Stop the Presses! (9 page)

“And in shocking Cherry Valley news, it's revealed that the star quarterback and pitcher of the championship baseball team has an ego.” I laughed. “Who would have thought that?”

Michael leaned over and tugged on my hair again. This might be the best library visit ever!

“I think you should start writing the draft,” Michael suggested. “Then I can go through it and make sure it's fair and balanced.”

“What are you trying to say?” I asked.

“I'm not saying anything,” he said. “But I think you'll agree that the Hailey situation has clouded your judgment just a little.”

“I don't know about that,” I said. “But I'll write the draft anyway.”

“Speaking about the Hailey situation,” Michael said. “How's that going?”

“It's great,” I snarked. “I mean, having Mrs. Brennan think I'm some kind of horrible person and all.”

“I thought Hailey told you she didn't say anything to Mrs. Brennan,” said Michael.

“She did,” I replied. “But . . . how would
you
know that?”

“I . . . um . . . I kind of heard . . . ,” Michael stammered.

“The truth,” I demanded.

“I've been talking to Hailey a little,” Michael said.

“YOU WHAT?” I whisper yelled.

The librarian, who had been eyeing us the whole time, started to walk over to our table.

“She's really hurt, Sam,” Michael explained. “I wish you would see that. She just needed someone to talk to.”

“And
you're
that someone?” I asked. “She has a whole crowd of people surrounding her in school all the time. Why doesn't she talk to them?”

“I don't know, Sam,” Michael admitted. “She called me. I think she just wanted to know if I
knew how you felt. You know, it would be a lot easier if you just talked to her yourself.”

“She
called
you?” I hissed. “And you told her how I felt?”

“Sam, I think you're blowing this out of proportion a little,” Michael said. “It wasn't that big a deal. I know how close you guys were. I just wanted to help. You need to tell her how you feel.”

“You can help by staying out of it,” I replied, annoyed. “I'm going to go start the draft. I'll e-mail it to you, so you can make sure I'm
unbiased
.”

I started to pack up all my stuff. I could feel that ball of emotions start to rise up in my throat again, and I wanted to get out of the library before Michael could see it too.

“Sam, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to do anything wrong,” Michael apologized.

“It's fine,” I said, not meaning it at all. “I'll talk to you later.”

I rushed out of the library before the librarian could get a chance to shush us. I could feel the tears streaming down my face as I walked home. How could such a great day be ruined? I really
hated Hailey. I wanted to go home and think about how good it felt to be with Michael and how close we seemed to be getting. Now I was going to think about him and Hailey talking about
me
! I couldn't imagine what they said. Did they make fun of me? Was Michael on her side? Did Hailey tell him any of my secrets, like how I really felt about him? Well, besides blurting out that I had a crush on him. I mean, it was obviously not that big of a secret, and I'm sure he had a little hint that I really liked him, but still, that's different from having your best friend say it out loud. I would never do that to Hailey. I would never call a boy that she liked to talk about how mad I was at her. Although I wished I could right now.

At home, I couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened. It felt like some awful movie, where the main character is betrayed by her best friend and shunned by everyone she knows. Was that where this was heading? Hailey would be the most popular girl at Cherry Valley Middle School, and I would be a total outcast? The more I thought about it, the more I cried, so
I took out the Dear Know-It-All letter, thinking I could at least try to write the column. Even I knew I'd have a hard time writing an impartial draft of the article right now. But when I started typing a reply to the grandma-sweater letter, other words came out of my fingertips:

Hailey,

I guess destroying the Voice wasn't enough for you. You had to hit me where it really hurts by calling my one true love, Michael Lawrence, and talking about me behind my back.

Guess what? You win. I wouldn't want to win that fight anyway, because I would never hurt anyone the way you hurt me.

—Sam

Just then, my door slammed open and Allie came waltzing in my room. I quickly reached for the hide screen key and turned around to block her view.

“Don't you ever knock?” I asked.

“Sorry, Sammy-pants. I thought we were cool,” Allie said.

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” I screamed. “And we are not cool if you think you can invade my privacy anytime you want.”

“Do you have a problem?” Allie asked. “Is your little world torn apart because your BFF won't talk to you anymore? How tragic!”

It had been a long time since Allie and I had an actual physical fight. The last one I can remember was when I was six and was just learning how to roller skate. She put a stick on the sidewalk when I wasn't looking, so I tripped and fell. She said she didn't do it, but I'd seen the stick in her hand right before it happened, so when I got up and looked at my bleeding knees, I just lost it and charged at her, wheels and all.

I felt exactly the same way at that moment. All the anger I felt at Hailey, at Michael, at the world, at that moment, was directed right at my obnoxious big sister. I leaped out of my chair and charged at her. Allie knew it was coming, though, so she just grabbed my wrists and held me there.

“Calm down, Sam,” she advised me. “I don't want to get into a fight with you. I just did my nails.”

Mom came running up the stairs when she heard the commotion.

