“He had it in his notebook!” Hailey cried, her eyes bugging out while we both shared a bowl of popcorn at my house after school.
“Mmm-hmm.” I nodded vigorously, my mouth full.
“I think this is a good thing,” she stated, pointing one finger in the air.
“Yeah? Why? It means that he’d rather me be all model-perfect-looking instead of the way I really look. Just like you wish Frank looked different. Then you would like him. Ugh! I’m Michael’s Frank!” I wailed, putting my head down on the counter. To Crush or Not to Crush? That was the question.
“No way!” Hailey said. “Not at all. I do not carry a Photoshopped version of Frank around. I would never want to.”
I lifted up my head from the kitchen counter. “Really? Why?”
“Because the reason that I don’t have a crush on Frank is because I just don’t. His ears might be a little big and he might not be totally my taste, but crushes are more mysterious than that. Frank’s a great guy, but you just like who you like, and when you like someone, they appear more perfect than they really are. If anyone knows that, you do. That picture,” Hailey said, pointing to a spot on the counter as if the picture were there, “is probably the way he actually does see you. That’s why he likes it! He probably sleeps with it under his pillow,” she said.
“Oh, stop,” I said, nudging her in the shoulder. “Maybe you’re right,” I said, shrugging.
“Right about what?” Allie came padding into the kitchen in her bare feet, her hair up in a towel, some yellowish gooey gunk covering her whole face.
“Nothing,” I said. “And what is all over your face?”
“A soy milk, honey, and cinnamon mask.”
“You’ve really gone over the edge now,” I said. Older Sister Might Actually Be Alien.
“What does that do?” Hailey asked, actually curious.
“Oh my gosh,” Allie said, excitedly coming over to Hailey. “It makes your skin look as smooth and creamy as, well, soy milk! It’s incredible.”
“Oooh, can I try some?” Hailey said, clapping her hands.
“Sure! Both of you get towels. I’ll whip up more mask and we’ll have a little spa afternoon!”
I sighed. I guess it couldn’t hurt. Maybe a soy milk and honey mask would make me look more like Jeff’s photo. Not that I wanted to, not really.
Friday morning, the paper came out. The online version of the paper gets posted early, before people get the hard copy at school. There were already fifty comments online when I checked in the morning. I was psyched that it was generating a lot of buzz. I had to rush to school, so I didn’t have time to read Michael’s sidebar yet. The moment I got there, I grabbed a copy of the paper and sat down by my locker. I scanned our article and was pleased to see the photographs looking like normal, real people. Then I read his article:
A Lesson Learned
By Michael Lawrence
My older brother Tommy did something really stupid, and it could have cost him his life or someone else’s. Because of a text message. He was driving to pick up his girlfriend when she texted him and asked, “Where r u? We’re going 2b late.” He took his eyes off the road for one second to text back, “Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” That might have been the last thing he ever wrote.
He swerved and hit my father’s car, parked on the side of the road. Thankfully, he wasn’t hurt, though there was significant damage to both cars. He hadn’t been driving fast and had barely even gotten on the road. After the accident, he said, “I always knew I would never text on a main road or a highway, but I thought, I’m just starting out. I’m going really slow. It’s fine. It wasn’t fine. What if someone had been walking near the car or had been coming the other way? I feel lucky that nothing worse happened.”
None of us want to think about that, but we have to. This has forced me to understand that texting, though a convenient way of communicating, must be done responsibly. It is a major source of distraction and not just while driving, but while doing anything else. If I’m texting, I’m not listening to my teacher or to my friends. It can really bug people sometimes. It can even be dangerous while walking, especially if you’re crossing the street.
Before Samantha Martone and I started writing our article, I have to admit, I didn’t think it was a big enough deal for a whole article. I thought everyone was overreacting, including the school administration with the new no-texting policy. Now I understand that there’s a time and a place for texting, and in school or on the road is not where it belongs. Most of all, I’m thankful that Tommy’s mistake resulted in an important lesson for all of us, instead of a tragedy.
