Stop the Presses! (10 page)

“Is it for our rooms?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Allie replied. “And hurry. Mom made homemade waffles, and you know how rare that is!”

“Did she finish her big project?” I asked, confused.

“No, still another week to go,” Allie said. “But she's in the homestretch.”

I mechanically carried the outfit to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. The warm water washed away the saltiness that my dried tears had left behind. I could taste it as the water ran down
my face. The outfit was once again a masterpiece of casual but cute, and I had to admit that I even felt a little better after I put it on.

The good feelings continued as I shoved Mom's waffles into my mouth. I realized that I had hardly been eating all week, and that was totally unlike me. I usually can't get enough to eat.

“So where are we going today?” I mumbled, syrup dripping from my lips. “Paint store? Furniture shopping?”

“Samantha, please wait until you finish chewing,” Mom said, but she was laughing. “Although I'm so happy to see you eating again, I'll make an exception.”

“I'm happy to see you eating with us again,” I said, gulping down my waffle. “And that the end of your big accounting project is in sight!”

“Yes, let's toast the end of Mom's project!” Allie said, raising her glass of orange juice.

We clinked our OJ glasses together, and Mom even did a “Woop-woop!”

After breakfast, we cleaned up together and headed out. Allie and I raced to the car to get dibs
on the front seat. Allie won, but she let me sit in the front anyway. I was starting to get a little suspicious. Allie never gives up the front seat without an argument.

I was even more suspicious when Mom started heading in the direction of school and not toward the mall.

“Where are we going, Mom?” I asked.

“Don't worry, honey,” Mom answered. “We'll get there soon enough.”

“There” was good old Cherry Valley Middle School, and Mr. Trigg was standing at the side of the parking lot, waving us into a spot. Now I wasn't just suspicious. I was totally confused.

“Mom, can you please explain?” I said.

“Sure, Sam. It's not that complicated,” Mom said. “Mr. Trigg told me that there was a baseball game this morning, and he wanted to brush up on his knowledge of the sport, so we thought you might join him.”

“You know, because he's used to cricket,” Allie said.

“You guys, that is so lame.” I sighed. “Is this
your attempt to get me out of the house?”

“Guilty,” Mom said. “Don't be mad.”

“I'm not,” I said. “I know I've been tough to live with lately. And, Allie, just for your information, it's
not
hormones. But I am sorry for the way I acted.”

“Apology accepted,” Allie said. “Just try to have some fun today, okay?”

“I'll try, but I can't promise,” I said as I got out of the car. “I mean, it's a Saturday and I'm going to a baseball game with a teacher!”

“Cheerio!” Mom called, driving off.

I rolled my eyes. Mom could be so corny sometimes.

“Cheerio!” Mr. Trigg called back to her.

I guess it takes one to know one.

“Miss Martone, are you ready to show me the intricacies of America's pastime?” Mr. Trigg asked as we walked to the bleachers.

“Mr. Trigg, I believe you might know them better than I do.” I laughed. “But I'll try.”

Mr. Trigg walked right past the home section of the bleachers and sat down in the visitor's section.

“Okay, first thing is, you're sitting in the wrong place,” I said. “This is for the fans of the other team.”

“I'm aware of that, Samantha,” Mr. Trigg said. “As a journalist, I'd rather see what the other side thinks. I already know how our fans feel.”

“Interesting approach,” I noted. “I never thought of it before.”

I was particularly happy that Mr. Trigg had chosen our spot when I saw Hailey sitting in the stands with her soccer teammates. At least it wasn't her Green Team minions, I thought.

The teams ran onto the field for warm-ups. I saw Michael look around the bleachers and wondered if he was looking for me. Then I saw Hailey wave to him and figured he wasn't. I was watching them closely when I heard someone shouting my name.

“Hey, Sam!” Danny Stratham said, trotting over to the bleachers. “I see you're sitting in the winner's section. Smart girl.”

I couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't as cute as Michael, but there was something about his
breezy, flirty mannerisms that made him incredibly easy to talk to. Of course, it seemed like every other girl in West Hills
and
Cherry Valley felt that way. I could practically feel some of the eye daggers the West Hills girls were throwing my way.

“What's up, Danny?” I called back. “I'm just sitting here as an impartial observer.”

“Well, you won't be impartial for long,” Danny replied. “Once you see me play, you won't want anyone else to win.”

“I don't know about that,” I teased. “I have the head of an unbiased reporter, but my heart is with Cherry Valley.”

“Hearts can change,” Danny called as he ran back into his position on the field.

I looked over and saw that both Hailey and Michael were staring at me. Ugh! Hopefully Michael knew that it was all in good fun. But looking at the scrunched-up expression on his face, I had a feeling he didn't.

It turned out that Mr. Trigg and I did seem to be sitting on the winning side, as West Hills got off a quick lead. Michael was pitching, but he
definitely seemed off his game. I wondered if his arm still hadn't recovered from the extra-inning shutout he had pitched last week.

In the first inning there were West Hills players on second and third with one out when Danny Stratham approached the plate. I cringed when he turned and pointed his bat at me. I wanted to melt into my seat when he hit the first pitch over the fence. West Hills 3, Cherry Valley 0.

