Quite an Undertaking - Devon's Story (5 page)

Rebecca must have felt my eyes on her because she turned from her conversation and caught my gaze. I had a quick moment of panic because I felt like a peeping Tom, peeping Mary, whatever, but, thank goodness, her smile never wavered. I automatically smiled back hoping she couldn’t see my face turning red across the lunch tables. She gestured to her hair, and that confused me for a second until she mouthed the words, “I like it.” The highlights. She had noticed.

“Thanks,” I mouthed back.

We continued to smile at each other across the tables until Jessie came back. Rebecca didn’t look my way again, and it felt like somebody had turned the lights out.

“Hey,” Gail said, “what happened with Mrs. Gibson this morning?”

Her voice startled me back to my own table. I hoped she hadn’t seen me smiling at Rebecca, but why should that bother her? Rebecca was just another kid at school. Except for the fact that I melted down completely whenever I looked at her.

I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t tossed off the paper, if that’s why you’re asking.” I grinned wide.

“Excellent, excellent. So what did happen?”

“She promoted me to girls’ sports editor.”

“Get out!” Gail dropped her sandwich on her lunch bag and whirled to face me. “That’s awesome.” She leaned over and hugged me. I hugged her back, but hoped Rebecca wasn’t watching. I didn’t want her to think that Gail was my girlfriend or anything. I almost laughed out loud. The chance that Rebecca was family, a member of the church, a card-carrying gay girl was microscopic. I shook my head to get out the cobwebs.

“Um, Devon?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you know about sports?”

I laughed. “Not a thing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Except I sometimes watch tennis on TV,” I offered.

“Oh, that makes you qualified, I’m sure.” Gail rolled her eyes and turned to Travis. “Can you believe that? Sports editor?”

Travis smiled. “That’s cool. When do you start?”

“Tomorrow, I guess. I have to tell Mrs. Gibson tomorrow morning that I’m going to do it.”

Travis asked me why Mrs. Gibson promoted me in the middle of the year, so I told them about Melissa Cox moving and how Mike Reynolds offered to help me get started.

“You should ask him out,” Gail blurted.

I almost choked on my sandwich “What?”

“Mike Reynolds. You should ask him out. He’s cute, and he’s so nice. I have English with him.”

I raised my eyebrows at her in disbelief, but she just shrugged. “You need to be in a relationship. It’s about time you had somebody.”

I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, except, Yeah, and she’s sitting about four tables that way.

THE LESSON ON conjugating the subjunctive was apparently finished for the class period because Madame Depardieu put the dry erase marker onto the white board tray and walked to her desk. When she picked up a stack of papers, I groaned. Worksheets. I hated worksheets.

Mme Depardieu was a short stout woman with long black hair sprinkled with gray. She tied her hair back every day, but by the time eighth period rolled around, loose sprigs sprang everywhere. I saw her once at the beginning of the school day and almost didn’t recognize her because her hair was so neat and tidy.

“
Votre attention, s'il vous plaît.
” Mme Depardieu started counting out enough papers for each row. “Please get zis pehrmission slip signed right away. Euh, we are going to zee power dam on zeh St. Lawrence River zeh day before Zhanksgiving vacation.”

I sighed in relief. They weren’t worksheets.

Rebecca sat in the front row of the classroom while I sat in the back. She took the stack of permission slips from Mme Depardieu and turned all the way around in her seat to pass them to the girl behind her. I didn’t want to seem stalkerish, so I kept my gaze on Mme Depardieu, but I smirked in triumph when Rebecca looked my way. At least I think she looked my way. It might have been wishful thinking, but I couldn’t help the perma-grin creeping onto my face. My grin screamed so loudly that I barely heard Mme Depardieu gushing about her favorite Frenchmen Jacques Cartier and André Masséna.

Mme Depardieu called for our attention again. “Please get zee, euh, pahrent signature right away.” Her Québec accent was thick, but at this point, I pretty much understood everything she said in English. “You’ll miss pehriods one through four, and, euh, we’ll be back sometime during pehriod five. You should bring your lunch wiz you in case we get back late.” This elicited a few groans from my classmates, but as long as Gail’s brother didn’t make my lunch I’d be okay.

