Stop the Presses! (6 page)

The letter made me think about Hailey, too. Was I like a grandma-knit sweater that she had outgrown? Maybe this was just her way of sabotaging our friendship so she could move on to some new, improved best friend. I mean, I was part of the twenty-first century, too. It was a little hard to avoid that, considering it was the century we were living in. But I didn't think that being modern meant getting rid of everything from the past. I read books on my tablet, but sometimes I still wanted to curl up with a real book, to feel the pages flip through my fingers, to fold a page over and then find my spot later. I didn't think
there was anything wrong with that.

I decided that the grandma-sweater letter would be my choice for this issue's column, and I sent Mr. Trigg a quick e-mail to get his approval. He usually trusted my instincts, so I didn't think it would be a problem. I typed a few notes about how I might respond to the letter and then shut my computer down.

Because of my extralong nap, I wasn't very tired and I didn't think my sleep routine was going to help, so I decided to exert some energy and start going through some of the piles in my room. Some of the things that had an X on them were definitely destined for the trash, like the piles of article drafts and old homework.

Others I wasn't sure about yet. There were books that I could donate because I knew I'd never read them again and books that I was sure I'd never part with because I wanted to read them over and over again, but there was another group of books that I just liked having around, even though I wasn't sure if I'd ever get back to them. I'm sure Allie would talk me into getting rid of
them, too, but it wasn't a decision I was ready to make on my own, so I put them in a Maybe box.

Other things in the Maybe box included tickets to the movies Hailey and I had gone to together, flyers from school sports events (the ones Michael had participated in), article drafts with Mr. Trigg's comments on them, and printouts of photos that I had stored digitally on my computer.

I had already filled two recycling bags with paper, so I carried them down to put them in the recycling can outside.

“I'm impressed,” Allie said. “I didn't think you'd ever throw out even one piece of paper.”

Allie was at the kitchen counter, packing some snacks for tomorrow's lunch.

“Me either,” I confessed. “I'm still not ready for a clean sweep. I have a big Maybe box.”

“I have an idea,” Allie said. “Why don't you leave your Maybe box with me? If it's not too personal, I mean. I might have a different perspective on the stuff.”

“Supposedly I'm not very good at seeing different perspectives,” I said.

“Who said that?” Allie asked. “Some teacher?”

“No, and I don't want to talk about it,” I said. “I'll put the Maybe box in your room. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“You're really coming along, Sammy-pants,” Allie said.

She knew that I hated when she called me that. She didn't care, obviously. I didn't either right now, having heard worse from my best friend.

“What about colors?” Allie asked. “Did you like any of my ideas?”

“No offense, Allie-baba,” I said, hitting back with the nickname that she wasn't fond of. “But I'm not as ‘colorful' a person as you are. I'd rather go with something more neutral. Maybe black and white. Like a newspaper.”

“How bold,” Allie said. “That's never been done before.”

“Whatever.” I sighed. “If you want to help, fine. If not, I don't care.”

“I think you need another nap,” Allie retorted.

“Maybe,” I said.

I grabbed a handful of carrot sticks and went
back upstairs. I carried my Maybe box into Allie's room and then changed back into my pajamas. My room was already starting to look more organized. I tried to focus on that and not my fight with Hailey so I could go back to sleep. Because I knew if I thought about Hailey, I'd be up all night.

I was hoping that the equation of my late-afternoon nap, together with a full night's sleep, plus waking up in a less-cluttered room, would add up to yesterday's events seeming less devastating than they had the day before. You know how sometimes when you're in the middle of something and it seems like the biggest crisis that has ever happened to you, and then you look back on it later and you think, “I was freaking out about not getting chosen to be editor in chief, but it gives me time to do all the other things I want to do.”

Okay, well, that wasn't a particularly good
example. But I was hoping that maybe I'd wake up and realize that it was all a very bad dream caused by too much sleep. No such luck.

I was bombarded with evidence of Hailey's backstabbing as soon as I walked through the doors of school. She had posted signs for the GO GO subcommittee everywhere. I knew she was doing it deliberately, to rub my nose in it, because I didn't see many signs for Anthony's SOS group. Michael was standing under a sign that was posted right next to my locker.

“I'm guessing you're not too happy right now,” Michael said.

“It's fine,” I said. “Two can play that game. I might start my own committee. POV. It stands for ‘Print Our
Voice
.' ”

“It's kinda catchy, Pasty,” Michael said. “But not exactly your usual detached journalistic approach.”

“Ugh.” I groaned. “You're right. Maybe I should tell Mr. Trigg that I can't write the article. You can do it alone.”

“No, I can't,” Michael replied. “First, I don't
have time. And second, I don't think you really need to start a committee.”

“But even if I don't, I won't be able to be detached,” I said. “As you heard, I have trouble seeing a point of view that's different from my own.”

“You know that's not true,” Michael said. “And you also know that Hailey didn't mean it. You said something mean first.”