I sat back and took in a deep breath. I had tears in my eyes. I was blown away. I had never read anything from Michael that was so heartfelt and vulnerable. I was so proud of him.
Hailey suddenly appeared, standing over me. “Did you read it?”
“Yes,” I said. “It was amazing.”
“I know. I think it will really change a lot of people’s behavior for the better,” she said. “I hadn’t even thought about it on this kind of level.” She smiled. “Both pieces work together really nicely.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But Michael really took a risk here, and I hope he’s recognized for that.”
Hailey nodded. “I’m sure he will be.”
My worry that Michael would be not be given enough credit for his article was unfounded. Several people came up to me and told me what a great piece it was. I kind of liked that people linked us together so much so that they assumed what they said to me would get to Michael. And secure Sam was happy about all the attention her good friend was getting for his good work.
I finally saw Michael at lunch and held up my hand for a high-five. “Nice work, Mikey.” I hit his hand hard and gave him a pat on the back.
“Thanks, Pasty,” he said, grinning. “Couldn’t have done it without you. You really understood the seriousness of it all along. I should have listened sooner.” He looked down at his feet.
“Hey,” I said gently. “No one knew quite what the stakes were until the thing with Tommy happened. As you said, thank goodness it just proved to be a lesson learned.”
Michael nodded gravely.
“Awesome work!” Jessica Kelly came up to us and hugged me out of nowhere. Then she hugged Michael. Never in my wildest dreams did I think Michael and I would get hugs from Jessica. “You guys rock. I’m so glad I get to have writers like you working on the paper. Michael, I was really touched by your sidebar. It was brave of you to write.”
“Thanks,” said Michael, a hint of red starting to spread on his cheeks. “Just said what I felt.”
“The paper looks great,” I said. “We should be hugging you for all the hard work you put in.”
“Yeah,” said Michael. “You knocked it out of the park.”
“Really?” Jessica said, smiling from ear to ear, looking back and forth at both of us almost as if she didn’t believe what Michael said.
“Really,” I said, and I meant it. Jessica wasn’t so bad once she felt better about herself. I liked secure Jessica.
In the afternoon, as Michael and I headed toward the Voice office for a post-paper meeting, Mr. Pfeiffer stopped us.
“Michael,” he said. “May I speak with you?” I held my breath. Was Mr. Pfeiffer upset with us about the article for some reason? I wasn’t sure why he would be, because, in the end, especially with Michael’s sidebar, we supported the new texting rules.
“Samantha, you can come too,” he said, and started walking. Michael and I looked at each other. He opened his eyes wide, I bit my lip, and we followed Mr. Pfeiffer like little ducks to his office. When we got there, he turned to us and pointed at a framed picture hanging on the hallway wall right outside his door. As I looked closer, I realized that it was a framed copy of Michael’s article!
“This may be the most important article you’ll ever write. This is the kind of statement that saves lives. My hat is off to you, Mr. Lawrence,” Mr. Pfeiffer said, and tipped his imaginary hat toward Michael. “And, Samantha, you both did a wonderful job covering this issue. We are looking into some positive ways we can incorporate texting in the classroom.”
“Wow, thank you, Mr. Pfeiffer,” Michael said. “That means a lot. I just wanted to make sure no one makes the same mistake Tommy did.”
“An admirable mission,” he said.
“I’m glad you liked our article,” I said. “I learned a lot from writing it.”
“So did I,” Mr. Pfeiffer said. “I have to pop in my office for a bit, but I just wanted to take this moment to recognize your efforts. We’re lucky to have you both at this school,” he said, and walked into his office.
Michael and I stared at each other in surprise. I had not expected that kind of reaction. I felt proud and happy for Michael that he did get the recognition he deserved for speaking out honestly.
“Just another day at Cherry Valley,” Michael said, and shrugged, but there was a little gleam in his eye.
