Late Edition Page 7

  And do you know what was the best part? I slept all night until my alarm woke me up at seven a.m. the next day!

  The only bummer is there’s not that much to do at seven a.m. on a Sunday. Everyone else is asleep and nothing’s open. There’s nowhere to go. I wanted to text Michael because, according to our plan, he should have been up by now, but in case he wasn’t, I didn’t want his phone to wake him. Instead I watched some TV and tried to stay awake. Eventually Hailey called and we made a plan to exercise together and the day got rolling. But it was a long one (especially since I couldn’t have caffeine!).

  It wasn’t until I’d exercised with Hailey, eaten lunch, and was printing out the final versions of my mini paragraphs for my flowchart that the phone rang and it was for me.

  “It’s lover boy!” whispered Allie, barely covering the phone with her hand.

  I tried to punch her, but she quickly ducked out of my way.

  Girl Seethes with Plot for Revenge as Perpetrator Escapes!

  “Hello?” I made myself sound really neutral and not excited at all.

  “Hey, Sam,” said Michael. His voice was kind of squeaky, without its usual relaxed huskiness.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked; then immediately I wanted to kick myself. I bit my lip and closed my eyes. Why did I have to be so awkward around Michael sometimes?

  He cleared his throat. “Um. Well. Since you asked . . . I . . . ahem. Sam.”

  “Michael, what is it?”

  Michael spoke all in a rush. “Sam, I can’t do the science project with you. I’m so sorry. I feel terrible.”

  “What?” I was shocked. “Why?”

  “Well, I just . . . I shouldn’t have said yes from the start. I’m going to have to take my low grade and maybe make it up another time, another way. I wanted to help you out and, I, um, I thought it would be fun to work on it with you since . . . well, we work well together or whatever. But I shouldn’t have said yes. I’m just so buried. And my mom . . . well. She got mad at me for taking on too much stuff and doing none of it well. I guess I’ve just been spreading myself too thin.”

  I was silent for a minute. I was so stunned that he was having the exact same issues as me that I didn’t know what to say.

  “Sam? Are you there? I understand if you never want to talk to me . . .”

  “Michael, stop! Please!” I laughed. “I totally understand. This is me you’re talking to, remember?”

  “Wait, what?” Michael sounded confused. “You’re not furious? Because you have every right to be. I mean, I’ve totally dragged you down.”

  “I am going through all the same stuff as you! My mom is making me start saying no to stuff too! It’s such a coincidence!”

  “Oh!” Michael laughed a relieved laugh. “Really?”

  “Yes! Please don’t worry about it. I can pull it off all by myself. I can just use the stuff you disallowed me to use. . . .”

  “Well, I can give you my Dunleavy transcript. . . .”

  “No. I’ll call him myself. It’s better that way. Thanks, though. And also, I don’t mind if you still want to do the same project, but just by yourself and on your own timetable. I mean, you’ve already done at least half of the work. It would be kind of a waste.”

  “Thanks, Paste. I might.”

  “Sure.”

  We were quiet for a split second, and then we both spoke at the same time.

  “Hey, so . . .”

  “Well, what . . .”

  We laughed.

  “The article?” I said.

  “Yeah, about the article. I think we’re writing a file piece, Paste. I’m sorry. I know how you hate that, but there’s just no way I can pull it off for this Thursday. Is that okay?”

  I wasn’t surprised. “It’s fine. I totally get it. I’ll let Mr. Trigg know when we hang up so he can start looking through his files to fill that spot.”

  “Thanks.” Michael let out a huge sigh. “I was dreading this phone call, but now I feel much better.”

  “Yeah. It’s hard to prioritize sometimes.”

  “Yeah. Especially ’cause I always want to do stuff with you—” Michael stopped abruptly. “I mean . . .”

  “Right,” I said, covering for him. “We work well together.”

  “Yes. That’s what I meant.”

  We both laughed a little awkwardly.

  “Thanks for letting me know, Mikey. Good luck.”

  “Thank you, Pasty. Thanks a lot. I mean it.”

  “Bye.”

  I hung up the phone and sat there for a minute. Who’d have thought that Mr. Together, Mr. Photographic Memory, Mr. All-Around Athlete and Scholar would be having the same problems I was having? I wrapped my arms around myself in happiness, though, thinking of how he said he always wanted to do stuff with me. Even if he meant just as a friend, it was a nice confirmation.

  Thinking about how he said it might keep me up all night, though!

  Chapter 10

  WOODWARD BETRAYS BERNSTEIN!

  Shortly after the phone call from Michael, I fired off an e-mail to Mr. Trigg, asking if our sleep article could go to file and be replaced by something from the file. Then I e-mailed Mr. Dunleavy to see if we could set a call for four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I didn’t expect to hear back from either of them since it was a Sunday, but I was pleasantly surprised when I heard back from both within the hour.

  Mr. Dunleavy readily agreed to the call, which was great. I just had a few remaining questions, a couple about recycling and the environment, two about their clients, and one about safety. Since Michael was no longer on the project, I had the freedom to ditch the labor angle. He could pick it back up when and if he decided to do his own project or if we did it as an article at a later date.