“That was quite an impressive shot your friend hit,” Mr. Trigg observed.

“He's not really my friend,” I corrected him. “Just an acquaintance. But I agree; it was impressive.”

The next three innings didn't go much better. Michael really struggled on the mound, and it seemed like he couldn't find the strike zone, as much as he tried. Danny continued to show off, making an incredible catch of a hard-hit line drive to end the third inning. I was worried he was going to toss the ball to me, but luckily he saved me from that embarrassment.

“I think I'm ready for a snack now,” I said to
Mr. Trigg. “Would you like anything?”

“Thank you, Samantha, but I had a rather filling breakfast, so I'll pass on the refreshments for the time being,” replied Mr. Trigg.

“I had a big breakfast, too, but I think it just made me hungrier.” I laughed.

I headed to the refreshment stand to grab a hot pretzel and a sports drink. I felt a little uncomfortable because all of the kids and parents on the Cherry Valley side were looking at me like I was a traitor, especially the girls from Hailey's soccer team. I wish I could have been wearing a badge that said, “Impartial reporter, just trying to gather information about the other side.” I even thought about whispering it to one person and telling them to pass it around. I figured if things kept going the way they were going for Cherry Valley, Mr. Trigg and I were going to have to find new seats soon.

I got my snacks—plural, because I couldn't resist grabbing a pack of red licorice—and started to climb back up the bleachers when I heard Danny Stratham calling my name again.
This time, he was on the field. Actually, he was up at bat again, and he stopped the game to call my name. I tried to ignore him and continued climbing, but he just kept shouting my name even louder.

“Sam! Watch this!” Danny called while every Cherry Valley fan glared at me.

I turned around, hoping he would stop, and watched as he hit the ball right past the pitcher. Michael nearly caught it as it grazed right past his glove, but he didn't, and Danny ran to first safely.

I tried to slink back to my seat, but stumbled and spilled my drink all over myself. A bunch of people on the Cherry Valley side laughed, and Hailey's friends hooted and hollered like it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. I saw Hailey put her hands over her face. I guess she thought it was hysterical too.

I didn't see the rest of the game. I was covered with blue drink, which was probably appropriate, because it matched the way I felt—blue. I went to my seat and explained to Mr. Trigg that I needed to go home and change. He understood
and offered me a ride home, but I needed to walk off the embarrassment. I told him to enjoy the rest of the game; then I texted Mom to let her know I was on the way. I crept back down the bleachers and left the field, feeling as alone as I had all week.

Mom met me at the door. Somehow she was acting even more suspiciously than she had earlier. She was holding a new shirt in her hand.

“I'm sorry you didn't have a great time,” she said. “I was really hoping you would.”

“It's okay,” I said. “What's with the shirt?”

“Oh, Mr. Trigg called and told me about your accident,” she said. “He said you needed to change.”

“I do,” I said. “But I can go upstairs and do that.”

“Oh no, don't,” Mom said, opening the door to her office. “Just change in here. I thought we could run out and get some ice cream.”

“I don't really feel like having another snack,” I said. “And why can't I go upstairs?”

“Okay, I'll confess,” Mom said. “Allie and I
started working on your room. She had a great idea and wanted to surprise you. I think you'll really like it.”

“Allie's doing
my room
!” I cried. “What if I hate it?”

“If you do, we'll do it over,” Mom said. “Just let her try, Sam. It really means a lot to her.”

“Fine.” I huffed. “But don't think I will not call a do over. And now you owe me a triple-scoop cone.”

“You got it,” Mom said as she grabbed her car keys. “Now change your shirt and meet me in the car.”

I'm sure you're wondering how I could control myself and not rush up the stairs to see what Allie was doing to my room. If it had happened at any other time, that's probably exactly what I would do. But I was tired of fighting, and tired of being upset, so I thought it would be easier to just give in and let Mom buy me ice cream. I knew that whatever Allie did would look good, because it always does. I was pretty sure it wouldn't be “me,” though.

I was 100 percent, absolutely, positively sure I was going to return and find my room bright and colorful and “sparkling with pizzazz,” and that even if it didn't need a complete do over, I was going to have a lot of work to do to tone it down a few notches.

Mom stalled as much as she could. After ice cream, we stopped at the mall; then we went to the
office supply store to pick up some ink and printing paper, and then finally we returned home. Allie was sitting at the kitchen counter, trying to look calm and cool, but I could tell she was really excited. I didn't think I had it in me to hide how I would really feel.

“Close your eyes, Sam,” Allie said as she grabbed my hand.

She led me up the stairs, and we stopped at the entrance to my room.

“Okay, you can look now,” she said, clapping her hands with delight before I could even sneak a peek.

I actually gasped when I opened my eyes. It couldn't have been more perfect if Allie had snuck into my brain and pulled out a vision of my perfect room.

Three of the walls were painted a grayish lavender. It was subtle; it was pretty; it was so, so me. Allie had stenciled words on the walls: “Dream” and “Write” and “Create.” The most shocking part was the fourth wall. It was my Maybe box. Allie had turned the whole wall into a collage with every scrap of paper, every movie ticket, every memory that was in the box. For the
hundredth time that week, my eyes filled up with tears.