Howembarrassing. I lower mine, hoping Joe didn’t notice my acute eagerness. There’s a chance he didn’t since I’m right behind him, so that’s a relief. So much for putting myself out there.
“We can’t have every girl in class,” Rose continues. “That’s too many contributors.”
There’s a chorus of groans. Someone else says, “That’s not fair.”
Joe raises his hand again. All eyes zero on him. Including mine. I get a little daydreamy as I focus on him. Everyone at Eagle Gate wears the same uniform blazer, but he somehow pulls it off better than anyone.
“May I make a suggestion?” He clears his throat. “Maybe everyone could apply by submitting a sample essay. I think that could narrow it down.”
“Fantasticidea.” Rose beams. “Thank you, Joe.”
An essay. It makes sense—but Rose is president. That means she’s in charge of reading these essays. What if I work really hard on mine, pouring time and effort into every single sentence until it’s polished to perfection, and then she thinks it’s trash? Worse than trash: seeping street sewage. Would she make fun of me? Maybe even read it to the entire class?Everyone, listen to this silly little essay Sara Lin submitted! It’s so tragic!
No, thank you. Newspaper Club isn’t worth all that humiliation.
I’ll just have to find another way to put myself out there this year.
THIRTEEN
Patrick
Look, I don’t want to sound jealous or anything, but what’s so great about Joe, anyway? He reads the newspaper and takes it seriously?Oooh, what an academic. A scholar! Let’s award him a Pulitzer.
Man, gimme a break.
Newspaper Club is so old-school, though I guess retro’s coming back around. Whatever. All I’m saying is I expected better from Sara.
I’m by her side the second we step into the hall after class. “So, you’re joining that stupid club, then?”
Her hands clench around her shoulder strap. “Are you kidding? No way.”
We wander down the hall. Students coming from the other direction maneuver around us.
“Why?” I press. She raised her hand in class for a reason. I’m not that dense. “Isn’t this your chance to get closer to Joe? I thought that was your new goal in life. It’s all you’ve been talking about lately. I read your blog, remember?”
She glances around—probably to make sure Joe didn’t overhear—before narrowing her eyes. “You read my blog,” she repeats.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Duh, Sara. I’ve been reading it for ages.”
“Okay, then.” She stops walking, attempting to size me up like she’s not several inches shorter than me. “You could’ve said I should join because I’m a good writer.”
Even though she’s trying to hide it, there’s hurt behind her eyes. Hold on. Did I get it wrong? I never thought Sara would take writing seriously. She insists her blog is for fun, something just for her. She even made me pinkie swear I wouldn’t tell anyone about it. Privileged best friend information. I’d never betray that.
But I watched her face light up when she read her history essay—and when she got that huge round of applause when she finished. She’s always loved writing assignments. I’m pretty sure it’s the only type of homework she enjoys. Maybe she feels like she can only put her writing out there if it’s for schoolwork. And if that’s the case, it makes sense why she’d want to join Newspaper Club.
“Oh, uh,” I backtrack. “That too. Youarea good writer, Sara. A great one, even.”
A satisfied glow washes over her features. Then she grins, turns on her heel, and heads in the opposite direction.
“Nah,” she says over her shoulder. “Not my kind of thing, anyway.”
I sigh. Sometimes I think the only way to get Sara out of her self-conscious bubble is to nark and needle her until I get a reaction. After all, the kiss bet worked. She went up to a total stranger and asked to kiss him! Never in a million years did I think she’d do that.
And because I read her blog, I know she’s desperate for a change this year. She’s Shy, Timid, Second-Guessing Sara. She’s had a million crushes—including one on me last year—but no boyfriends. And I know she’s a romantic. If I don’t get involved, I’m afraid she’llneverput herself out there.
So that’s why I say, loud enough to ensure she can hear, “Chicken.”
She pauses, twisting around to glare right at me before continuing on her way.
