Digital Disaster! Page 6

  Then the head of the math department—my math teacher, Mrs. Birnbaum—took the mike. She explained exactly what had happened: The day before the test, no one could get into the math department files and all the test information, the exams, and the answers were deleted. They did have backup files, but after several IT professionals looked at the system, it was determined that it had been hacked into by an unknown user, the password changed, and the files printed before they were deleted. The person who did this was still unknown, but the investigation had some promising leads.

  “At this time we have no way of knowing whose test results are the product of obtaining the answers ahead of time. The answers were printed out and may have been distributed. We know the retest is inconvenient, but in order to ensure that everyone has the same opportunities, we think this is the best option,” she said in a firm tone. Then she opened the meeting up for questions.

  Michael’s father stood up. I looked at Michael, but he had his eyes glued to his dad.

  “My son is an excellent student,” he said. I glanced at Michael and saw the color rise to his cheeks. I didn’t want to embarrass him further, so I kept my eyes straight ahead. Mr. Lawrence went on. “He’s also very committed to several sports and his work on the school paper. I understand that though the results aren’t valid, there are other options. We can omit all test grades from the record. I just don’t see why my son, who I’m certain has not played a part in this and studied very hard for that test, has to add more to his busy schedule because of someone else’s mistakes. Has this option been seriously considered?”

  I turned around and scanned the audience. I saw many people nodding in agreement. A few parents and students started cheering. Then all the way in the back, I saw Will Hutchins standing against the wall, his gray hoodie pulled over his head. His face looked serious, with barely any expression at all.

  Suddenly lots of parents and students stood up, one after the other taking each side. Then everyone began talking over one another and Mr. Pfeiffer had to step in.

  “We’ve heard everyone’s opinions,” Mr. Pfeiffer said, “and Mrs. Birnbaum explained why we have made the decision we made. The reason we can’t throw out the grades is that unfortunately many more students will be negatively affected when their grades for the year are averaged. The final tests are weighted to equal more of your child’s grade. In order to be as fair as possible, as Mrs. Birnbaum said, we need to retest to ensure that no one had prior access to any answers. We hope the students who studied hard for the exam the first time are well prepared already and need only a refresher study session for this test. While we appreciate all your opinions, this is what we’ve decided, and we need to now move on. Thanks for your time.”

  I would have spoken, but so many people had already said many times over what I felt. There was nothing left for me to say. I nudged Michael again. I wanted him to take a look at Will standing so ominously in the back, but when I turned around again, he was gone.

  “What?” Michael asked.

  “Uh, nothing,” I said. I needed to talk to that kid again.

  “I think we got some great stuff as far as students and parents are concerned. Let’s get some more teacher opinions while we’re here,” Michael said. “Then we’ll really have all we need.”

  I nodded, and we both went over to interview the teachers. They were excited to talk to us and seemed anxious to allow their voices to be heard, since the parents and students were really the dominating voices at the meeting. Many teachers reiterated what Mr. Pfeiffer had said. Then we went up to Mr. Evans, a math teacher and the head of the IT club.

  “Mr. Evans,” I said in my best authoritative reporter voice. “What’s your opinion on all this? You must have a specific viewpoint since you’ve been helping with the investigation.”

  He looked at us and rubbed his beard for a second. “I guess I do,” he said, “but my opinion is pretty much in line with what many of the faculty believe. You simply can’t steal the answers to something and think that’s the solution to your problem. It may seem like a quick solution. But you’re actually starting to stack a row of dominoes against yourself—you didn’t study for this test, but you did well. Then your stolen test score qualifies you for an advanced placement class next semester. You had difficulty doing the work in a regular class, and now you’re in AP! You fall way behind and are anxious and miserable all the time. Your self-esteem plummets because you think you’re stupid. You’re not stupid, but you were lazy and made a stupid decision and now may be paying for it for a long time to come.”

  “Wow,” said Michael. “Well put. Thanks for your time.”

  “Glad to be of service,” he said, then smiled and walked away.

  “This is awesome. We have an amazing story here. Too bad they don’t hand out Pulitzer Prizes for school newspaper articles,” Michael said. “You’re a great writing partner, Nailsy.” He held up his hand for a high five.

  “Thanks,” I said, smacking his hand. Now it was my turn to blush. “I think we should meet tomorrow and get all of this down into one coherent piece. Want to come over after school?”

  After the words came tumbling out of my mouth, I realized I had just invited Michael Lawrence over without thinking/stressing about it for days, getting advice from Hailey, getting advice from Allie, and then stressing about it some more.

  “Sure, and then after we post this, we can celebrate at Spring Fling!” Michael said excitedly.

  Right! Spring Fling, where our whole class gets to go to an amusement park for the entire day. No work, no paper, just pure fun. I had totally forgotten about it because I was so stressed out about the story and about Dear Know-It-All. And it was the most fun day of the year. I was really out of balance.