“Yeah! I’ll say,” I said, and we walked over to the Voice office together. Jeff was there, fidgeting around with Photoshop.
“Who are you ‘fixing’ now?” I asked, smiling.
“Ha-ha,” Jeff said. “By the way, man,” he said to Michael, “awesome piece.” Then he punched him lightly in the shoulder.
“Thanks,” Michael said, beaming.
“Okay,” Jeff said, getting up and grabbing his camera. “Let me take a picture before you guys are famous reporters at the New York Times. Then I’ll have proof I knew you when.” He motioned for us to stand close together.
Michael moved closer and put his arm around me. I could smell the Tide scent on his shirt. This was turning into the best day ever.
“Smile!” Jeff called, and snapped the photo.
Afterward, we looked at it. It was a nice photo. We both looked happy and relaxed and exactly like us, including the faint red spot I still had on my chin.
“That’s a great picture,” said Michael. “Can I have a copy?”
Jeff and I both looked at him.
He stiffened nervously. “I mean . . . it’s for . . . well, we should have one in case we ever need to run a photo of us with one of our stories. Besides, I like this picture of you better than the other one. This one looks like you.”
A big smile spread across my face. It was exactly what I needed to hear. It’s nice to be confident and be yourself no matter what, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to have a little reinforcement.
“Ah, sure thing,” Jeff said, smirking at Michael. “I’ll e-mail you both a copy. No touch-ups, I promise. It’s like Know-It-All even said in the column . . . don’t change anything for anyone but yourself.”
“Yeah, that was a good column,” said Michael, looking at me. I’m always paranoid that he knows Dear Know-It-All is me. “It was good last year, but it’s just as good this year, don’t you think?”
“Um . . . yeah,” I said. “I mean, it’s the first one, though. Gotta see what happens, right?”
That night I got into my favorite green and black polka-dot p.j.’s and headed off to bed early. The excitement of the day had exhausted me. I checked my e-mail before getting tucked in. Jeff had e-mailed the photo as promised. I clicked on it, and our smiling faces filled the screen. It made me happy to look at it. I decided to print it out. As it was printing, I texted Michael.
Again, gr8 story!
Thx! Hope u aren’t doing anything where u could be distracted! he texted back right away.
Nope, I texted back. Ready 4 bed. Sweet dreams . . .
I hit send, and after I heard the little whooshing signal on the phone that it had been sent off into the ether, I panicked. I read it again. Did I just tell Michael Lawrence sweet dreams? The excitement of the day had really messed with my brain. How embarrassing. But before I could obsess too much about it, I heard a bing on my phone.
You 2 Pasty, he wrote back. Sweet dreams. I breathed a sigh of relief and settled into bed, still holding the phone, looking at the text. That Michael, he always managed to surprise me just when I thought I had made a total fool of myself.
There was a knock on the door.
“Yeah,” I said, a little startled.
Mom opened the door and came in. “Samantha, I thought you were going to bed early. You still have the lights on, and you aren’t supposed to have your phone in your room while you’re sleeping,” she said sternly, and held out her hand for the phone.
“Sorry, Mom,” I said, quickly clicking out of my text window and turning the phone off so she wouldn’t see my little interchange. “Here.” I handed her the phone. “It won’t happen again.”
“Riiiight,” Mom said doubtfully. “Want to bet money on it? Okay, good night, sweetie. Get some rest.” She kissed me on the forehead, turned off the light, and left the room. “Sweet dreams,” she called.
Sometimes, I thought as I pulled up the covers, texting can really distract you! I thought about everything that had happened in the past week. I’d written a pretty good first Dear Know-It-All column. I’d written a good first story with Michael Lawrence. And, as always, I’d learned a lot.
Texting has both pros and cons. It can be really distracting and, well, not to be dramatic, deadly. But it has its pros too. Like getting a text from the boy you think is the greatest right before you go to sleep.
I smiled and snuggled in as I felt my eyes begin to flutter closed. Sweet dreams, indeed!