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“Not at all,” I said. “You're just going a little out of your way, you know.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I need the exercise. Gotta get ready for the next football game.

“Great job on the cougar story, Pasty,” he added. “I'm sure Lauren Fields is proud of you. I know I am.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I turned my head to the side just in case I was blushing a little. But Michael didn't notice, because he was pulling something from his backpack. It was the latest issue of the
Voice
.

“I also really liked the Dear Know-It-All column,” he said. “I mean, listen to this. . . .”

I like to think of what someone I respect would do. It's always tempting to think you can get away with something or try to cover it up and make it better, but the truth usually comes out, and in the meantime, it will eat you up inside and twist you around like a roller coaster. Being honest is always the best policy. It sounds boring, but sometimes
the most straightforward approach is the best approach. No one ever regrets doing the right thing, but doing the wrong thing can really haunt you.

“That's pretty good advice,” I said.

“I think so,” Michael agreed. “I definitely know what it's like to be twisted like a roller coaster. And I was sure Dear Know-It-All would know the right thing to do.”

I twisted up my face, squinted my eyes, and looked at Michael sideways. Wait a minute! Did
he
write the letter? Did he know that
I'm
Dear Know-It-All?

“Dear Know-It-All is definitely a smarty,” I said, trying to stifle a giggle.

“She is,” Michael replied. “It's a great idea to think what someone you respect would do.”

Did you ever have a moment with someone when you feel like time just stops and stands still? Not like one of those romantic scenes in a movie, where the winds are blowing and you're staring into each other's eyes dreamily. Just a sort
of
Wow, we're so in sync and everything feels so right; let's just stop and stay quiet and enjoy it all
kind of a moment? That's the moment I had with Michael Lawrence just then.

Of course, then we both burst out laughing a few moments later.

Then Michael raised his water bottle into the air and proposed a toast. “Here's to doing the right thing,” he said.

I clinked my water bottle to his.

“And to being rid of the Cougar Curse!” I added, right before the bottle slipped out of my hand and I spilled water all over myself.

“But never being rid of the Clumsy Curse!” Michael laughed. “That's my favorite curse ever!”

That night, before I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I looked out my window and tried to find my lucky star. I didn't see it, but I thanked it anyway.

Want the scoop on what Samantha is up to next?

Here's a sneak peek of the eleventh book in the Dear Know-It-All series:

Late Edition

I rolled over and stared at the clock next to my bed. The numbers cast a bloodred glow across both the computer and the empty diet cola can on my bedside table. It was 1:05 a.m. I quickly did the math in my head for the tenth time that night: My alarm will go off at 6:15, which means if I fall asleep
right this very second
, I will still get only five hours and ten minutes of sleep.

Which is not enough.

I sighed heavily and flopped on my back to stare at the ceiling. I'd read an article a few months ago on Huffington Post about teenagers and how their internal clocks are out of whack with the rest of society. I guess a lot of studies have been done and teenagers' bodies need to stay up late and sleep late. (Like I did this morning. Blissful eleven-o'clock Sunday-morning
sleep-in!) It's some kind of adaptation that has developed over thousands of years. Maybe I should pitch an article to Mr. Trigg, our school newspaper advisor, on teenage sleep patterns. That could be good. I flipped on my lamp, wincing at the brightness, and reached for my laptop to e-mail the idea to myself. (My trusty notebook was already packed in my messenger bag and I didn't feel like getting up to get it.) After closing the computer, I switched off the lamp and settled back under the covers with a sigh, waiting for sleep to come. I sighed again loudly and fluffed my pillow. Nothing.

Suburban Teen Dies of Sleep Deprivation!

I wondered how fast it could happen.

At some point I must've fallen asleep, but it was well after one thirty, because that was the last time I remember doing my sleep math.

“Sammy, sweetheart, you're going to be late if you don't get up right now!” My mom sounded stressed.

“Yeah, sweetheart!” sang out my sister, Allie, passing by my room—while texting, I'm sure.

I groaned and thought about how I keep meaning to wear clean school clothes to bed so all I have to do is roll out and brush my teeth. Tonight. For sure.

“Just put your feet on the floor. Once you're up and moving, it will be a whole lot better. I promise,” said my mom, watching me with folded arms from her perch in the doorway.

I did as she said and mentally reviewed my day, trying to figure out the soonest moment I could get some shut-eye, even if it was just a nap in the library.

“Okay, Mom. I'm up and it's not better!” I called, but she had already left.

My mom was a little bit right, in that once my day was under way, I wasn't as tired as I'd been all snuggled under my down comforter. Getting up in the morning is kind of like writing on deadline. You dread it, and it's hard to get started, but once you get going, everything just flows. That's how it is for me anyway.

Hailey and I were at lunch when I suddenly let out a huge yawn.

I wish I could have my day start later. I can't get to sleep at night, and it's driving me crazy!”

“Why?” asked Hailey, picking up a muffin from her tray and chewing thoughtfully.

“Well . . . it all started with midterms. I had two huge exams and an article, and I stayed up late a bunch of nights in a row, and it was like my body got adjusted to this new time clock and then I couldn't reset it.”

“Huh,” said Hailey with a shrug. “I never have any sleep problems. I pass out at night and pop up at the same time every morning. I don't know why. Sleep has never been an issue for me.”

“Well, you're lucky,” I grouched.

“Who's lucky?” asked a husky voice over my shoulder.

My ears tingled. My heart raced. It was Michael Lawrence, the one true love of my life.

“Hey,” I said coolly, revealing nothing of the drama going on inside my heart.

“Ready to go to the meeting?” he asked.

“Duty calls,” I said in a resigned voice, standing up and gathering my things.

A voice came from the other direction. “Hey, Hails. Mind if I join you?”

I looked up. It was Molly Grant, a seventh grader I know a little. I felt immediately better. At least now I wouldn't be leaving Hailey at the table all alone.

But Hailey jumped up. “Uh, sorry . . . ,” she muttered. “We were just leaving.”

As Hailey fell into step next to me on our way to deposit our lunch trays, I said quietly, “What was that all about? Where do you need to be?”

“Molly copies me constantly! I wear red high-tops; she shows up the next day in brand-new red high-tops. I cut the sleeves off a T-shirt and layer it, and she does the same the next week. It's driving me insane!”

I glanced at Michael, who was waiting in the cafeteria doorway. He was chatting with Kate Bigley, whom I always worry he secretly likes.

“More on this later. Gotta go. Sorry,” I said.

“Okay, bye.” Hailey sighed. “Good luck.”

I smiled and raced off.