FIVE

Mr. Taylor was standing in front of the class trying to get everyone's attention. It's a game we play most days at the beginning of my first-period journalism class.

"Excuse me, the bell rang five minutes ago," Mr. Taylor said in a voice not much louder than a whisper. "This is a tough bunch, Johanna. See what happens when you have so many creative people in one room? I love it!"

I saw Brad sitting off to the side, drinking his normal big cup of coffee. Brad was gorgeous, just totally out of my league. You have to find your level, and Brad was well over mine. He had dark, curly brown hair; brown eyes; and he had a nicely trimmed mustache and beard, which looked great against the brown leather jacket he was wearing. Standing beside him were Lynne and Jackie, two of his girlfriend Kara's clique. Pam and I had dubbed them "the giggle girls" because they never seemed serious about anything but their clothes and makeup.

I kept looking over at Brad, trying to see if his face gave any indication that he knew what an idiot I'd been in the car with Paul. If he knew, he wasn't letting on. He just sat there oozing charisma and sipping his coffee.

"People, please. People." Mr. Taylor is a great person, but kids in the class know they can take advantage of him.

I stood and rapped a notebook against the desk. "I need everyone's attention, and I need you to look at the assignment sheets."

"The Chief said SHUT UP!" Brad screamed at the top of his lungs, even though his eyes remained squarely focused on the floor in front of him. Even though Brad was the editor of the paper, he called me "the Chief." He and Mr. Taylor let me have a lot of responsibility as the assistant editor, like making the story assignments.

"Hey, I want to write about the homecoming," Jackie said when she saw that she'd been assigned to write a story about the theater department's fall production.

"Homecoming is so lame," Tarsi, one of the Goth girls in class, hissed.

"It's so stupid," Erin, another princess of the night, added.

Jackie stood up and looked over at them. "How would you know? You'll never go."

Erin shouted across the room, "That's because I would rather be dead than—"

"Don't you think you're already dead?" Brad said, not missing a beat. Most everyone laughed, and the giggle girls were beside themselves.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm taking this story, and I'll try to present both points of view."

Mr. Taylor looked up from his desk. He was smiling. He held up two fingers on each hand like a peace sign. "Remember, there are two sides to every story."

I don't think Mr. Taylor would be smiling, though, if he knew why I took the homecoming story. I wanted an excuse to learn more about Vickie, the shoo-in homecoming queen. The first day of the school year when I saw Brad, I asked him if Paul had a girlfriend. I don't remember how I phrased it, but I tried not to let on that I liked Paul. I made it seem like a casual question. He said, "Vickie, if you ask him."

I tried to bury myself in work, but I couldn't control my mind. I couldn't decide what I hated most about Vickie. It isn't real hate, just stupid envy. When she walked in the hall, she knew every boy, including Paul, was looking at her, while I walked through school like the invisible woman.

Vickie can't help that Paul wants her, but I always thought it was odd for him to like someone as normal and popular as Vickie. One of the things that attracted me to Paul was that he didn't seem to be like everyone else, from the way his blond hair hung halfway down his back to the pair of well-worn black high-top Converse All Stars he wore on his feet to the old beat-up Firebird that he parked in the same spot every morning. But mostly what I noticed was that whenever I see him, people are laughing. I think he holds the record for most times kicked out of the school library, which is where I first really noticed him one day last spring. He usually sits at a table with Brad, Kara, Jackie, Lynne, and some other seniors that I don't know, and within ten minutes everyone is laughing hysterically. I want to be a part of that, not stuck alone in the corner. I guess I will be today, since I'm sure they will all be laughing with my comic humiliation of the night before acting as the punch line.

"Johanna, you just can't please everyone." Mr. Taylor interrupted my mind wanderings. "It is all about balance. You did a good job with the assignments."

I could feel myself blushing. "Thanks," I blurted out. Although I wanted his approval, I felt so shy about getting it.

"Mr. Taylor, can I talk to you for a minute, in private?" I asked, avoiding eye contact.

"Is something wrong?" Mr. Taylor asked as we both stepped out into the hallway.

"I just wanted to ask you something." I was stalling. I couldn't come right out and ask him what I should do about Paul, but I needed some guidance. "I'm a little worried."

"Worried?" Mr. Taylor said in a tone that suggested he could take it all away. The way he looked at me filled me with confidence. It reminded me of my father's face when I do something that makes him proud. A little smile with the head cocked back slightly. The difference, of course, is it takes so little to please Mr. Taylor and so much to please my parents. I didn't know if his standards were too low or their standards were too high.

"What if there is a mistake in the paper?" I asked, hiding the real question.

Mr. Taylor smiled. "The best description of journalism was from Phil Graham who used to publish the Washington Post. He called journalism a first rough draft of history.'"

"A first rough draft of history." I repeated it. I liked that line.

"It's a draft. We do our best, we check our sources, we do everything we can to make sure it is perfect, but nothing is perfect. There will be mistakes." Mr. Taylor was in full teaching mode, the kind he did best: giving one-on-one lessons to those who cared rather than speaking to airheads like Jackie and Lynne trying to squeeze in an elective credit.

"But you can't correct those mistakes?" I asked. I think he knew that we were talking about something other than high school journalism.

"Johanna, there are very few mistakes that you can't overcome. If you have a strong character, you can overcome just about any obstacle. Mistakes, you might say, are a test of character." Mr. Taylor's smile was as big as his heart.

"Let's say you want something really bad, and then you try to get it, but you make a mistake. What should you do?" I was asking it as clearly as I could without naming names.

Mr. Taylor shot a glance inside the classroom in response to the escalating noise. "From the way you asked the question, I think you know the answer. You might get knocked down, but stay focused and keep working toward your goals."

"I think you missed your calling, Mr. Taylor," I said with a smile on my face. "You should've been a football coach."

He looked into the classroom. "Now, if I could only discipline this team!"

He opened the door. The sound shot out of the room like a tidal wave, but my brain was noisily thinking about what Mr. Taylor had said. A test of character? So, was this whole thing with Paul, a test of character? I have never failed a test in my life and don't intend to start now.