I wondered slyly if I could get my mom or dad to write me a note excusing me from the trip, so I could work on the newspaper instead. I had a feeling girls’ sports at Grasse River High School were going to take over my life. As soon as the thought came, though, I almost smacked myself in the head. Rebecca would be on the field trip, so forget it. A field trip with Rebecca was way better than editing copy.

I tucked the permission slip into my assignment book and wrote in the little Monday square allocated for French, “Get Permission Slip Signed Tonight!!!!” I put four exclamation points and a little smiley face in the square.

With only a couple of minutes left to the period, Mme Depardieu let us pack up and walk around the classroom. We weren’t allowed to leave until the bell rang, so I put my assignment book in my backpack and dared to look toward Rebecca. She zipped up her own backpack, stood up, and headed right for me. I found myself leaning back in my chair almost trying to get away.

Rebecca smiled when she reached me. “Your hair looks great, Devon. It brings out your pretty brown eyes.”

I gulped, but hoped she hadn’t seen. I knew my cheeks were turning red because my face got hot all of a sudden. “Thanks, my sister did it for me.”

“Oh, I saw your sister at the...”

She didn’t finish her sentence, but I knew she was going to say “funeral.” I nodded and then dropped my head. “Yeah...” I wanted to say something more, but I got that choked up feeling again.

She sat in the empty seat next to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re okay, Devon. Just breathe, okay?”

I almost melted at the compassion in her eyes. My pulse raced so fast I thought I would pass out. Rebecca Washington’s hand was on my shoulder—I almost couldn’t deal, but I took a deep breath and nodded to her that I was okay.

The bell was going to ring in a matter of seconds, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and I desperately didn’t want to leave our conversation hanging on my grandmother’s funeral.

Her look of sympathy when she said, “Are you okay?” almost tipped me over.

I took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m doing a lot of breathing these days.”

She laughed. My heart melted inside my chest. I had just made Rebecca laugh.

She said, “It works, doesn’t it?” She took her hand off my shoulder, and the spot felt distractingly cold.

Without much thought I blurted, “I’m the new girls’ sports editor for the Gazette.” Okay, it wasn’t a smooth transition, but at least my brain had come up with something to say.

“Wow! Congratulations. You could use a distraction about now, couldn’t you?” I nodded. What she didn’t know, and what no one else knew either, was that she was becoming my main distraction.

“You know, Devon, I’m good friends with Jessie Crowler. She’s the captain of the basketball team, and I could ask her to talk to you if you want. I don’t know, like an interview or something?”

“Absolutely. That would be great. I have to set up a winter sports preview for basketball, so that’d be cool.”

“Okay. I’ll ask her.” She patted my shoulder again.

When the bell rang, she stood up and headed back up the aisle. I watched Rebecca’s back as she left the classroom. She moved so gracefully. She opened the classroom door, and I was surprised to see Jessie leaning against the wall waiting for her. They started to walk off together, but then Jessie turned her head and sneered at me. My fists clenched. For a second, I couldn’t place the reason for my instant anger until I realized what it was. Jealousy. And I had it bad.

BY THURSDAY MORNING, I felt like I’d been the girls’ sports editor for two weeks instead of two days. My training with Melissa Cox after school on Tuesday and again on Wednesday had been rapid and intense. She had only been the sports editor for two months, but she showed me so much in those two afternoons that I knew I could do the job. Of course, I could always call Missy for advice. She was connected to her cell phone. I also had Mike, four computers away. In fact, I already had a question for him. I just hoped he didn’t take my attention the wrong way.

I scooted my chair toward him.

“Hang on.” He put one finger in the air and finished typing a sentence about the wrestling team. “Okay, what’s up?” He looked at me as if my question was the most important thing in the world to him at that moment. That, of course, made me feel like a jerk for not liking him as more than a friend.

I cleared my throat. “I emailed all the girls’ sports reporters about their fall wrap-ups. So that’s done. Do you think I should go to the fall sports banquet on the Monday before Thanksgiving?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Mrs. Gibson told me that the reporters are usually on the team, like I’m the boys’ cross-country reporter. She said the reporters tend to get caught up with the dinner and forget details like what place they came in, or who made the all-county team.”

