Point of No Return (37 page)

She'd only been praying for a minute when Mike Colman, one of the
Owl'
s reporters, walked in. Embarrassed, Lucy leapt to her feet.

“What's wrong?” Mike asked as he tossed his books on the table.

“Nothing,” Lucy answered. “You startled me.”

Mike cocked an eyebrow at her, then peered at the base of the table. “What were you doing down there? Did you drop something?”

“Never mind,” Lucy said. “What are you doing here?”

Mike looked at her suspiciously. “It's Monday, right? Assignments for this week's issue?”

Lucy blushed. “Oh yeah.” She fumbled for the assignment sheet that she'd worked out last Friday. “Let's see…”

“I was thinking I'd like to do something different this week,” Mike said.

Lucy looked up at him.

“I want to do a movie review. I saw Sylvester Kostenagger's latest over the weekend.
Blood Runs Deep
. It was amazing.”

“But that's an adult movie,” Lucy said. “I heard it's nothing but violence and killing from the beginning to end.”

Mike put his hands on his hips. “You heard wrong. They stop blowing people away long enough to do a love scene in the middle.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope.” Mike smiled at her. His perfect white teeth, dimples, and curly black hair reminded Lucy she once had a crush on him. “All the kids are talking about this movie. We have to review it. Besides, I got to interview Sylvester Kostenagger on the phone.”

“What?”

Mike said proudly, “My dad's lawyer's brother-in-law is an agent in Sylvester's talent agency and he set it up for me to interview him. We talked for a whole five minutes. I even recorded it. I could do a review of the movie
and
print the interview!”

Lucy was instantly excited for Mike. What a scoop! And it was true that all the kids in the school had been looking forward to this new action thriller. Most of the kids' parents would take them to see it—or they'd sneak in like Mike probably had. The theater owners didn't seem to care as long as they got their money. But to have an interview with the actor himself—that's the kind of thing that could get the
Owl
mentioned in the
Odyssey Times
!

Lucy very nearly said “Okay” but stopped herself just before the word came out. What happened to the pledge she made? “I'm going to have to think about it,” she finally said.

“Think about it?” Mike was aghast. “What's to think about?”

She didn't dare tell him that she first had to decide what Jesus would do. Would Jesus, if He were editor of the
Owl
, allow a review to be printed about a movie that blatantly glorified violence?

Of course He wouldn't
, Lucy knew. She then asked herself
how
she knew it. And in an instant, her mind worked through her reasons. For one thing, Jesus said to love each other—our neighbors, even our enemies. There was no room for that kind of love in movies where people got shot and buildings were blown up just for the fun of it. Lucy also remembered her parents complaining how violent movies made people less than humans—they were just nameless and faceless characters who died—and Jesus certainly wouldn't approve of that. There was never a point to those violent movies, except to show more and more violence. They never taught the kinds of things that Jesus taught about: mercy, compassion, self-sacrifice. There were more reasons, but Lucy figured she had enough.

“No,” she said to Mike. “No review.”

Mike was clearly disappointed, but rallied. “We'll just do the interview then.”

“Huh-uh,” she said and braced herself for the explosion.

“Are you nuts?” Mike shouted. “I talked to
Sylvester
on the phone! He answered my questions! He even said he'd send me an autographed picture!”

“No, Mike.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because movies like
Blood Runs Dark
—”

“Deep,” he corrected her. “
Blood Runs Deep
.”

“Movies like that aren't healthy for kids like us. They're probably not even healthy for adults either. And actors like Sylvester what's-his name don't even care what kind of effect his movies have on us. He's just out to make money.”

“So what?”

“So, there's nothing that says I have to promote his movie by printing a review or promote
him
by printing an interview.”

Mike stared at her with his mouth hanging down. He looked like he might rush into the hall and call for the school nurse to help poor Lucy who'd finally flipped her wig. “This is a joke, right? You're pulling my leg.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then you've gone out of your mind!” he cried out. “How could you
not
print a review,
especially
when I have an interview with the country's
biggest selling star
to go with it!? What kind of editor are you, anyway?”

Lucy weighed her options carefully. There was a time when Mike and his family went to her church. They stopped going a couple of years ago and, for all she knew, had started going somewhere else. She didn't know. But one thing was certain: She had to tell him the real reason she couldn't print his review and interview.

“Close the door,” she said softly.

He looked at her puzzled, then obeyed.

Once the door was closed and he returned to face her, she explained, “Mike, the truth is, I can't print your stuff because…well, it isn't something that Jesus would do.”

He stared at her for a moment, then blinked a couple of times as if he hadn't heard right. “Jesus? You mean, like, Jesus in the Bible?”

Lucy nodded. “I made a pledge yesterday to do everything the way I think Jesus would do things. That includes how to edit the
Owl
. I don't think Jesus would print your review or interview. Do you?”

“No, He probably wouldn't.” Then Mike shook his head quickly. “But…but this is crazy. You can't edit a paper like Jesus would. He never even edited a paper, did He? If He did, do you think any of the kids in this school would read it? I wouldn't.”

