proud of myself for being such a good investigator to even think of such a thing. I set it aside. It could be good for later in the year if I didn’t have anything better, but it was kind of lame for the launch of this year’s column. I wanted something juicier.

  Next!

  This one was handwritten on white computer paper in a business envelope. As I read, I saw lots of misspellings and grammatical errors that made me wince. Do I even go to the same school as this person? I wondered.

  Dear Know-It-All.

  You know how somtimes things are sucking at home and you, like, dont want to be there at all ever? Where should you go, like, insted?

  Thanks.

  From,

  A guy

  Okay. Wow. That was kind of heavy for the first Dear Know-It-All of the year. Don’t know how to help that guy! I bit my lower lip and moved it to the bottom of the pile.

  The last letter had been done on a computer. It said:

  Hey Mr. Know-It-All,

  What do you do when you and your best friend have a crush on the same person?

  Signed,

  Unlucky Taste

  Whoa! That was a juicy one! I couldn’t even imagine what would happen in that situation. The poor guy. He should just tell his friend and then he and the friend can duke it out over the girl, I would say!

  This would make a great, very jazzy first column of the year, I decided. I’d wait to see if anything else came in, but I felt secure at having at least one great option. Not that I had a clue what to say to this person, but I’d deal with that later. (Maybe I could research it online somehow.)

  I folded the letter up and stuffed it back in its envelope, then I put all three letters back in the manila envelope from Mr. Trigg, tightening the bolt on the back and wedging it all back down into my messenger bag. There had to be a safer way to transport these letters. What if my bag fell into the wrong hands?

  I exited the stall, washed my hands, and went to meet Hailey. Hopefully lunch with my BFF would cheer me up!

  Chapter 6

  MARTONE FIRES BEST FRIEND, BECOMES HERMIT

  Lunch was gross. I sat with Hailey and picked at my chimichanga and JELL-O.

  “Mr. Pfeiffer should have revamped the lunch menu before he took on the curriculum,” said Hailey.

  “Oooh!” I whipped out my notebook. “Can I quote you? That would be good for my article,” I said, copying down Hailey’s words.

  “Sure. Whatever. I’m full of juicy quotes,” she said. “Oh look. Here comes lover boy!”

  I looked up and there was Michael with his lunch tray, looking for a place to sit.

  “Yoo-hoo! Number fifteen!” called Hailey.

  “Hailey! No!” I hissed, but it was too late.

  “Why not?” she said, turning to me.

  I sighed. “Just . . .”

  “Hey, Hailey. Hey, Pasty,” said Michael.

  “Want to join us?” asked Hailey.

  “Okay. Just for a minute, because I’m actually sitting with Walter once he finishes clearing out the buffet line.”

  Hailey sat up straight and fluffed her hair with her hands, leaving her dangly earrings jangling all over the place. This fluffing thing was an annoying new habit she had, I’d noticed.

  “Quite the photo of you on Buddybook last night,” she said to Michael in kind of a flirty way.

  Oh great, here we go again. Can’t anyone talk about anything but Buddybook?

  Michael did not look happy. “Sam here thinks it’s terrible.” He gestured to me with a jut of his chin.

  “What? I do not!” I sputtered. “That is totally inaccurate!”

  Michael shrugged and looked away. “I believe the quote was ‘I didn’t say everyone looked bad,’” He made little quotation marks in the air.

  “That’s not what I said!” I protested.

  Michael tapped his temple. “Fancy memory, remember?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed. “Well, that’s not what I meant.” Did I dare to tell him he looked gorgeous in the photo? My body surged with adrenaline at the idea of being that bold. Could I do it?

  “Well, I thought you looked gorgeous in the photo,” said Hailey.

  Wait, what?

  Did she just say exactly what I was thinking?

  I looked at Hailey. Then I looked at Michael. He had ducked his head shyly, a move I’d never seen him make before. Michael Lawrence? Shy? My eyes widened. I couldn’t process this.

  “Yeah,” said Michael dismissively, as if he was saying, “No.”

  “It’s true, right, Sammy?” Hailey nudged me.

  “Hailey!” Was she trying to mortify me or what?

  “Tell him how good he looked!” she teased.

  Oh my goodness. I wanted to die. I covered my face with my hands. This was so embarrassing.

  “There’s Walter. I’ve gotta go,” said Michael. And he stood up with his tray and hurried away.

  “Sam!” Hailey hit me on the arm. “What is your problem?”

  “What is yours?” I said. I was furious. “Why are you trying to rat me out? Why do you want Michael Lawrence to know I’m in love with him?”

  “That’s not what I was trying to say! Couldn’t you tell how embarrassed he was? I was trying to make him feel better. It is a great photo of him. Just acknowledging that doesn’t declare your love for him!”

  “Yes it does!”

