“We already covered that,” Peter says wearily. “We do that story in nearly every issue. Doesn’t make any difference.”

“Oh, but it does,” says a nerdly kid with the requisite safety glasses. “Two years ago the school agreed to allow healthy vending machines in the cafeteria. So at least we can get sunflower seeds.”

Aha. So that’s the reason we have a group of students who are constantly nibbling sunflower seeds like a colony of gerbils.

“How about gym?” says a girl whose hair is pulled back into a tight braid. “Why don’t we lobby for a workout video instead of basketball?”

“I don’t think many guys want to do aerobics in gym,” Peter says drily.

“Isn’t it stupid to write about things that people can do at home anyway?” points out the nerdly kid. “It would be like forcing everyone to take laundry.”

“And it is all about choice, right?” says the freshman. “Which reminds me. I think we should do the story about the cheerleader discrimination suit.”

“Oh, that.” Peter sighs. “Carrie, what do you think?”

“Didn’t someone try to pass the cheerleader antidiscrimination act last year and it failed?”

“We won’t give up,” insists the freshman girl. “The cheerleading team discriminates against ugly people. It’s unconstitutional.”

“Is it?” Peter asks.

“I think there should be a law against ugly girls in general,” the nerdly kid says, and begins panting loudly in what appears to pass for a laugh.

Peter gives him a dirty look and turns to the freshman. “Gayle, I thought we discussed this. You can’t use the school newspaper to further the causes of your family. We all know your sister wants to be a cheerleader and that Donna LaDonna has rejected her twice. If she wasn’t your sister, you might have something. But she is. So it makes it look like the newspaper is trying to force the cheerleading squad to take her. It goes against every journalistic convention...”

“How?” I ask, suddenly interested. Especially as it sounds like Peter is trying to protect Donna LaDonna. “Isn’t the whole point of journalism to make people aware of the wrongdoings in the world? And wrongdoings do begin at home. They begin right here at Castlebury High.”

“She’s right!” exclaims the nerdly guy, thumping his fist on the table.

“Okay, Carrie,” Peter says, annoyed. “You take the story.”

“Oh no. Can’t do that,” Ms. Smidgens says, stepping in. “I know Carrie’s a senior, but as a new member of the paper, she has to do layout.”

I shrug pleasantly, as if I don’t mind at all.

A few minutes later, Gayle and I are relegated to a corner of the room to move around sections of type on a large piece of lined paper. The job is unbearably tedious, and I look over at Gayle, who is frowning, either in concentration or anger. She’s at the apex of the worst stage of being a teenage girl, meaning she has blemishes, greasy hair, and a face that hasn’t yet caught up to her nose.

“Typical, isn’t it?” I say. “They always make the girls do the most unimportant job.”

“If they don’t make me a reporter next year, I’m going to start a petition,” she says fiercely.

“Hmmmm. I’ve always thought there were two ways of getting what you wanted in life. Forcing people to give it to you, or making them want to give it to you. Seems the latter is usually the better choice. I bet if you talked to Ms. Smidgens, she’d help you out. She seems pretty reasonable.”

“She’s not so bad. It’s Peter.”

“That so?”

“He refuses to give me a chance.”

Suspecting, perhaps, that we’re talking about him, Peter strolls over. “Carrie, you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” I say airily. “I love arts and crafts.”

“You do?” Gayle asks when Peter walks away.

“Are you kidding? My worst nightmare was those relief maps. And I failed sewing when I was in the Girl Scouts.”

Little Gayle giggles. “Me too. I mean, I want to be Barbara Walters when I grow up, even if everyone does make fun of her. I wonder if she ever had to do this?”

“Probably. And probably a lot of other worse things as well.”

“You think?” Gayle asks, encouraged.

“I know,” I say, just for the hell of it. We work in silence for another minute, and then I ask, “What’s this thing with your sister and Donna LaDonna?”

She looks at me suspiciously. “Do you know my sister?”

“Sure.” It’s a bit of a lie. I don’t really know her, but I’m aware of who she is. Gayle’s sister has to be a senior named Ramona who looks just like Gayle, albeit a slightly less pimply and more refined version. I never paid that much attention to her because she moved here during our freshman year and immediately made other friends.

“She’s a really good gymnast,” Gayle says. “I mean, she was, back in New Jersey. When she was thirteen, she was the all-around state champion.”

