Everyone's a Critic (5 page)

Dear Too Honest
, I typed.

There isn't anything wrong with being honest with your friend.

Then I just stared at my computer screen. I had no idea what to say, and we needed to run something for next week.

The following day we had a meeting in the
Voice
office with Mr. Trigg. Trigger wanted to see how his crazy idea was going. I didn't want to sit next to Michael. It just made me sad to think that my one chance of going to a play with Michael Lawrence was already dead in the water. I got there first, as usual, and just as I was sitting down, there he was.

“Hey there, P,” he said, slightly out of breath, and he plopped himself right down next to me. His hair fell into his eyes and he tossed his head in a particularly adorable way. This only made me feel more sorry for myself.

“How's the switcheroo going, lads? Easy peasy?” Mr. Trigg asked. Everyone grew quiet. Nobody, in fact, said anything.

“Hello out there?” he said. “Does that mean everything is hunky-dory?”

“Well, it's definitely harder than I thought,” said one of the sports reporters now covering news.

“Yeah!” said an arts reporter covering sports. “I never knew it was so complicated to cover a sports game.”

“I knew this was going to be a disaster,” I whispered in Michael's ear. He just smiled; then Mr. Trigg looked at me. I hoped he hadn't heard what I said.

“Ah, see? I'm keeping you on your toes,” he said to the group. “The worst thing for any journalist is to be too familiar with a subject beforehand. That stops you from asking interesting questions, thinking about things from all angles. Change is good. It helps you get closer to the truth.”

I hope so
, I thought. Afterward, Mr. Trigg had us break up into groups and discuss any problems we were having with our stories. I
couldn't discuss the problem I was having with my Dear Know-It-All letter and Michael and I hadn't started our piece yet, so we just listened to some of the issues other people were having. Some of the arts writers complained that in a news story they couldn't voice their opinions.
Duh
, I thought. Some of the newswriters complained that writing a sports story didn't allow for any research, which some of the sportswriters said was wrong. All in all, it seemed that no one was really happy. I wanted to wait until everyone was gone so I could talk to Mr. Trigg and check and see if there were any new Dear Know-It-All letters.

After our meeting was done, Michael turned to me. “You walking out?”

“Not yet. I have to ask Mr. Trigg something.”

Michael stared at me for a moment. I've always wondered if he's known all along that I'm Dear Know-It-All, but he's never come out and asked me.

“Oh, okay. I'll catch you later, Paste,” he said, and bounded out the door.

Yeah, later, like in after the play that we're not going to together.

“So what can I do you for?” Mr. Trigg said after everyone had left. “How's the column treating you?” He took a sip of tea out of his mug, which had a British flag on it, and leaned back in his chair.

I sat down in a chair near his desk and took a deep breath. Suddenly I felt tired. It had been an exhausting week, but I wasn't even sure why.

“That good, huh?” he said, and winked at me while taking another sip of tea. “Tea?” he offered.

“No thanks. I'm okay, but I have a tough letter that I want to answer this week. I didn't think it was so tough, but the more I think about it, the more I'm not sure how to answer it.”

“So why don't you answer another letter?” he asked. This was weird. Mr. Trigg was all about going after the hard stuff.

I considered this for a moment. “I think I just need more time,” I said, getting up and going over to my secret box. I looked toward the door to make sure no one was coming in to catch me
red-handed. Then I opened it and two new letters were sitting there patiently, waiting for me to take them out.

“What's the difficult one about?” Mr. Trigg said.

“Honesty. A girl's friend asked her for her opinion and she gave it, but then the friend told her she was wrong. She wondered why the friend asked for her advice in the first place,” I said, sitting down again and stuffing the new letters in my bag.

“Ah, the old ‘Tell me what you really think' trick,” he said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “So what's hard for you about answering it?”

“I realized that I have a hard time getting through the day being truly honest. I feel like I'm always hiding the truth to protect others' feelings. Do people really want to hear the truth?”

“Do you?” Mr. Trigg asked.

I bit my lip and thought for a second.

“Yes,” I said. “I think I do.”

“Well, maybe that's why you're a good writer.
You're not afraid of hearing the truth. You might be afraid of telling it, though.”

After I left Mr. Trigg's office, I couldn't stop thinking about the conversation I had with him. If I wasn't afraid of hearing the truth, why was it so hard to tell it sometimes?

I stopped by Hailey's practice, and she was just finishing up. I waved. She waved back.

“Want to walk home together?” I called. She nodded and ran off to get her things.

She joined me and we walked for a minute in silence. I could hear the wind blowing through the trees. The spring air smelled sweet and fresh, and put me in a better mood. “Do you always tell the truth?” I asked her after a while. She was fishing something out of her bag. She stopped and looked up, a pack of gum in her hand.

“Sure, I guess. Well, maybe not
always
.”

She held the pack out toward me. I took a piece, unwrapped it, and put it in my mouth. It was one of those weird flavors that Hailey always buys, like kiwi-melon or something like
that. I preferred straight-up mint, but chewed it anyway.