  “Oh, please. He’s just a person too, you know. It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to him.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m always nice to him!”

  Hailey shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Not really.”

  “What?! Yes I am!”

  “Sam, you hardly even talk to him unless it’s necessary. I bet you don’t know anything about him.”

  “Why, do you?”

  Hailey shrugged again. “Yeah.” She looked down at her fingernails.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, so, then . . .”

  She counted things off on her fi
ngers. “Well, I know that his favorite lunch is cheeseburgers and his favorite class is language farts, and I know that he throws lefty and he has had two concussions and if he gets another he can’t play football anymore. And I know that—”

  “Wait. Stop. Hold it!” I said, putting my palm flat out like a traffic cop. “How do you know all this?”

  Hailey shrugged again. “I don’t know. I just talk to him, like a normal person. I ask him questions and then I listen to the answers. It’s not so hard. It’s called being a friend.”

  I tossed my head. “Well, I’m not his friend.”

  “Okay. Whatever then,” said Hailey.

  “It’s a little annoying that you’re suddenly the expert on Michael Lawrence,” I said quietly.

  Hailey was looking off at the other side of the cafeteria. I followed her gaze and saw Walter and Michael. They were laughing and joking around like they didn’t have a care in the world.

  “At least I didn’t hurt his feelings,” Hailey said back, without looking at me.

  “Oh come on, boys don’t have feelings!” I said.

  Hailey looked at me like she was shocked. Then she rolled her eyes and laughed. “You are hopeless,” she said.

  “Wait, do they?” I asked.

  Hailey laughed harder. “Really hopeless!” She stood up and collected her stuff and her tray. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Martone Fires “Best Friend.” Becomes Hermit, I thought.

  Chapter 7

  MARTONE BACK FROM BRINK OF DISASTER

  Seventh period came too soon. I was so nervous about our meeting that for the first time in years I was actually dreading seeing Michael Lawrence. I dragged my feet all the way down to Mr. Pfeiffer’s office for our interview, nearly making myself late.

  Michael was standing in the hall outside, tapping his foot impatiently.

  “Come on!” he hissed. “We can’t be late!”

  “Sorry,” I whispered. “We’re not, anyway.”

  We checked in with Mr. Pfeiffer’s secretary and she told us to have a seat in the waiting area. I busied myself getting my pen and notebook out, and when Michael saw what I was doing he rolled his eyes and looked away.

  “What?” I asked in a quiet voice.

  He shrugged. “I just think it’s more respectful to listen carefully,” he said.

  “Well that may be, but how are we going to be sure we get the quotes right?” I asked.

  He tapped the side of his head again.

  I wasn’t buying it. “But your fancy memory isn’t written out as proof, in case for some unbelievable and rare reason, you get a word wrong. We can’t misquote the principal!” Michael had a lot of nerve.

  “We won’t,” he said definitively.

  “You know what? Fine. Have it your way.” I snapped my notebook shut and stowed it and my pen back in my bag. I wished I had a tape recorder, but if he wanted to do it this way, then it was his responsibility.

  “Okay, kids, he can see you now. Go on in,” said the secretary.

  We stood up and crossed to the door to the office. Mr. Pfeiffer was on the phone and smiled and waved us in. It was an awkward moment. Michael gestured for me to go first through the door, but then I wasn’t sure if I should stand in the doorway or head right in and sit down. I started to go in, then changed my mind and backed out again, right into Michael. He must have been just shutting the door, and it was crazy chaos but somehow the door shut on his hand. Hard.

  “Ow!” he shouted.

  I whipped around to see what was happening, and Michael was clutching his left hand and biting down hard on his lip.

  “What?”

  “Ow. My fingers. Ow.” His eyes were closed and for a horrible moment I wondered if he might actually cry. (Do boys cry? I mean big boys? I have no idea!)

  Mr. Pfeiffer had hung up the phone and was at Michael’s side in a flash.

  “Michael, I saw that whole thing happen. Oh gosh. I’m so sorry.” Mr. Pfeiffer ducked his head out of the office and called to his secretary. “Mary, can you get us some ice from the nurse, please? Michael Lawrence just had his hand slammed in the door!”

  “Uh-oh! Right away!” she called back.

  “Michael, why don’t you sit down . . .” Mr. Pfeiffer reached and pulled one of his guest chairs toward Michael. Michael sat down heavily.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  “Can you move it?” Mr. Pfeiffer asked.

  “I don’t know . . .” muttered Michael, his jaw clenched tightly.

  It seemed like an eternity but finally the door opened and the nurse was there. “Hi, honey. You poor thing. Let’s take a look . . .”

  Michael opened his eyes and looked up at her, and I could see that there actually were tears in his eyes! Oh my goodness! I took another step back and banged into a little side table, nearly knocking it over. I looked up in embarrassment but no one had seen. Phew.

