The next morning I checked out the poll results. Michael had put it up the night before, and immediately people started responding to it. It was on the Voice site, and Mr. Trigg got permission for us to send out a blast e-mail to the whole school so people would know it was there. People had the choice to respond to it anonymously or give their names, but everyone seemed to go with the anonymous choice, probably to make sure they didn’t get in trouble. Mr. Trigg had said it would be helpful for the administration to see it, so they could be more in touch with the student community. I’d heard about three more people getting detention for texting in the last couple of days. People were not happy.
The poll program automatically totaled the percentages of yeses and no’s. More than forty percent of people admitted they snuck texts during the day. That was even more than I’d thought. I texted Michael on my way to school.
Great job on the poll! Crazy response!
After I sent it, I checked my phone just before I walked in the doors to see if he had gotten back to me. Nothing. I sat through my language arts, earthonomics, and science classes, and still hadn’t seen Michael yet. I was dying to check my phone, which was tucked away in my locker. At lunch I sat with Hailey, Kate, and Jenna.
“So, question of the day,” I said to everyone, getting out my notebook, wanting to get some quotes for the article. “Do you guys text in school, even with the new rule?”
“Really, who doesn’t? I still never did or would in class, but it’s not hard to send a few messages between classes,” said Jenna. “I don’t really think the school has a right to stop us from doing that. And I always tell my mom what time I’m going to be home. I still do it, and she hasn’t told me not to.”
“How have you not gotten caught?” I asked. Since the rule, I haden’t touched my phone at school.
“You just pretend you’re getting something out of your backpack,” she said. Everyone nodded knowingly.
“Really,” said Jenna. “I don’t know how you just stop texting. It’s crazy.”
I guess it was kind of an addiction. The more you texted, the more you needed to text.
I still hadn’t seen Michael. After lunch I couldn’t stand it anymore. Maybe Michael was sick today? I probably wouldn’t have even cared that much, but because I’d sent him a text, now suddenly it was like this major itch I couldn’t scratch. I guess this is how other people felt all day long.
I went to my locker to get a book out. I looked at my bag. How big a deal would it be if I looked at my phone? I opened my bag, like Jenna said, and pretended I was getting something out of it. I poked my head out of my locker to see if any teachers, or worse, the principal, was walking by. It looked clear. I felt around in my bag and turned over my phone so I could see the screen. Just as I was squinting to see if I had any messages, a hand was on my shoulder.
“Ms. Martone, you’ll have to come with me,” the voice said in this weird deep tone. I froze and dropped my phone into my bag. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t even texting, technically, just looking. Was I really going to get in trouble for that? Girl Gets Arrested for Texting in School. At least that’s what it felt like would happen. My mom was not going to be happy.
I turned around, and grinning back at me was Michael Lawrence.
“That was so not funny!” I yelled at him.
“Easy, Pasty. I just couldn’t resist,” Michael said. He even had the nerve to use his stupid nickname for me.
“Well, it’s your fault. You should have texted me back right away,” I said.
“I didn’t even see your text until lunch. You know I’m not much of a texter.”
“Well then, how did you see it at lunch? You weren’t at lunch anyway.” I smoothed my hair, still collecting myself.
“Well, I wasn’t at lunch because I went to the library to cram for a science quiz. And sometimes I sneak looks in my locker too. Who doesn’t? But thanks for the text. The poll might just have an effect on the new rule. This article’s starting to have potential,” he said.
“I know. I got a couple of good quotes.” Something was a little different about Michael today. He looked a little extra awesome, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“I cut my hair. I know it’s really short,” he said.
I just looked at him, not sure what to say. Had he read my mind?
“That’s why you were looking at me strangely, right?” he said, running his fingers through his dark, spiky hair. “Is it really lame?”
“No, not at all. I was actually thinking that it looks good,” I said.
“You’re lying just to make me feel better,” he said.
“Not at all. You look very stylish.” I was really touched that he actually cared what I thought. If only he knew how truthful I was being.
“Would you ever cut your hair for a girl?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t say he had or something like that, because I would know the girl he’d cut his hair for was not me.
He laughed. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“Allie said she’d cut her hair for a boy she likes,” I blurted out. Why was I even telling him this?
Michael considered this for a minute. “Allie would look nice with short hair. She’s got a really pretty face. She could carry it off,” he said thoughtfully.
Wait, what? How had I even gotten myself in this conversation? Middle School Student Wishes for Vanishing Powers. The thought of Michael picturing Allie with short hair, or picturing her in any way at all, turned my stomach. Did he think she was prettier than I was?
“Um, yeah. Well, gotta run,” I said.
Michael seemed a little confused. “Okay, but hold on. We need to get together to go over our notes for the article.”
“Text me,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried away, feeling a little light-headed. All I could think of was Michael thinking of Allie with some cute pixie cut.
The moment I got home, I called Hailey. I needed a live voice to talk to. This was not something an encouraging text could solve. Luckily, Allie wasn’t home and Mom was still working in her office. I took the phone into the kitchen.
“Michael is in love with Allie,” I wailed when I heard Hailey’s voice.
“Back up a minute. What are you talking about?” Hailey said.
“I told Michael that Allie said she’d cut her hair for a boy, which she didn’t really say, but she sort of did. For some reason, I made it seem like that to Michael, and then he said that she would look really great with short hair, like prettier than me, or something like that. Allie said boys are like trains, but I don’t want Michael to be a train like, boom he’s there and then he’s gone. So I freaked out for the rest of the day, and now I’m calling you.” I let it out all in one breath. In fact, I was out of breath. I needed to calm down.