“Pretty major.” “No kidding. So, yeah, you should go. The boys’ banquet is the next night, and I’ll be going to that.” “Cool. You know I’ll have more questions, don’t you?” “Anytime. I’m glad to help.” As I scooted back to my station, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he continued to watch me. I pretended not to notice and made a mental note to try to get answers from other people, even if I had to ask Mrs. Gibson, because I didn’t want to give him false hope. I pulled out my assignment book. In the Thursday square under Journalism I wrote, “Go to Gym Today. Sign up for Girls Banquet.” I’d probably go to the P.E. office right after school.

Mrs. Gibson began her daily patrol, so I jammed my assignment book in my backpack and clicked open the girls’ sports folder. The varsity and junior varsity wrap-ups for four sports—cheerleading, volleyball, cross-country, and soccer— were complete. The junior varsity golf article was finished, but the varsity article was on hold because the team had to make up a match against Tupper Lake on Saturday. Joey Pitone, the golf reporter, promised to get the article in the folder on Monday. I had plenty of articles to read over the weekend, so I told him that Monday would be soon enough. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to get all mean and bossy if his article was late.

Mrs. Gibson hovered behind me. “Devon, are the editor passwords working?”

“Yes, thank you. I only need two more articles. Varsity golf and varsity field hockey.”

“Oh, field hockey,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “That team is never done by the deadline. I assume they made the playoffs again?”

“Yes, the playoffs start next week.” The field hockey team probably had as many trophies down in the gym as Mrs. Gibson had journalism trophies in her classroom. Mrs. Gibson even had trophies dating as far back as 1980.

“Well, if they’re not done by press time you’ll have to finish the article with an editor’s note.”

I felt powerful all of a sudden. “What should it say?”

“Oh, something along the lines of ‘The field hockey team had not completed its season by press time.’”

I hoped the team’s season would be done, though, not that I wanted them to lose in the playoffs or anything, but I wanted my first issue to be complete.

“Oh, and Melissa Cox said you caught on rather quickly.”

I nodded. “She showed me everything. I didn’t realize how much an editor did.”

“A lot of hard work goes into putting out a newspaper, Devon. It’s not all glamour and glitz.”

Glamour and glitz? I held back a smile. “I’m learning that.”

I turned back to my computer, and Mrs. Gibson continued her patrolling.

I had only been editor for two days, but I wanted my first issue as sports editor to be perfect. I guess I caught that disease from Missy. When she was editor, she always stayed up late working on the computer in our room. I used to complain about it, but eventually I just turned toward the wall and put a pillow over my head, so I could sleep. Now it would be me at the computer late at night.

In our session on Wednesday afternoon, Melissa suggested I highlight the girls’ basketball team for the winter sports preview because they were supposed to go all the way to the state tournament. Of course, thinking about the basketball team made me think about Rebecca which, unfortunately, made me think about how stupidly jealous I had gotten over Jessie on Monday. They were probably friends like me and Gail. No big deal, right? I had to be careful because I didn’t want to scare Rebecca off by being frosty to her friends, even though Jessie, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to like me very much. I think Rebecca liked me though. Maybe not in that way, but at least she smiled at me and asked me if I was okay. Later on in French class, I wasn’t sure how I’d answer if she asked me how I was because we buried my grandmother exactly one week before.

Wallowing in the one-week anniversary of my grandmother’s burial would have to wait. I had articles to edit. I clicked open the varsity volleyball article and started reading. After two paragraphs of run-on sentences, misspelled words, missing commas, and dangling prepositions I sighed and realized editing might be tougher than I thought. The reporters had to fix their own text, but it was my job to find a way to help them do that. Somehow, I’d have to find a subtle way to convey the finer points of grammar to the girl who had written the article. I was glad for the distraction.

IT TOOK ABOUT a year, but my eighth period French class finally arrived. When Rebecca walked in the classroom, she hesitated by her desk, but then kept walking. She stood beside the open desk next to me. “Is this seat taken?”