  “What happened, sweetie?” asked the nurse gently.

  Michael could hardly speak through the pain. His voice came out in little gasps. “I was walking in behind her . . . and I had my hand on the door . . . to pull it closed. Then . . . she backed into me . . . and I didn’t get my hand out in time.”

  Wait, me? It was my fault?

  Mr. Pfeiffer was nodding in agreement.

  Oh my goodness. My hand flew up to cover my mouth. “Michael, I’m . . . I didn’t realize!”

  They all looked up at me like I’d just appeared from Mars.

  “Don’t worry, honey. Accidents happen,” said the nurse.

  Accidents! But I didn’t even think I’d done anything! I mean, he was the one who slammed the door.

  The nurse called Michael’s mom to see if it was okay to give him aspirin. Then she gave Michael two aspirin to take with some water. Next she brought a bucket of ice and told Michael to soak his hand in it for a while, and to come up and see her again afterward. “It’s not broken, sweetie,” she said. “But we might wrap it up in an ACE bandage just to be safe. It’s not your throwing hand anyway, is it?” she asked.

  But Michael nodded. That’s right. Hailey had said he throws lefty. Darn it!

  Michael was nodding. “Yep, I’m a lefty.”

  The nurse bit her lip. “Well, let’s just see how it does with a little ice, okay?” She and Mr. Pfeiffer exchanged a look that seemed to say they’d discuss all this later, then she nodded, patted Michael on the back, and left.

  “Okay, where were we?” said Michael with a little laugh.

  I was still standing there in shock. “Michael, I’m so . . . I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, I’m sure I didn’t . . .” Should I apologize for something I didn’t even think was my fault? Maybe it was my fault. But it was truly an accident.

  Michael shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It was an accident.”

  Mr. Pfeiffer leaned back against the front of his desk. “We can reschedule the interview, kids. Just relax here for as long as you need and then I can move some stuff around on my calendar and get you back in here . . .”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” protested Michael. “Really. Now that the numbness is kicking in . . .” He winced.

  I felt terrible. “I’m so sorry,” I said finally. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  Michael looked up at me and smiled. “It’s fine,” he said. “Let’s start the interview.”

  Mr. Pfeiffer looked at him carefully. “If you’re sure . . .”

  Michael nodded. “I’m sure.”

  The next twenty minutes were, without a doubt, the most interesting time I’d ever spent in school. Mr. Pfeiffer outlined how the new curriculum was designed to help students deal with the onslaught of information that grows every day from thousands of different directions. He talked about books, magazines, the Internet, TV news, social media, libraries, newspapers, blogs, Wikipedia, and how to evaluate the quality of your sources, how to incorporate what he called the quantifiable information (facts) with qualifiable information (opinions and feelings) to create w
hat he called “the whole understanding.”

  At first I had a really hard time listening to Mr. Pfeiffer without writing everything down. I was also really nervously looking down at Michael’s hand and hoping that I just thought it was swelling. It looked kind of puffy. But when I started to relax and really hear what Mr. Pfeiffer was saying, I found I was able to ask useful questions and have more of a conversation with him than an interview. It was actually fun! Michael was into it too, and it felt cool to have a conversation with a grown-up where he wasn’t talking down to us, but really explaining himself and making sure we understood. Plus, he was so enthusiastic, it was contagious.

  “Our goal, in essence, is to have you leave here with the skills to be able to tell a great story,” Mr. Pfeiffer said. “Because when you think about it, isn’t that what everything comes down to in life? Telling a great story?”

  “Wow,” I said, nodding. “True.”

  “Very cool,” agreed Michael.

  “Are you going to come to the Parent Teacher Association meeting on Thursday?” Mr. Pfeiffer asked. “There should be some lively debate there that you might incorporate into your article.”

  I nodded hard. “Definitely!” I said.

  “Good.” He nodded happily. “Michael, how’s the hand?”

  Michael had it resting out of the ice on a pile of paper towels on his lap. “It’s going to be okay, I think,” he said.

  “All right. Well, I’ve got to run to a meeting with the superintendent of schools. And you know what? I’ll see if he’d mind if one of you gives him a call to get a quote for your article, okay?”

  “That would be great! Thanks!” I said, standing. “And thanks for your time and everything. It was really interesting.”

  Michael stood too. He looked around to see how he was going to carry everything.

  “Here. I’ll help you,” I offered, reaching for his book bag.

  “Stay back!” he said, half joking. “I don’t need another injury.”

  I bit my lip. That was kind of mean. It’s not like I had directly hurt him before.

  So Mr. Pfeiffer lifted the ice bucket and Michael’s backpack and helped us out through the door.

  “Mary, will you get Mr. Lawrence an elevator pass, please?” he asked his secretary.