“
I
said something mean first?” I said, shocked. “I think you need to check your photographic memory. Remember when Hailey said all that stuff about stopping the printing presses? I think that came first.”

“Look, I don't want to get in the middle of this,” Michael said. “It doesn't matter who said what first. We have a story to write, and we have to do it together.”

“I'm not sure that I can be impartial,” I admitted.

“It's okay. We can be impartial together,” Michael suggested. “I know how you feel, so I'll try to lean the other way. Just don't take it personally.”

I agreed, and we made a plan to meet at lunchtime again to divide up the work. I was really relieved that Michael acted professional about the story and hadn't brought up the whole “crush” comment. I can't believe Hailey had dared to go there. I shouldn't have been shocked, though, because it was obvious that I didn't really know Hailey at all.

Later that day Michael and I were sitting at a lunch table, talking about the people we might interview and some of the sources we might use for our research, when Hailey came marching over with her band of Green Team flunkies. She tossed a pile of printouts and pamphlets on the table. They all said things like “Save the Rainforest” and “Paper Free for You and Me.”

Hailey acted like I was a ghost that she couldn't see.

“Michael, Mr. Trigg informed me that you are writing an article on the Green Team,” Hailey said snippily. “I thought you might find this information useful.”

“Thanks, Hailey,” Michael replied. “I'm not
writing it by myself, though. Sam's my co-reporter.”

“I am aware of that fact, and I've asked Mr. Trigg to reconsider and assign someone less biased to be your partner, but he refused,” Hailey continued.

“WHA . . .” I was about to scream, but Michael kicked me under the table before it could escape from my mouth.

“I've worked with Sam a lot, and she's never been biased before,” said Michael. “I'm sure she won't be now.”

“I'm not so sure,” Hailey replied. “But there's nothing I can do about it, so I'll just have to take your word. Happy writing.”

Hailey turned so abruptly you could almost feel the disturbance in the air. I was certainly disturbed.

“What was that about?” I snapped.

“Hailey?” Michael asked. “She's trying to get the Green Team going. And get a couple of digs in on you.”

“Digs?” I hissed. “More like poison darts. And anyway, that wasn't what I was talking about.
What was
that
?” I asked as I kicked him under the table.

“OW!” Michael yelped. “I didn't kick you that hard!”

“Why did you kick me at all?” I asked.

“I could see where it was heading,” Michael said. “I didn't want you to say anything you'd regret later.”

“Thanks, but I can take care of my mouth,” I answered. “I mean, my words.”

Michael laughed, and the sound of it immediately made me smile, despite how I annoyed I was by the kick.

“Take it easy, Sam,” he said. “I'm on your side. I just really don't think the sides are as obvious as you think. I don't think Hailey's doing this to hurt you.”

I opened my mouth in protest, but Michael cut me off.

“Let's go talk to Mr. Trigg,” Michael suggested. “I want to hear how he feels about the GO GO thing.”

“Now, that's the best idea you've had all day,” I teased him. “A lot better than kicking me to keep me quiet.”

The lunch bell rang, and we headed off in different directions to get to our classes. We agreed to meet in the newsroom after school. I got there first.

“Miss Martone, your friend Hailey stopped by to see me earlier today,” Mr. Trigg greeted me.

“She's not my—,” I started to answer.

“Yes, I gathered you two have had a spat,” Mr. Trigg interrupted. “In any event, I'd like to know what you think about her proposal.”

“That's funny. We were coming here to find out what you think,” Michael said over my shoulder.

“That's a good question, Mr. Lawrence,” Trigg complimented him. “But not nearly as important as what you think. You see, I'm from a different time. I have an emotional attachment to paper. It's what I've known all my life. So I admit my bias. I'm curious what you think, or more important, what you think your peers might think about it. Would they prefer a digital edition? Would they actually read it? Would any of them prefer paper?”

“I think the number of people who read the paper will drop,” I said. “When we hand out the
Voice
, everyone reads it at lunchtime and during study periods. When they're online, they have a million other distractions, e-mails, Websites to research, games to play. No one will ever take the time to read it.”

“That might be true,” Michael pointed out. “But Mr. Trigg is right. We need to find out what our peers think.”

“We need to do a poll,” I said, having a light-bulb moment.

“Brilliant!” Mr. Trigg cheered. “I knew I had chosen the right team for the story. Get to work!”

It was funny how Mr. Trigg could do that. Make you feel like the seeds that he planted were your own ideas, give you the boost of excitement you needed to take off and run with the story. I guess that's how good editors work. I wrote that in my notebook for future reference. I knew that if I could be unbiased about this story, if I could prove that my reporter skills outweighed my emotions, it would make Mr. Trigg see me in a new light.

Of course, that was put to the test as soon as I left the newsroom. Michael had to rush off
to baseball practice, and I was at my locker packing up my books when Mrs. Brennan, the school's dean and guidance counselor, came to talk to me.

“Samantha, I'm glad I caught you,” she said. “I was going to call you to my office today, but some other things got in the way.”