Everyone's a Critic (4 page)

Hailey came up to me the next day while I was unloading my book bag.

“Hey,” she said. Then she leaned against my locker and gave me the once-over. “Why are you looking so blah lately?”

“Gee, thanks. Good morning to you, too.”

“I just think you need to be more proactive,” she said.

Oh no, this meant she had an idea. Whenever she used big words, that meant she was going to try to convince me of something. Sometimes I get a little tired from Hailey's energy. That's part of the reason she's so good at sports. She needs to put all that energy somewhere. I've never been a
morning person. It usually takes me until third period to feel fully awake. I checked her out. Her hair was still a little wet from the shower, and she was looking bright-eyed as she always did, but maybe too bright-eyed.

I took out my earthonomics folder and put it in my bag. Then I stood up. “What are you talking about? How proactive am I supposed to be at eight in the morning? And about what?”

She started putting her stuff in her locker. “Well, just look at you.”

Now she sounded like Allie. I only needed one person in my life giving me unsolicited fashion advice, and usually it was the other way around. Hailey was always asking me for advice on her outfits. I looked down at myself. I was wearing respectable dark jeans, a long gray cardigan, and black flats. Maybe not bright and peppy, but I'm the writer. Aren't writers supposed to be kind of dark?

“At least I'm wearing lip gloss. What about you, Miss Fashion Plate?” I said, eyeing her plain white T-shirt, jeans, and Converse sneakers.

“Look.” She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “I don't care what you wear. But I remember how sad you got when Michael wrote a story with Austin and you had no time with him. You need to make yourself more noticeable. You look like . . . like a rainy day.”

I sighed a big sigh. Apparently Hailey did not have a problem with saying whatever she thought. Maybe she should answer the Dear Know-It-All letters. I looked down at my dark, dull clothes. Maybe she was right. Maybe she had more of a knack for fashion than I gave her credit for.
Sporty Soccer Player Becomes Famous Stylist.

“And there he is,” she said, jumping up and down. “Pinch your cheeks. I read somewhere that it brightens up your face.”

I finished packing up and putting away what I needed. I stood up again. I was not pinching my cheeks. People in old-fashioned English novels pinch their cheeks. Samantha Martone does not.

Michael was walking with Jamal Williams, one of his friends from the baseball team. He waved to us and walked over. I was about to say a nice,
normal “Hi” when Hailey shoved me in the back, pushing me toward Michael. Now, Hailey may have meant this to be a gentle shove—a shove that says to the person getting shoved “Go for it” or “You can do it”—but sometimes Hailey doesn't know her own strength.

“Oof!” I couldn't help but yell out, and suddenly I was standing about a centimeter away from Michael Lawrence. I did manage to get a whiff of the shampoo he must have used and the scent of Tide, which has become one of the best smells in the world for me. I hope I smelled just as good. I certainly didn't mind being so close to Michael, but I wanted to be close on my own terms. I stepped back and smoothed my hair, hoping my cheeks weren't as red as cherries. What was Hailey thinking?

“Easy there, Trippy,” Michael said, smiling, because I guess he's just used to me being clumsy.

“You okay?” Jamal asked in a worried way, genuinely concerned.

“Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Guess I tripped on something,”
I said through gritted teeth, giving Hailey a sideways look.

“She's fine and I'm fine. We're all fine!” Hailey said in an extra-cheery way. “Sam, what was that thing about the play that you wanted to ask Michael?”

My mind immediately raced. What exactly was she talking about? I opened my mouth, but I really didn't know what to say.

“You know, that thing . . . about . . . the . . . play?” she said really slowly.

“Right, yeah!” I finally said. “The play. I guess we both need to see the play.”

“Can we talk about it at lunch? Jamal and I have a huge test in language arts first thing. We wanted to go over a couple of notes before class.”

“It's a date!” Hailey called out.

Michael looked at her, and then back at me.

“Okay, um . . . well, see you both then,” he said as he and Jamal walked away. My head was spinning. I watched Michael and Jamal until they rounded a corner.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my
friend Hailey?” I said as we both started walking toward our classes.

“What do you mean?”

I stopped walking and faced her. “Well, it's just that you shoved me toward him and I was planning to bring up the play soon anyway. Now he thinks we're both meeting him at lunch to talk about the play, which is weird.”

“Look, you were so bummed out when he wrote that story with Austin. I'm just trying to help things get back on track with you two. Do you want the same thing to happen all over again? The early bird gets the worm.” She obviously cared a lot about me and Michael, but I just wasn't sure about her approach.

“So I'm the bird and Michael's the worm?”

“Exactly,” she said, looking pleased with herself and not getting my sarcasm at all.

I started walking again. “I don't know, Hailey.”

“Just trust me. He won't be able
not
to think about you.”

“I just think we're being a little too proactive.” I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Sometimes
you get a little charged up about things. I just want to handle this my own way.”

“I do not get too charged up about things! Are you just going to stand there and let life pass you by?! I've been watching you two dance around each other forever.”

We came to our classrooms, mine next to us and hers across the hall. “I guess you're right,” I said, looking down.