  “I almost forgot, with all this going on,” I said, sweeping my hand over the auditorium full of concerned and somewhat frustrated parents, students, and teachers. Maybe Will Hutchins had a point—there was a lesson to be learned here. “So we’ll write the rest tomorrow and put it online Monday or Tuesday, and it will be ready for the world to see on Wednesday!”

  “Do you think we need more time than that?” Michael asked.

  “We have a lot of it in place already. It’s really just combining what we both wrote and uploading it to the paper template, which seems a lot easier than it was before. We can actually see the layout and tweak it right before we publish it. Mr. Trigg showed me, or actually I showed him,” I said.

  “If you say so,” Michael said.

  “Heelooo, superreporters. Get some good stuff?” Hailey asked as she walked up to us. She had borrowed the Aqua Fantasy, and her turquoise nail fabulousness flashed at me. The color looked even better on her with her tan skin.

  “Heelooo!” I said, feeling a little giddy from all the energy in the room. I realized I had been talking very loudly in order to be heard over the sea of voices. “What did you think of the meeting?” I asked Hailey.

  “Well, I thought maybe the verdict would change. I know a lot of people were hoping it would. But still the test is happening,” Hailey said.

  “Yeah. I think the meeting was just a chance for the teachers to explain why they made the decision they did. I have to admit it makes sense to me.” I wondered how Michael felt since his dad was obviously upset about the retest.

  “Well, at first I agreed with my dad, but now I get that a lot of people rely on the test to raise their average since the test makes up almost half our grade. It has to be fair. But the teachers said they didn’t know how many people had the answers. I don’t know anyone or even heard of anyone who got the test answers, so I’m not sure it was as widespread as they think. Whoever did this was pretty private about it,” Mic
hael said.

  I’ll say. But who wouldn’t be? I wondered what would happen to the person if they actually found out who did it. Would they be expelled? I scanned the floor to try and find Will again, but no such luck. He had left.

  I went home anxious to write up all the notes I had, so I didn’t forget how I wanted to use all the quotes I had gotten. I logged on to my computer and saw that I had an e-mail from Mr. Trigg. I opened it, biting my lip, hoping for the best.

  Ms. Martone, better, but could still be friendlier. Still a lot of judgment in the tone of the letter. Sorry. Third time’s the charm!

  Arghhh! How many times did I have to write this letter? What if I just decided to give up? Paper Missing Popular Column. Readers Revolt. I couldn’t let Rock Star win, though. I decided to put my notes aside and give it another crack. I took some calming breaths, wrote it fast without thinking about it too much, and hit the send button before I read it over a thousand times. Then I worked a bit on the article. But after the meeting and writing another Dear Know-It-All draft, I was ready for sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Newspaper Advisor Offers Up Tea and Bad News

  “Ms. Martone?” Mr. Trigg came up to me in the hallway after my Spanish class. “Could I talk to you for just a sec?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, a little startled. Mr. Trigg never came up to me in the hallway. Sometimes I wondered if he ever left his office.

  “Great. Follow me.” I followed him, which wasn’t easy to do since Trigger walks faster than any teacher I know. When we got to his office I was actually out of breath. He closed the door. I wondered if he was going to tell me he knew who the hacker was. I held my breath.

  “Tea?” he said as he turned on his electric pot.

  I wanted to scream, “NO TEA, JUST GET TO THE POINT!” Instead I murmured a polite, “No, thank you.”

  “I read your letter,” he began.

  Oh, I thought. This is just about the darn Know-It-All letter.

  “I think you might want to pick another question,” he went on. “This topic just seems too personal for you. I’m also worried you’re spending too much time on the letter and not enough time on the article.”

  I let out my breath and sat down. This was not what I wanted to hear. Newspaper Advisor Offers Up Tea and Bad News. In fact, he might as well have punched me in the stomach. Had I lost touch with reality? Why couldn’t I write this letter?

  “I don’t know why it works me up so much,” I said in a high, whiny tone, even though I didn’t mean to be. “I just work so hard at everything I do and people like Rock Star make me mad.”

  “I understand. But it’s not your job to save someone or teach them a lesson. Rock Star isn’t everyone at the school. Most people are honest and try their best. Rock Star just might not be sure how to do that. I’m not saying it’s okay, but maybe you know someone who hasn’t always been honest but is still a good person. Remember, we all make mistakes. Try to think of that person when you write the letter. Put yourself in their shoes just a little bit. Or pick a different letter.”

  I thought about it for a second. Allie! Allie had cheated once. She’d learned her lesson and now is probably a better student for it.

  “Okay. I think I can do that.”

  “Good. And remember, the article you’re working on is a big one. It needs your focus.”

  I nodded, thanked Mr. Trigg, and hurried out of his office and off to class.

  After school I walked in the door and called out to my mother, “Mom, are you here?” I hadn’t told her Michael was coming over today. I hoped she wouldn’t be upset. But as long as she didn’t have to drive me anywhere, she usually was okay with my last-minute plans.