“What about you? And why in the world are you asking me this?” she said, chomping on her gum. She looked at me questioningly.

“I don't know. You just seem to say whatever's on your mind so easily.”

“I do?” Hailey stopped walking and looked at me. “That's what I think about you.”

My mouth hung open for a second. “Really? I feel like I think something, but then change it before it comes out of my mouth. Especially with Michael.”

“But we all do that with boys. I hope you don't do that with me!” she said, and looked at me hard.

“No, of course not,” I said, and crossed my fingers behind my back.
Innocent Girl Discovers She's a Big Fat Liar.

“Phew! Because what's the point of having a best friend if you don't tell each other what you really think? Want to come over? We could make a new list of ways to get Michael's attention. I have some more ideas.”

“Sure,” I said. What was going on with me these days that I couldn't even tell my bestie how I really felt?

Hailey's list was kind of the same as it was the first time. She did have one possible idea, though. She offered to fake being sick on the opening night of the play so I could call Michael at the last minute and ask to go with him. The only problem was that I could easily just go with another friend or my mother on opening night. He wouldn't buy it. Hailey promised she would come up with a better plan. After that, I tried to change the subject to who she liked these days, but no one was catching her eye at the moment. Then I had to go home and finish boatloads of homework.

That night I tried going to sleep early, but Allie was practicing one of her
West Side Story
songs in her room and I couldn't sleep. I went into my mom's room. She was organizing her closets and had piles of sweaters and shirts and pants and skirts everywhere on her bed. I found a small square of a spot near her pillows and sat down cross-legged.

“What's up, honey? You look tired. You okay?”

“Just thinking about stuff,” I said, and watched my mom fold an old red sweater of hers and put it in what she said was the “donate” pile.

“Mom, why does Allie get so obsessed with her part when she's in a play? I can't sleep, listening to her sing the same song over and over.”

“Oh, you know how she gets before a show. She's nervous.”

“She doesn't act nervous. She acts like a diva actress who's won three Academy Awards.”

“Well, that's how Allie shows her nerves.”

I wondered what I did when I was nervous. Usually I didn't want to be around people or attract any attention. Allie seemed just the opposite.

“Want to talk about whatever you're thinking about?”

“No,” I said. “I think I just need some sleep. Can you tell Miss Diva to quiet down? If I tell her, she'll get mad and just sing louder.”

“Okay.” Mom smiled. “Good night.” She came over to kiss me on my forehead. “You'll figure it out. You always do. But let me know if
you want to talk about it, okay, honey?”

I nodded and got up.

I climbed into bed and thought of all the things I was trying to figure out with Hailey, with the letter to Dear Know-It-All, with Michael, even with Allie. My eyelids felt heavy and I started to drift off.

Hopefully, it would all seem simpler in the morning.

Chapter 6

The next morning I wore my favorite long brown skirt and white T-shirt. I had a big breakfast of eggs, toast, and turkey sausage. The weather was sunny and beautiful, and I wasn't going to let anything bother me today.

“Heeellooo!” I said brightly to Hailey when I saw her walking down the hall to her language arts class.

“Hi!” she answered back, and we walked together. Then Hailey pulled me toward the wall. “Okay, I just saw Michael coming the other way. I have another plan about the show. I'll fake sick and say your mom's back is out. She's had back problems before, right? So I'll
say you're not sure what to do and he'll offer to go with you on Friday. Is that proactive or what?”

“Well, I don't know about—” I started to say, but again I got one of those Hailey shoves that could have sent me airborne. I found myself colliding with Michael as he came innocently walking down the hall, his head buried in a notebook he was holding.

“Whoa,” he said, and steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. His hand felt warm and strong, but I was getting angry—okay,
furious
—at this pushing strategy Hailey actually seemed to think was a proactive plan of attack.

“You okay, Trippy? You've been extra-trippy lately, even for you,” he said. Then that cute, crazy smile emerged, along with crinkles near his eyes—the whole deal.

I backed up, stood up straight, and cleared my throat.

“I—well, it's just that . . .” I looked behind me, planning on glaring at Hailey, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“I'm glad I ran into you—not literally, but I guess kind of literally,” he said.

“Ha-ha.”

“Well, I'm glad, because I was thinking about the play.”

I stopped breathing. Maybe Hailey had been right all along—all this pushing and awkward conversation had kept me on his mind. There's no such thing as bad publicity, right?

“Yeah?” I said, toeing the carpet with the tip of my ballet flat, trying to stay cool. No biggie.

“We should both probably see it twice,” he said, and started stuffing his notebook into his backpack. The bell for class rang.

“Okay, why?” I asked, my mind quickly trying to decipher what he actually meant.

“Because . . .,” he started to say. “You know what? Let's talk later. I don't want to be late for class.”

I nodded and we both rushed off. Great—now I had to spend the entire earthonomics class wondering what exactly he was talking about.

At lunchtime I went tearing around to find
Hailey and practically ran her over on the way to the cafeteria.