“Have you lost your mind?” Hailey said. “Trains? Boys are like trains?”
“Yeah, that’s what Allie said. As in, if you miss one, there’s always another one in five minutes,” I said. I needed a snack. Maybe a bowl of cheese popcorn would help me relax.
“Hmmm. She has a point,” Hailey said, considering it.
“Hailey? Really?”
“Well, they can be like that. I’ve had a few crushes come and go, and I know there will always be another boy. Friends are what matter the most.”
I agreed, but the problem was, or maybe it wasn’t a problem, but what made things complicated with Michael is that he was a good friend of mine and my crush all bundled into one.
“Yeah, but,” I said, about to explain it to Hailey.
“I know. I know. Michael’s not like other boys.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he is. He’s probably just friends with me so that once in a while he gets to come to my house and gawk at my sister.”
Hailey started laughing so hard on the other end of the line that she began to choke a little bit.
“Are you okay?” I asked, half-concerned, half-annoyed. I didn’t think what I’d said was funny at all. I held the phone to my ear, opened the bag of cheddar popcorn, and poured myself a big bowl.
She coughed and laughed a little more, then cleared her throat.
“I’m, ah, fine. I got a little”—she coughed one more time—“carried away. That train thing just . . . Okay, sorry. Listen, I’m just going to tell you this once. Snap. Out. Of. It. You’re awesome and beautiful, and Michael loves you even though he can’t admit it, or is afraid it will ruin your friendship or something. But you’re not just some cute girl to him. You’re more than that—short hair, long hair, whatever. And for the record, I think you’d look awesome with short hair.”
I sat on the bar stool, swinging my legs, and chewed my popcorn. How had I let my thoughts get so out of control? Michael was my friend, a real friend, not just a subway kind of boy. Allie was pretty. Of course he would notice that, and I was the one who’d brought up the whole ridiculous question. It didn’t mean he thought she was prettier than me.
“Sam, you still there?” Hailey asked in a small, worried voice.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I sighed. “Thanks for saying that.”
“Why did you tell him all that anyway?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I said, and stuffed another handful of popcorn in my face.
After I got off the phone, I went into my room and stared in the mirror. I had nice green eyes. My hair was definitely shinier than Allie’s. I had a little blemish on my chin, but nothing a little cover-up couldn’t take care of. I got a few hair clips and started to pin up sections of my hair to see what I’d look like with it short. Then I put a little lip gloss on and took a picture with my phone. I stared at it for a while. It just didn’t look like me. I took a few more angles. Cute, but still it was like I was looking at someone else. I put my phone away and started on my homework.
“How was your day?” Mom asked me at dinner.
I took a bite of pork chop.
“Pretty good,” I said. Where would I begin? “I am thinking about getting my hair cut.”
Allie glared at me over her mashed potatoes and broccoli. She’d added some fake tofu meat to it instead of pork chops and had forced my mom to make the mashed potatoes without milk. They were fine, just not as creamy. I was getting tired of Allie’s fads dominating the whole house. I squirmed in my chair a little.
“What do you mean?” Allie said. “I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to do that, rememberrrrr?” she said in a weird singsongy voice.
“I just think I might look cool, like, for me.” Here I was again in a conversation I started that I suddenly wanted no part of. What was wrong with me?
My mom was looking back and forth at Allie and me. “Well, who else would it be for?” she asked.
“No, not a boy,” I barked back at Allie. “I just think Hailey’s hair is so cute short and maybe it would look good on me. What’s the big deal?”
“Okay,” my mom said. “I get the feeling there’s some background to this that I don’t know about. Want to clue me in?”
“No!” Allie and I both said at the same time. I crossed my arms and we were silent for a bit.
“Well,” Mom said. “Lovely having dinner with you both.”
Allie finally started talking about the auditions for her dance concert, and I just sat quietly, not wanting to open my mouth again today.
Later that night, when I was trying to fall asleep, I kept grabbing my phone off my night table and staring at my short hair picture again. It kind of looked cute, but I knew it wasn’t me. I just kept hearing Michael saying the same words over and over again. Allie’s got a really pretty face. She could carry it off. It echoed in my head like I was possessed. Did he think my face was pretty enough to carry it off? Maybe I should just cut my hair to prove that I could. I put the phone away and tried to sleep again, but sleep wasn’t not finding me.
I got out of bed, stared at my photo for another minute, and then turned on the computer. Maybe the only way I could get this stuff off my mind was reply to Unhappy Blonde.
Dear Unhappy Blonde,
There are lots of things we sometimes wish we could change about ourselves. Maybe we wish we were a better student, or a better dresser, or were taller or shorter. Some of these things we can change and some we can’t . I guess you could change your hair for this guy, but what if the next day you hear him talking about only liking girls with green eyes and yours are brown? Or he decides he likes blondes after all. You shouldn’t change your appearance just because a guy wants you to. You should make changes for yourself, because you are the one who’s going to have to live with it, guy or no guy. He should appreciate you just the way you are. In my opinion, if he asks you to cut your hair, he doesn’t make the cut.
There! That’s how I really felt about things. I hoped I wouldn’t give myself away since I had already talked about cutting hair for a guy with both Allie and Michael, but I had a plan of what to say when they asked me. I would tell them I overheard someone else talking about this very issue, which was why I’d started thinking about it. I would wonder out loud if that person was either Dear Know-It-All or Unhappy Blonde and send them on a dead-end hunt.
I stood in front of my mirror and brushed my hair until it was shiny as silk. When I lay back down, I finally drifted off to sleep.