“That's not the point. I made a pledge—no matter what,” Lucy said.

“It's nuts,” Mike said. “You'll get yourself in big trouble.”

Lucy shrugged. “It's a risk I'll have to take.”

At lunch, Lucy found Karen in the cafeteria praying over her meal. Lucy had never seen Karen—or anyone, for that matter—pray over a school lunch. Lucy followed her lead, and when she sat down with her own sack lunch, she bowed her head and offered a quick prayer.

“Well?” Lucy asked after she said amen.

“Well what?” Karen chomped down on a fish stick.

“How's it going on the first day of your pledge?”

“Okay, I guess,” Karen replied. “I nearly got in an argument with Donna Barclay about borrowing my brush, but realized it wasn't something Jesus would argue about. Didn't He say something about giving away your coat if someone asked?”

Lucy nodded. “And to walk an extra mile.”

“Yeah. So I gave Donna my brush.” Karen pushed a lock of her hair away from her plate. “I have to meet this afternoon with Mr. Laker to talk about the stationery for the student council. Big deal.”

“The student council is getting its own stationery? Why?”

“To write down all the high-powered decisions we're going to make,” Karen said. “I voted against the idea. I thought we could use the money to do more important things. But I was in the minority, and it's my job to pick what it'll look like. How about you? How's the pledge going?”

“I'm not sure.” Lucy bit into her ham sandwich. “I think everything's all right.”

Karen looked at her skeptically. “That's not what I heard. Mike's been telling everyone you dumped his review and interview because you're on some wacko religious kick.”

“Oh, no!” Lucy groaned.

“I couldn't believe you did it,” Karen said proudly. “That must've been hard for you.”

Lucy shook her head. “It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Once I figured out
why
Jesus would have said no to the movie and interview, I knew I had a good case against it. But maybe that's the trick here:
Doing
the right thing might start off easy, but living with the outcome may be the tough part.”

“Mike says he's going to complain to Mrs. Stegner,” Karen said. Mrs. Stegner was an English teacher and the faculty sponsor of the
Odyssey Owl
. Ultimately, she was responsible for everything to do with the newspaper. “Do you think she'll back you up?”

“I guess I'll find out when she calls me in.”

“What if she doesn't?”

“Then I'll have to decide what Jesus would do next.”

Mr. Art Laker was the school administrator, which meant he was in charge of the school's money. It was his responsibility to make sure the textbooks were ordered and teachers had enough whiteboard pens and erasers and the secretary had all the paper clips she needed. He was a tall, heavyset man with a shiny, bald head, small eyes, and a face that went beet red whenever he got agitated. Karen always felt uncomfortable around him for no other reason than the feeling that he didn't really like his job. She had heard the other day that he was going to retire at the end of the school year.
He probably can't wait
, Karen thought as she walked into the school office.

Mrs. Stewart smiled as Karen stepped up to the office counter. “Hi, Karen.”

“Hi. I'm here to see Mr. Laker,” Karen said.

Mrs. Stewart looked puzzled. “Oh? Well, I'm sorry, but he had an unexpected meeting at the district office. What were you meeting him about? Maybe I can help.”

“I have to pick out the stationery design for the student council,” Karen explained.

Mrs. Stewart chuckled. “Ah, the president is making big executive decisions, huh?”

“Yeah,” Karen grinned. “Our lives will never be the same once we have this stationery.”

Gesturing to the small door leading behind the counter, Mrs. Stewart said, “Come on back to his office. He was looking at designs this morning, probably to get ready for your meeting together.”

They walked back to Mr. Laker's closet-sized office down the corridor from the other, more important offices. Karen suspected that Mr. Laker probably resented being stuck down the hall in a tiny office when Principal Felegy and Vice Principal Santini had offices that were so much bigger and nicer looking. Even the school nurse had a larger work area.

“There it is,” Mrs. Stewart said, pointing to the stationery book spread across Mr. Laker's plain metal desk. “Have a seat and pick out what you want.”

Karen sat down at the desk to look through the various designs. The catalog had all types and sizes. Some of the lettering was boxy-looking, some had curly-cues, some looked too boyish, and others were too girlie. Choosing one wasn't going to be easy. Ten minutes later, after her eyes started to hurt, Karen found one that she liked best: an austere “Times New Roman” type set at 14 points. She scribbled down what she thought the letterhead should say. “From Your Student Council.” She figured that phrase would encompass everything they needed to communicate with both the faculty and students.

“It looks like it has strength and authority,” Mrs. Stewart said when she saw Karen's choice.

“Yeah, I guess,” Karen said with a shrug. It was hard for her to take the job very seriously. “Now we have to get bids.”

“Bids?”

“You know—I have to ask some printing companies how much it'll cost to make the stationery, then go with the cheapest.”

“I know what bids are,” Mrs. Stewart replied, “but you don't have to go to all that trouble. We have a company who'll do all the printing for you.”

Karen frowned. “But Mr. Felegy told me at the beginning of the year that we always had to get bids on
everything
we do. He said it was county education policy or something like that.”