  Mr. Trigg asked me to call him at home, so I did. As usual, he picked up right away.

  “Ms. Martone, what a pleasant surprise! How is your weekend going?”

  We chatted for a minute, and then he asked what was going on with the article.

  I explained about the time crunch, but I also told him about our sleep experiment and the research we’d done to date.

  “Hmm,” said Mr. Trigg. I could picture him folding his arms and tapping his chin with his index finger, as he always does when he’s thinking.

  “What do you think about postponing it or making it a file article?” I asked.

  “I certainly think it would be fine, but it sounds like you’ve done almost all the research and you just need to write it up?”

  “Basically . . . ,” I admitted.

  “Is it you or Michael who doesn’t have the time to work on it? Or is it both of you?”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t want to sell Michael out (Woodward Betrays Bernstein!) and honestly, I still had quite a bit to do myself over the next three or four days: finishing my poster, writing the DKIA, baking for Hailey.

  “Um . . .”

  Mr. Trigg sensed my hesitation. “The only reason I ask is that I think the sleep article will dovetail so nicely with your Know-It-All this week. Certainly you’d have to be careful that they don’t intertwine or refer to each other in any way or you’d be giving away your identity. But if you could possibly pull it off—even a condensed version of what you were hoping to do—I think it would be a nice opportunity for you to have your own byline and to flesh out what you’ll touch on in your column.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, can I think about it for a little while? I’d want to check with Michael too.”

  “Absolutely. Just decide maybe by tomorrow, alrighty?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mr. Trigg.”

  After we hung up, I sat at my desk and stared out the window at a little bird hopping around on a branch. It would be so easy to be a bird, I thought. All you have to do is build a nest (with lots of feathers) and find worms. Well, and maybe fly south for the winter. Oh and then get back up here for spring. And make sure your baby birds live. Yeah. Maybe it wouldn’t be so easy to be a bird after all.

  Chastened
, I decided to make a list of everything I had to do. Then I’d go talk to my mom about everything.

  Twenty minutes later, my mom had my list in front of her and she was twirling her hair, thinking.

  “Well, I could do some of the baking for you. I don’t mind. I have the time that night, and I’m happy to help Hailey out. I’m so proud of her job on student council,” said my mom. “Maybe Allie would help too.”

  I scoffed. “Right.”

  “Samantha, please. Allie has been very nice to you lately, and she is also a big fan of Hailey’s.”

  “And Molly’s,” I added.

  “Oh yes, that lovely girl who was here the other day. Right! Is she working on the bake sale, too?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant, but . . .” Suddenly I had a eureka moment. “Hey! Hey, Mom! You are a genius!” I jumped up and gave her a hug. “Can I use the phone for a minute? I have to call Hailey!”

  My mom had a confused look on her face, but she handed me the phone and I speed-dialed Hailey.

  Luckily, she answered.

  “Hails. Genius idea by my mom. Have Molly do a bunch of baking for you for the bake sale this week!”

  “Hello, to you too, Samantha,” said Hailey formally.

  “Seriously, what do you think?”

  Hailey was quiet for a second. “But if I ask her for a favor, then do I owe her one?”

  “You dope, she owes you one! You got Allie to do her hair, remember? Which, by the way, is apparently identical to yours again but never mind,” I said in a really fast rush. “Anyway, she worships you so much, I’m sure she’d do it even if she didn’t owe you a favor.”

  “Hmm. You do have a point. Okay. I am ignoring something you just said about her hair. Ignoring! Ignoring! So will you ask her about the baking or me?”

  “You. It will mean more coming from you. She’ll never be able to say no.”

  “Okay, I guess. Come with me though so you can lay on thickly how much it will mean to me, all right?”

  We agreed to meet the next morning and track down Molly, and then we hung up.

  “Genius, Mom. Thanks!” I said. I sat back down.

  My mom looked pleased with herself. “I didn’t realize I was suggesting anything, but I’m happy it worked out.”

  “Right. Now I don’t feel as pressured to make three things. I think we could make one big double batch of your cookies and that’s plenty, okay?”

  “Sure. I can do that easily.”

  “Thanks. Now for the other stuff.” I explained everything to my mom about the science project, the article, the column, and the other general homework and scheduling issues I had this week, plus my sleep issues (which seemed to be on the mend). She listened patiently. After I was finished, she thought for a minute. Then she said, “Okay. I have some advice. Not that you need to take it.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “You can knock off the science today easily, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You can whip up the column tomorrow night, right?”

  Again, I agreed.

  “And I think you could probably pull off the article by Thursday too. It’s just the Michael aspect that is tricky.”

  “Yes.”

  “What if you did that thing with the byline where you are the lead writer and then you put in ‘Additional reporting by Michael Lawrence’?”

  I cocked my head. “Huh.”

  “Do they ever do that at the Cherry Valley Voice?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m sure we could. I just wonder if Michael would be mad if I went ahead without him.”

  My mom spoke gently. “Sam, I don’t want to push you. You’re on the verge of being overloaded again, and only you can decide how much you can really handle while still getting to bed at a good hour. But I also think you have to see that Michael is learning how to put himself first sometimes, just like you. I think it would be okay to finish the article, give him the credit he deserves, and submit it. Put yourself first this time.”