I’m surprised. “Why isn’t she on the gymnastics team, then?”

“She grew. She got hips. And boobs. Something happened with her center of gravity.”

“I see.”

“But she’s still really good at doing splits and cartwheels and all the things cheerleaders do. She tried out for the cheerleading squad and was sure she’d make it because she’s so much better than the other girls, like Donna LaDonna, who can’t even do a full split. But she wasn’t even picked for Junior Varsity. She tried out again, last year, and afterward, Donna LaDonna went up to her and told her right to her face that she wasn’t going to make it because she wasn’t pretty enough.”

“She came right out and said it?” I gasp, astonished.

Gayle nods. “She said, and I quote, ‘You’re not pretty enough to make the squad, so don’t waste your time and ours.’”

“Wow. What did your sister do?”

“She told the principal.”

I nod, thinking maybe this is typical Ramona behavior, always tattling to an adult, and that’s why they didn’t want her on the team. But still. “What did the principal say?”

“He said he couldn’t get involved in ‘girl stuff.’ And my sister said it was discrimination, pure and simple. Discrimination against girls who don’t have straight hair and tiny noses and perfect boobs. And he laughed.”

“He’s a bastard. Everyone knows that.”

“But it doesn’t make it right. So my sister has been trying to get this discrimination suit going.”

“And you’re going to write about it.”

“I would, except Peter won’t let me do it. And Donna LaDonna won’t talk to me. I mean, I’m a freshman. And then she put the word out that if anyone talks about it at all, they’ll have to deal with her.”

“Really?”

“And who wants to go up against Donna LaDonna? Let’s face it.” Gayle sighs. “She runs the school.”

“Or thinks she does, anyway.”

At that moment, Peter returns. “I’m going to meet Maggie at the Fox Run Mall. You want to come?”

“Sure,” I say, gathering my things. “I’m meeting Sebastian there anyway.”

“Bye, Carrie,” Gayle says. “It was nice to meet you. And don’t worry. I won’t try to talk to you if I see you in the hall.”

“Don’t be silly, Gayle. You come up and talk to me anytime you like.”

“Gayle probably told you all about Donna LaDonna and her sister, Ramona,” Peter says as we cross the parking lot to a rusty yellow station wagon.

“Mmmhmmm,” I murmur.

“It’s all a bunch of BS. No one is interested in that boring girl talk.”

“Is that how you think of it? As boring girl talk?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that what it is?”

I open the passenger door, knock a bunch of papers to the floor, and get in. “Funny. I always thought you were more evolved when it came to women.”

“What do you mean?” Peter pumps the gas and turns the key. It takes a few tries to get the engine going.

“I never figured you for a guy who can’t stand the sound of women’s voices. You know, those guys who tell their girlfriends to shut up when they’re trying to tell them something.”

“Who told you I was that kind of guy? Maggie? I’m not that kind of guy, I promise you.”

“Why won’t you let Gayle do her story, then? Or is this really about Donna LaDonna?”

“It has nothing to do with her,” he says, clumsily changing gears.

“How well do you know her? Honestly?”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I heard you were talking about her at Lali’s party.”

“So?”

“So Maggie is a really good friend of mine. And she’s a great girl. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

“Who says she’s going to get hurt?”

“She’d better not get hurt. That’s all.”

We drive a little farther, and then Peter says, “You don’t have to do it.”

“What?”

“Be nice to Gayle. She’s a pain in the ass. Once you talk to her, you can’t get rid of her.”

“She seems okay to me.” I give him a dirty look, remembering how he wouldn’t even take Maggie to the clinic to get the birth control pills.

And apparently, he’s feeling guilty. “If you want to write a story for the paper, you can,” he says. “I guess I sort of owe you anyway.”

“For going with Maggie to the clinic? I guess you do.”

“Isn’t it better for girls to do those things together anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I say, with a dark edge to my voice. “What if Maggie had been pregnant?”

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid. I should get points for being a good boyfriend and making her take the pill,” he says, as if he deserves a pat on the back.

Why is it always about the guy? “I think Maggie is smart enough to know she should be on the pill.”

“Hey. I didn’t mean to imply...”

“Forget about it,” I say, annoyed. I have a sudden image of that girl at the clinic, crying and crying because she’d just had an abortion. The guy who got her pregnant wasn’t with her, either. I should tell Peter about her, but I don’t know where to begin.