Across the room Megan was getting up to
stack her tray.
Time to make my move.
I caught up to her at
the trash and recycling bins. “Hi.
You’re Megan, aren’t you?” When she
seemed surprised, I added, “I’m
Casey.”
“Right. Mr. Baxter
told me about you.” A smile lit
Megan’s face. “I’m really glad you
want to help get the school paper started
again.”
I glared at her. Why
was everyone so hung up on this helping
business?
When I didn’t
respond, she went on, “I think
it’s going to be a lot of fun!”
She smiled again. Boy, was she every
perky.
“Fun?” I said
grimly. “News is not fun,
Megan. We’re talking long hours
and deadlines and digging beneath
the surface to get the real story.
It’s about important issues. Gun
control. Drug abuse. Racism.
Pollution …”
Megan bit her
lip. “Here? I doubt it.”
Maybe Megan was
popular, but she was clearly out of
touch with reality. “Those things
can happen anywhere,” I told her.
“Well, yeah.”
She brushed a strand of blond hair
from her forehead. “We’ll cover
mostly school events, though. Sports
and school dances and stuff.”
I winced. This
wouldn’t be a newspaper. It would
be a Hallmark card. “Sports and
dances?”
She nodded.
“Sure.”
“Why don’t we
just publish the list of kids who
made the cheerleading squad?” I
asked sarcastically. “And birthday
greetings for all the teachers.”
“What a sweet
idea,” Megan gushed, her eyes
sparkling with warmth.
Megan seemed nice
enough, in a candy-coated way. Sort
of dipped in goo. The kind of person
who does good deeds. Probably has a
SAVE THE WHALES sticker on her
bedroom wall, but only if it
doesn’t clash with her wallpaper,
which would be flowered, of course.
Little bitty pink
flowers, I’ll bet. What she
didn’t have was the hard-hitting
edge a journalist needs.
“Look,” I
said, “are you sure that working
on a school paper is for you?
Wouldn’t you be happier in drama
club? Or on the cheerleading squad?
Or –“
“I plan on
trying lots of different activities.
Including
the newspaper,” Megan interrupted.
“Or … or the
yearbook committee,” I went on.
“People like you are perfect for
Yearbook.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Megan frowned. For the first time she
looked annoyed.
“Look, I don’t want to fight
about this. Mr. Baxter said I could
get Real
News going again, and that’s
what I’m going to do. Do you want
to help or not?”
“I’m not
going to help,”
I said, gritting my teeth. “I am
going to be the editor.”
It was out. War
had been declared.
“Oh, really?”
Megan crossed her arms. All of a
sudden she didn’t look like she
was dipped in goo. Steel
was more like it. “We’ll see
about that.”
Okay, this was a
game I could play. I crossed my arms
too. “Yes. We will.”
(back)