  “Yes, in my office,” Mom called. I dropped my backpack in the hallway and went into her office, a little room near her bedroom. She sat in her chair, surrounded by papers, her computer, a calculator, pens, pencils, a highlighter, and a little jar of Wite-Out.

  “Got a little work, Mom?” I said, smiling. My work was nothing compared to what was going on in this office.

  “Do I ever.” Mom rubbed her eyes. “I like my work, but sometimes there’s too much of a good thing.”

  “Sorry, Mom. I know how you feel. I have to finish this newspaper article on the test scandal. Is it okay if Michael comes over and we work on it?”

  Mom’s face perked up. “Of course,” she said in a knowing way. “I wouldn’t say no to that!”

  “Mom, don’t get all weird about it. We just have to finish the article. It’s not a date or anything,” I said, but in my heart I knew that any time I spent with Michael had date possibilities. I was definitely excited to finish the article, but he was also my friend. I needed a break from thinking about all these serious issues and some more downtime. From the looks of it, so did Mom. That one night at Rosie’s hadn’t quite cut it.

  “I’m not getting weird. I’m too tired to be weird,” Mom said, and glanced around her desk.

  “Don’t forget to breathe,” I said. “In through the nose and out through the mouth.”

  Mom took a deep breath. “Ahhhh, thanks. That does feel relaxing.”

  I went into my room and looked through my closet. I picked out a cool white T-shirt with a sequined design of a butterfly on it and my favorite jeans. Then I put on a little pink lip gloss and brushed my hair. There. I looked fresh and pretty, but not like I actually spent time getting dressed for the occasion.

  I went into the kitchen to see what I could offer Michael. I don’t think I could quite equal homemade banana bread, but I could make him my famous microwave popcorn.

  I decided to start the popcorn before he came since I was feeling a little snacky, one of Michael’s many ridiculous nicknames for me. If I felt hungry, I wasn’t going to be any fun. I popped a big bag and was just pouring it into a bowl, lots of steam rising up into my face, when there was a knock on the door.

  “Coming,” I yelled, and padded over in my bare feet. Allie had also given me an Aqua Fantasy pedicure, so anytime I had the chance to bare my shiny toes, I took it.

  “Hi,” I said, greeting Michael at the door.

  “Hey,” he said. “What smells good?”

  “Not cinnamon buns or banana bread. So don’t get too excited. Just my famous microwave popcorn. I’ve been cooking all day.” I dramatically swept my hand over my forehead. He looked like he had just showered. His hair was still wet and he had that clean soapy/freshly laundered smell. Crush Smells Way Better Than Popcorn.

  “A snack perfect for a snacky girl,” he said. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  We went into the kitchen and sat at the counter, a big bowl of popcorn between us, and got down to work. We showed each other what we had and started combining and shaping the story.

  “So do you think the main point of this piece is ultimately the huge effect one kid’s mistake can have on a lot of people?” I said after a while. Then I took a piece of popcorn, threw it up in the air, and tried to catch it in my mouth. It bounced off my nose and onto the floor.

  “Let me show you how it’s done,” Michael said. He threw one up in the air and opened his mouth. Instead it bounced off his chin.

  I couldn’t help but giggle. “How on earth did you do that? Show me your secret!” I asked, faking an amazed supergirly voice.

  “Ha-ha,” he said, and tried again. This time it made it into his mouth. “Score!”

  Then I tried and scored as well. We both did it several more times, with more popcorn landing on the floor than in our mouths.

  “Okay, back to the question,” Michael said, as he helped me pick up the popcorn. “I think so. Also it’s about why having the retest was actually important even though many stu
dents felt it was unfair. Sometimes what might be good for the whole community is not always what the individual wants.”

  “I think we covered both sides of both sides. Does that make sense?”

  “Perfect sense!” Michael said, and tossed up another piece of popcorn, this time nailing it.

  It was nice that we were so in sync about the story. It wasn’t always the case when we worked on a piece, but I had been through enough inner drama with the subject matter and was glad that Michael and I ultimately didn’t have any major drama while writing it.

  “I don’t mind typing all this up and e-mailing you what we wrote here so we both have it. Let’s upload it tomorrow in the template and we can tweak it online over the next few days. We don’t go ‘live’ until Tuesday.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind doing that?” he asked.

  “No problem,” I said. “I’m an expert typist.” I flexed my biceps. I didn’t mind the extra typing. It actually relaxed me.

  “Thanks. Sounds like a good plan, because the day after the launch happens to be the day of the class trip,” Michael said. “And I want to be able to enjoy it without worrying about the issue.”

  “Once again, I like how you think, Mikey,” I said.

  “Always a pleasure to snack and write with you,” Michael said as he held out his hand for a handshake and gave me his award-winning grin. My heart did a little flip as I shook his strong hand.

  The next day we put the story up and were able to cut and edit it right in the Voice layout. It was much easier than I’d thought it would be, and since we didn’t have to get the story in days early and could work right up until pub day, I finally found myself with a little time on my hands. Michael seemed more relaxed about it too. We had only a few spots we wanted to tighten up and that certainly could wait until next week.