“What's going on here?” she asked.

“Sam lost it,” Allie explained. “I just wanted to tell her about this great idea I had for redecorating her room, and she attacked me.”

“Sam?” Mom said.

“I did lose it,” I admitted. “But only because she was making fun of me. She thinks she's so great and she knows everything, but she doesn't know anything at all.”

“I told you.” Allie nodded to Mom. “Hormones.”

I wanted to attack her again, but I knew I'd get in big trouble, so I just collapsed on my bed and put my pillow over my head.

“Leave me alone!” I cried. “I don't want either one of you in here.”

“Let's go, Allie,” Mom said. “Sam needs some space right now.”

Mom was right, but she was also wrong. I needed some space so I could get control of myself for sure. On the other hand, the last thing I wanted was more space, because at the moment, the empty space was what was bothering me the most. I felt so alone in it.

I don't mind being by myself. I really don't. I like doing things that take only one person to do—like reading a book, or writing an article, or daydreaming—just fine. I
hated
this feeling of loneliness, though. Ever since the fight with Hailey, it was hanging over me like a cloud. Sure, it faded sometimes, like when Allie was being nice to me, or when I was spending time hanging
out with Michael, or even talking to Mr. Trigg. It never really went away, though. It was like a black hole had sucked up all the happy space of our friendship. I had never really thought about it so much before—that happy space. It wasn't just the time that Hailey and I spent together that filled that space. It was the knowing—knowing there was always someone who would be there for me, someone I could call or text anytime and who would be sure to answer me, someone who would laugh at my stupid jokes, or tell me my new hairstyle looked great, even when it didn't, but then help me fix it. Not having that knowing, and being aware that what was left behind was the polar opposite of knowing—someone who was talking about me behind my back, someone who probably was laughing about me with her new friends—that was the worst of it.

I spent a week letting that cloud completely cover me. Mom and Allie tried to be extra nice to me, but I just moped around the house. Michael made sure to wave or smile at me at least once every day in school, but I just waved back and
went on to my next class. I e-mailed him my draft and didn't have the energy to come up with a cute note to send with it. Even Mr. Trigg tried to cheer me up by doing a hilariously bad Churchill impression, and at any other time I would have cracked up, but I just forced the edges of my mouth to turn up into a fake smile.

I couldn't stand to even go near the cafeteria. On Monday, I thought I would just go grab a quick bite by myself when I saw Michael and Hailey standing in line chatting with each other. It made my stomach turn, and I didn't feel hungry anymore. I got a lot of homework and studying done in the library during lunch period that week. It was the only place I knew I'd be safe.

Friday nights were usually Hailey's and my sleepover night. I wondered if Hailey was having another friend sleep over—maybe even a few of them, since it seemed like she had so many now. I decided to finish cleaning out my room, and it was a lot easier now. I didn't really want to keep anything anymore. My Maybe box was still in Allie's room, but almost everything else went
into the trash—everything but the jump rope that Hailey had given me. I cried when I found it stuffed in the back of one of my dresser drawers. That was how Hailey and I had first started talking to each other. She was jumping rope at recess in kindergarten, and I just sat there and watched, because I didn't know how to do it. She asked me if I wanted to try and waited while I clumsily attempted. She wasn't like the other kids, who didn't want to share, or who would have gotten annoyed that it was taking me so long to learn. She just sat there and kept giving me tips and pointers, and the next day Hailey gave me a present after school—a jump rope of my very own. She had told her mom about me and asked if they could get me one. It was the best present I had ever gotten—a best friend.

As much as the angry side of me wanted to throw the jump rope away, I just couldn't. It would mean throwing our friendship in the trash too. And even though it felt like it already was, there was little piece inside of me that hoped it wasn't.

I carried four trash bags out of my room, and
it looked incredibly neat and clean—and more depressing than ever. I turned on my computer and decided to finish the Dear Know-It-All column.

Dear Tight Fit,

I think you should move on. If you don't know someone who would like the sweater, like a little sister or a cousin, you could donate it. There are a lot of organizations that accept old clothes. Sometimes even the best things have to end, like the feeling you get when you put on a comfortable sweater. That's just life.

—Dear Know-It-All

I saved the document and turned off the computer, then fell asleep with the jump rope under my pillow. The next morning, I woke up when I heard a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I growled sleepily.

“Morning, Sam,” Allie said with cheerleader perkiness. “Time to rise and shine!”

I wasn't sure what was going on, maybe hormones? Allie had hardly spoken to me since I charged at her. Or maybe she had and I'd just
ignored it. I wasn't exactly sure. Allie bustled around my room, shuffling through my closet, opening and closing drawers in my dresser. She placed an outfit at the foot of my bed.

“Get in the shower, Sam,” Allie commanded. “Then get dressed and come eat breakfast.”

“And I am following your orders because . . . ?” I wondered.

“Oh, come on, Sam. What else are you going to do?” Allie said. “Mope around all day? Mom's going to take us somewhere in a little while.”