“Attagirl!” she said, and slapped me on the back.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” she said. We walked into our classrooms. I just didn't have the heart to go any further with the issue.
Girl Tells the Truth. Best Friend Spontaneously Combusts.
At least that's what it felt like would happen. I didn't realize I was this wimpy. And I didn't realize Hailey was so bad at taking what she dishes out.

At lunchtime I walked into the cafeteria and looked around. I was hoping to see Michael before
I saw Hailey so she wouldn't get all “proactive” on me. He was sitting at a table with Jamal and a couple of other guys from the baseball team. Maybe he forgot about our Hailey-arranged lunch date. I looked around for another place to sit and heard my name, or my rather lovely nickname, from behind me.

“Hey, Pasty, I was just hanging with them until I saw you. Want to sit here and talk about the play?”

My shoulders, which must have been next to my ears, relaxed. Finally I had Michael all to myself in what felt like a really long time.

“Yes!” I said, a little too enthusiastically.

“Should we wait for Hailey?” he asked. That's just one more thing I like about Michael. He's always a nice guy.

“No, she'll be here soon,” I said, kind of hoping she'd skip lunch for some unknown reason. I felt guilty as soon as I had the thought.

We put our bags down at the table and stood on line. We both decided to get the organic option—rice-and-bean burritos with fresh salsa. Yum.
After we brought our trays back to our table, I saw Hailey walk in. I hoped she wouldn't come and do something like shove my chair even closer to Michael's than it already was. She seemed like she was walking toward us, and then she suddenly sat down with a few girls we were friends with. I caught her eye and motioned her over, but she just gave me a thumbs-up and started chatting it up with our friends. That's Hailey for you. Just when she does something to drive me crazy, she makes up for it big-time.

“So, the play is in two weeks,” I said. “When should we see it?” I hoped he wouldn't think this was too forward of me, or that I was asking him to see it with me.

“Well, when were you planning to see it?”

I hadn't really thought about the logistics of this. Okay, if I'm being
honest
, I did think of the logistics and thought that Michael and I should go to see the play together, like an almost date, even if it might be a working one. I even thought of the perfect outfit to wear, a flowing white peasant blouse, black leggings, and Allie's black suede
boots if she'd let me. The way Michael asked his question, it did not seem like he had the same plan in mind.

“Oh, well, since my sister's in it, probably opening night?” I said, wondering if I should have just said I didn't know.

“Great! That's just what I was thinking,” he said, and took a big bite of his burrito. He couldn't talk, because he was chewing, so I took a bite of mine and sweated out the next few seconds while I wondered what he was thinking. I finished my bite first.

“So we'll both go that night?” I ventured. Hailey would be proud of me for being so proactive.

He laughed, “No, no. I thought you meant that you would go then, and I could go for the second performance. It would make a much fairer review. That's what a lot of professional reviewers do—they go a few times to get a well-rounded picture. We wouldn't want to give them a bad review if opening night didn't go so well but the other two performances did.”

As much as it made my heart hurt, the journalist
in me knew he was right. We had to see more than one performance, and it probably didn't make sense for the two of us to go to both. I nodded back at him, not able to summon the energy to actually say yes.

“So you go opening night and I'll go to the Saturday matinee. I believe we have a plan,” he said with a pleased look on his face, taking another bite of burrito as if he didn't have a care in the world. He grinned and held out his free hand for a high five.

“Awesome. Sounds perfect,” I said, trying to muster up a smile and gave his hand a slap. I saw Hailey out of the corner of my eye and she gave me another thumbs-up, probably thinking I was having a blast. I examined my half-eaten burrito, but I wasn't really hungry anymore. Hailey was going to love hearing the real story.
Young Reporter Attempts to Win “Proactive” Medal. Fails Miserably.

Chapter 5

I didn't talk to Hailey for the rest of the day. I knew she was dying to know how my conversation with Michael went, but I just needed time to think about it. She left the cafeteria before me anyway, and then had soccer practice right after school. I was sitting in my bedroom, turning it over and over in my head. What could I have done differently? Should I just have come out and said to Michael, “Why don't we go together on opening night?” But the truth is, I didn't want to have to be so . . . well, honest.

An IM from Hailey popped up on the screen.

Are you avoiding me???

Of course not!
I sort of lied. I wanted to spend more time with Hailey, and normally I couldn't get enough boy talk, but lately I'd been wishing she'd back off from the Michael thing a little.

So are you and Michael going to the play?

Sigh. I spun around in my desk chair a few times before giving my superexciting answer. Not.

Yeah, on separate nights,
I answered.

What??? So bummed for u!

It's ok. Better for the review,
I wrote back. But it wasn't okay. For some reason, I didn't feel like telling that to Hailey just yet.

After dinner Allie walked around the house “in character,” dressed up as Anita from
West Side Story
, wig, fake eyelashes, and all, rehearsing her lines and songs. She said it helped her get into character to walk around the house as if she were Anita. I decided it would be a good time to hang out in my room. I noticed my mom was hidden away in her office as well. I decided to get started on the Dear Know-It-All letter. Here went nothing. I gently opened the fragile, freshly
washed notebook paper it was written on and read it again.