  I laughed a little. “It’s funny because we just practiced saying no to more work and more stuff, and now I have to work on saying yes, too.”

  “I know. Life is funny that way. Things change quickly. You need to be flexible and always be reprioritizing.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to use that in my column.”

  “What column?” said Allie, bounding into the room.

  Older Sister Training for CIA; Could Beat Any Spy.

  I blanched and, astoundingly, my mom covered for me. “Mr. Trigg is devoting a whole column of the front page to your sister’s article this week. It might become a regular feature on health.”

  My eyes widened at my mother’s fib, and when Allie looked at me for verification, I caught my mom winking at me over Allie’s shoulder. I had to stifle my smile.

  “Is that true?” asked Allie.

  I shrugged casually. “We’ve tossed it around. He’d like me to write a regular column one day maybe.”

  Allie considered this. “Too bad you didn’t get that Dear Know-It-All job, then.”

  I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Too bad.”

  My mom stepped in again, luckily. “Anyway, dear, why don’t you go upstairs and think it all over, okay?”

  I stood up. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Anytime,” she said with a grin and another wink. “Anytime.”

  I trudged back upstairs to my room, dreading what I knew I must do. I held the portable phone in my hand and sat down heavily at my desk. (I was going to sit on my bed to make the call, but that would have been bad sleep hygiene!) I took a deep breath and dialed the number I know by heart.

  “Is Michael there, please? It’s Samantha Martone,” I said when his dad answered.

  Michael picked up a second later. “Sam?”

  “Hey.”

  “What’s up?”

  I sighed and then I explained about the call with Mr. Trigg. Halfway through my explanation, Michael interrupted. “Sam, Sam, please. You don’t need to explain. Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor if you took it over. And you don’t need to give me a reporting credit. Honestly, I did nothing but look at some parenting books with you. It was your idea from the beginning anyway.”

  “No. I’d give you credit. You’ve worked on it a bunch with me, and I wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

  “Sam, seriously. Go ahead and do it and please do not give it another thought. I could really use the break, and I’m happy to have you soldier on. Okay? I’m actually grateful. For real. I’ll even bake you cinnamon buns to prove it. Just not for a very long time,” he said, laughing.

  I laughed too. Now it was my turn to feel relieved. “Thanks. I’ll look forward to that when I’m old and gray and in the home, Drooly. Listen, seriously though. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s funny, me calling you to beg off from the work and then you calling me to ask for more. Maybe you should do an article on time management next!” suggested Michael.

  I winced; that was so close to my Know-It-All for this week. “Oh no. Not me. I don’t know anything about that!” I protested.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Pasty. You’re a pro at it. And hey, good luck. Thanks for thinking of me in all this.”

  “Thanks, Mikey. Talk to you later.”

  I hung up the phone and looked out the window again. The bird was gone from its branch. Probably battling cold winds and mean, bigger birds, struggling its way south. Or maybe . . . maybe it had first flown to visit its own mama bird, who was feeding it a nice meal and letting it stay in her well-feathered nest until it felt strong enough to make the big flight. That idea made me smile, and I set to work finishing the other half of the science poster.

  Chapter 11

  JOURNALIST HAS THE LAST WORD. REJOICES IN VICTORY!

  I woke up early the next morning, fully refreshed by a great night’s sleep. The good sleep hygiene thing was no joke, and I was so excited to work it into my article for the paper. I really enj
oyed being my own test subject. It could be a really cool form of journalism that I’d like to pursue—the kind where you put yourself in the center of an experiment (learning a new skill, testing a new product or health regime, trying to quit saying “like”) and then write about it. It would certainly beat reporting from the front lines of a war, the way Michael described it.

  Hailey and I attacked Molly with our enthusiasm right before the first bell rang, and by recess we had her and three of her buddies committed to bringing seven more things for the bake sale!

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see Michael all day, even though I looked for him everywhere. I even wondered if he might have been sick, but Hailey said she saw him in the library working when she met with her tutor during lunch, so I knew he was just muscling through and getting stuff done. I was proud of him and very, very sympathetic.

  After school, I had my call with Mr. Dunleavy, who gave me a few more good tidbits to finalize the poster. Then I set to work typing up the remainder of my mini paragraphs for that and taping them and my final sidebar all down to the double poster boards. I was sure to get an A plus on it!

  Tuesday morning, I brought the poster into school, hoping I’d see Michael so I could show it to him. I didn’t want to call and make a plan to meet him—I wanted it to just happen. But it didn’t. Maybe that was for the better, anyway. At lunch I turned the poster in to Dr. Shenberg, and the expression on his face told me he was pleased. He said Michael had already talked to him about bowing out of the project and that they’d work something out another time. I was relieved, but I was still a little sad about how it all worked out for us with this project. Michael had been pretty into it, especially when we went on the field trip. (I still cringe every time I think of how I fell asleep.)

  That afternoon, I worked a little bit on my sleep article and I finished my column. I was pretty psyched about it. Here is what I said: