Digital Disaster! (11 page)

Jeff, the photographer, seemed unfazed. “I still have all the photos
I took in my camera,” he said. “I'll just download them again for the
stories. No biggie.”

A silence blanketed the room. Nobody said anything. I heard someone
swallow. I could have heard a fly cough it was so quiet.

Mr. Trigg cleared his throat. He looked a little pale. “
Please
tell me you were paying attention at the start of the
semester when I reminded you to always back up your work.
Please
tell me we are not going to have to re-create the entire issue from
scratch!”

The layout editor and the section editors admitted that they didn't
have backups.

“Well, the reporters have backups, right? At least we can load the
stories up again. We'll have to do another layout edit, but it won't take us
that long. Let's start with the front news section. Ms. Martone, Mr.
Lawrence?”

I tried to speak, but my voice seemed caught in the back of my throat.

Finally I managed to speak a few tiny, faraway words. “I have very
extensive handwritten notes in my notebook. . . .”

Now Mr. Trigg's face started turning red, very red. One by one he
questioned the entire staff. No one—not a single soul—had backed up their
work, except for Susannah, but she had written only a couple of short
“filler” articles to fill space.

“I—I assumed all my writers backed up their own work,”
she stammered.

Mr. Trigg started to pace back and forth and rubbed his chin. He took off
his scarf, then put it on again. It looked like he might have a nervous breakdown.
“Folks, this issue must launch tomorrow. Mr. Pfeiffer is holding a luncheon with
members of the school board of directors, and the highlight of the lunch is supposed to
be to present our first online edition. So let's think, people. Winston Churchill
wouldn't have let this stop him.” Again, silence. Michael nudged me in the
arm. “What about what you typed up and e-mailed me?” he whispered.

“I have it,” I whispered back. “But we made a lot of
changes online. I don't have those.”

“Okay,” said Michael, now loudly facing everyone.
“Let's not panic. We all e-mailed our latest stories, right?” Everyone
nodded, some vigorously, some not so vigorously. “So let's load those in and
update as much as we can and then we'll all edit online. There are four computers
in here. We'll just split up into teams. If we each take a few stories, we should
be able to get through this.”

I was impressed. Michael was an assertive guy, but I had never seen him
take charge like this before. He seemed calm, steady, and I certainly wasn't the
only one who felt relieved someone was taking charge. Mr. Trigg's face turned back
to its normal color. Susannah relaxed and she, with Michael's help, started
getting everyone into groups. The layout team began to re-create the headlines and
download each story. The keyboards were clicking and the paper started to come back to
life.

“Now, I feel silly having to say this after everything that's
happened, but please back—”

“We
will
back up our work after each story
is uploaded, Mr. Trigg,” Susannah said breathlessly. “And forever
after!”

We worked for a few hours; then Mr. Trigg ordered us pizza. Everyone took
a break and chowed down. Mr. Trigg came over to Michael with a huge smile of relief on
his face and patted him on the back.

“A brilliant Churchill moment back there, Mr. Lawrence. Thank
you.”

Michael shook it off. “Just wanted to help in whatever way I
could,” he said, and I could see a little red spreading over his cheeks. I was so
proud of him and only more head over heels with the boy. Yikes.

As the hours went by, I tried to ignore the fact that when this was done,
I had to go back home and study again for the math test. It was going to be a long
night, but hopefully it would all be worth it.

After the reporters had all copyedited their stories, Mr. Trigg added the
Dear Know-It-All column and did another preview. No thunder and lightning could stop us
now. We were backed up several times over.

Then the staff crowded around and read the Know-It-All letter. I held my
breath, at the same time pretending to be as interested in what it said as everyone
else.

“Wow,” Jeff said. “What a moron!”

I stopped breathing for a second. Did he mean me or Rock Star? As if
he'd read my thoughts, he continued. “I mean the person who wrote in, not
Know-It-All.”

“Yeah,” said Susannah. “Great response.”

My heart swelled on hearing that much-needed praise. Only Mr. Trigg knew
what I had been through to get it right. I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Someone gave
my shoulder a little squeeze. At first I thought it might be Michael. I froze and did
not dare turn around. Did he know? But then I saw Mr. Trigg walk away from behind me.
Okay, my cover wasn't blown. Onward and upward, as Mr. Trigg liked to say.

Chapter 11

The Sam Train Finally Runs Out of Steam

When Mom drove me home that night it was almost nine. I walked straight
into my room and collapsed on my bed. My head was spinning. Everything had been such a
whirlwind with the
Voice
and now I had to
buckle down and study! I was officially overwhelmed. I didn't have any temptation to
cheat, of course, but I sure was tempted not to study and just hope I remembered enough
from the last time. Mom and Allie were in the den watching a singing contest show, and
the faint sound of someone belting out Adele's “Rolling in the Deep” trickled into my
room. I so wished I could just collapse on the couch and watch it with them and forget
about everything for a little while.
The Sam
Train Finally Runs Out of Steam.

There was a soft knock on my door. I knew it was Mom. Allie barely ever
knocked, and if she did, it was more like a pound.

“Hi, sweetie,” Mom said after I called for her to come in. “Are you
okay?”

“Not really.” I was lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. There
were a few thin wavy cracks on it that looked like a demented smiley face.

“You must be pretty wiped out.” Mom sat down on the edge of my bed.

“That's putting it mildly. I just don't think I can study for this test
again. People who cheat ruin everything,” I said in a low, pouty voice.

“Oh, honey.” Mom laughed a little. “Maybe so, but you can do this.”

“How do you know?” I sat up, facing her. “What if I can't, and then I do
badly on the test when I probably did pretty well on the first test? It's all so
unfair!” I flung myself back down, crossing my arms tightly over my chest and let out a
groan.

“Listen to me.” Mom was very serious and looked me dead in the eye. “If
you can re-create an entire newspaper in three hours, you can certainly take another
hour or two and review your notes. You already know the material. The Sam I know doesn't
give up this easily.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I just want to go to sleep.” I turned on my side and
curled my knees into my chest.

“Have you ever submitted a newspaper article without revising it?”

“No,” I murmured.

“Well, this is kind of like that—a revision. Think of it as a great
opportunity. You rarely get a chance to revise actual events in life. Now's your
chance!”

I sat up again and looked at her. Maybe she was right. I had a feeling I
hadn't done quite as well as I could have the first time around. It was time to look at
the half-full aspect of all this. I could get an even better grade out of it.

“Okay,” I said. “You win.”

“A bowl of popcorn and some iced tea to help you through?”

“That would be awesome. Mom,” I called after she got up and was walking
out of my room.

“Yeah?” she turned and asked.

“You're a good mom,” I said. Somehow, with all she had to balance, she was
always there for me. She was really kind of amazing.

She smiled. “You make it easy.”

First thing the next morning I checked the new
Voice
site. As promised, Mr. Trigg had posted it at six a.m. and there were
already tons of comments listed. I loved being able to have a sense of what people
thought about the paper before going to school. I could prepare myself a little more
easily. There were lots of comments about the test scandal and, as expected, many
different opinions were shared. But that's what we wanted, a well-rounded but
thought-provoking article. Maybe the generation before us wasn't sure, but ultimately I
liked this digital world. I was running late, though, and didn't have time to read any
of the comments on Dear Know-It-All.

When I got to school, Hailey was waiting for me at my locker. “You're
famous!” she shrieked at me. “Your article is the talk of the town.”

“Thanks, Hails. I'm glad it actually exists. I haven't even told you what
we went through to get it published on time!” Then I gave her the whole rundown, bit by
bit, saving Michael whispering to me in the dark for the very last.

“Wow. Your life is so much more exciting than mine right now,” she said a
little wistfully.

“Well, if it means anything to you, after today, I'd like it to be a
little less exciting.”

“But tomorrow's Spring Fling, and that has many possibilities for more
excitement,” she said.

“Okay, after tomorrow.” I smiled. She grabbed my arm and started
pretending she was Michael again, saving me on the Ferris wheel.

“What's so funny?” Michael said. This time I wasn't even surprised. All we
had to do was mention one word about him and there he was.

“Nothing,” Hailey and I said in unison, both holding in our giggles.

“Just us being weirdos as usual!” I announced. I certainly didn't want
Michael to think we were teasing him.

Michael glanced at me and then at Hailey. “Well, I can't disagree with
that. Listen. I think they might have found the hacker.”

Our mouths dropped open. “What?” we said in unison again. Sometimes it was
like we were one person.

“I heard something from Frank about a notice being sent home. He heard a
teacher talking about it near the main office. Still don't know if it's true, though.”
Michael looked at me. I wondered if he was thinking what I was thinking.

“Now the day's going to go so slowly. I wish I didn't know that!” I
cried.

“But did you see all the comments posted about our article already?” he
said, his face lighting up. “You're a rock star!” He gave me that secret
I-can-read-your-mind look again. I stood still, a little in shock with all the
information coming at me. Was he talking about the Dear Know-It-All letter? I decided to
ignore it.

“You mean you're both rock stars! But not like that dope who wrote in the
letter to Know-It-All,” Hailey said. “Maybe Rock Star was the hacker!”

“All I know is that I'm glad I'm not that kind of rock star. Hopefully,
after the hacker gets revealed it will stop anyone who's thinking of cheating right in
their tracks.”

“Yeah,” said Hailey. “The stupidity of some people astounds me.”

“But I liked Know-It-All's response. Rather than just trying to make Rock
Star feel like an idiot, which is probably what I would have done, she gave some good,
well-thought-out advice,” Michael said.

She? Did he know? “Okay!” I yelled, and both Hailey and Michael turned to
me, startled. “Um, got to go take that wonderful math test again!” Michael always said
stuff that made me think he was on to me.

“Right,” Hailey said sort of slowly, trying to figure out why I was
freaking out.

“Good luck!” Michael called after us.

We hurried to our classes and only because she was probably feeling
nervous for her test, she didn't grill me about my strange behavior. We wished each
other luck and rushed into our classrooms.

I felt better about this test than the last one, even though a little part
of me hated to admit it, since the hacker was the one who'd given me this opportunity. I
was more familiar with the concepts (Hailey was right!) and I was able to dive right in.
After all the tests were handed in, Mrs. Birnbaum sat on the edge on her desk, took off
her black glasses, and addressed the class.

“So we've certainly learned something through this process,” she said.
“I'd love you all to take a look at Samantha Martone and Michael Lawrence's fantastic
article covering the story. It really opens up a great discussion about this incident.
One you all, I hope, will continue having, so we never find ourselves in this spot
again. The Know-It-All letter is also a great one that illustrates the same topic. I
think most discussions around these articles will lead to one conclusion: that cheaters
always lose.”