Black and White and Gray All Over by Rachel Wise Page A

on the other hand . . .”
    â€œNow Michael Lawrence what?” said Michael Lawrence himself, sliding his tray in next to mine.
    â€œHello, Mikey,” I said.
    â€œGreat article,” he said, and Kate, Hailey, and I cracked up. “Seriously. You’re the star reporter,” said Michael.
    â€œStop,” I protested.
    â€œOh, that reminds me,” said Hailey. She dove under the table and pulled something flat out of her bag and handed it to me. It was two sheets of cardboard taped together. “For you,” she said with a flourish.
    â€œUm, thanks?” I said.
    â€œOpen it!” she instructed. “Gently.”
    â€œWhy are all my friends so bossy?” I said.
    Hailey and Michael rolled their eyes at each other, but then Hailey turned back and watched me again eagerly.
    I slit open the masking tape and peered inside. It was a piece of artwork of some kind. I slit another edge, and the two pieces of cardboard opened like a book. Inside was a beautiful watercolor signed by Hailey Jones with the date.
    It was a picture of my beat-up, beloved messenger bag with my trusty notebook and a pencil propped next to it and a full-color edition of the Cherry Valley Voice with my byline on the article at the very top, above the fold (prime placement!). It was so realistic and beautiful and thoughtful that I started to cry.
    â€œWhoa, girl! This is only like the third time I’ve seen you cry in all the years we’ve been friends!”
    â€œIt is so incredible, Hails. And so thoughtful and generous. I love it. I’ll get it framed for my room.”
    Hailey grinned proudly.
    â€œAnd I can definitely say you are the best artist in the school, hands down.”
    â€œAw, go on!” said Hailey. There was a pause, and then Hailey said, “Really. Go on.”
    And we all laughed. I passed around Hailey’s watercolor, cautioning everyone to be careful, and everyone oohed and ahhed over it. It was amazing, and I couldn’t believe someone my age, let alone my very best friend, had done that painting.
    â€œYou are so lucky,” said Kate, squeezing my shoulder.
    â€œLucky, nothing! It’s hard work!” said Michael.
    Just then Jeff Perry sat down at the table and started talking a mile a minute about how he’d just overheard Pfeiffer in the stairs ranting about how furious he is that the whole school wants uniforms now, how he never should have participated in my article, and how he always regrets it when he talks to the press!
    I was thrilled. It’s not that I like stirring uptrouble. I just like it when my work gets people talking. Then I sighed. Oh dear, I had just done an article with Mr. Pfeiffer where I’d thought it went well.
    Michael looked at me, knowing what I was thinking.
    â€œDon’t worry, Pasty,” he said. “Next time you interview him, I’ll be there with you.”
    I grinned, and Kate squeezed my leg under the table and smiled.
    I couldn’t wait for the day to end so I could go home and show my mom Hailey’s painting and discuss all the reactions to the new issue.

    Finally I was at my locker, packing my messenger bag, and Michael walked up.
    â€œHey, so maybe we’ll get assigned an article together for the next issue.”
    â€œThat would be nice, for a change,” I joked.
    Michael didn’t smile, though. “Listen, uh, Sam. Do you think . . . Would you ever want to go grab a slice of pizza or something? Even if, uh, we don’t have an article together?”
    â€œOh, Mike! I thought you’d never ask!” I joked nervously.
    He looked kind of hurt, so I had to be serious.
    â€œYes, Michael Lawrence. I would love to get pizza with you. Anytime. All the time. How’s that?”
    â€œBetter,” he said with a grin. “Hey, did you see the new Dear Know-It-All?”
    Uh-oh. I’m totally convinced that he knows it’s me who writes the