shocked, because he softened his voice. "Please. Please. Don't take this so personally."
I shrugged. "No, I'm not."
"This is what an editor would do to you ten minutes after hearing that you had just won the Pulitzer Prize for journalism."
I shrugged again. "It's okay. Really."
I turned the article facedown. I pointed to the back of the newsletter. "Did you look at my short feature?"
"This 'People Pieces' thing? No, that's trivia. I'm only interested in the journalism."
"Okay. Thank you, Mr. Herman. Now what should I do with this?"
"Type it up, with my changes, and give it back to me. I'll put it in your portfolio."
"Okay."
Mr. Herman looked away, into his briefcase. He pulled out a pile of journalism class papers and started to mark on them. I got out my math and Spanish books and set to work finishing my homework assignments. But my mind driftedâfirst to my mom, then to Arcane, then back to the mall newsletter. I was still trying not to take Mr. Herman's critique personally.
A strange sight greeted me when I got to the mall entrance. In the mallway, directly opposite Suzie's glass window, was a pile of television sets. The sets were stacked up three high and three wide, forming an almost perfect square. Once inside, I could see that all nine sets were turned on to the same channel, Channel 57. I could see nine separate images of Angela del Fuego, Mr. Herman's least-favorite television journalist. The sound was off, but that didn't matter. Today's topic on
Angela Live
was pretty obvious. She was interviewing a row of men who were dressed like women.
Suzie was watching the TV wall from her desk as I walked
in. She said, "I wish the sound were on. I want to hear what those guys have to say."
I said, "Can I use the computer? I have to revise my feature."
Suzie looked alarmed. "What for?"
"For class. Mr. Herman wants to put it into my portfolio."
"Will anybody else see it?"
No.
"Okay, then. Go ahead."
I logged on and located my document. Suzie called over to me, "Hey, you know what?
Angela Live
has its own website. I got onto it today. And guess what? You can see what her topics are going to be up to a week in advance. I'm glad I looked. I have a bus full of Brazilian teenagers coming in here on Friday. And guess what the topic is?"
"What?"
"'Teenagers in Brazil'! I couldn't believe my eyes. I called Sam up at Crescent and asked if I could borrow a big-screen TV for Friday. He didn't want to risk putting a big screen out in the mallway. He thinks somebody's gonna vandalize it. But he offered thisânine portable TVs. What do you think? I like it even better."
"Yeah. It looks pretty cool."
"I'm going to take the teenagers on a tour of the mall at three. It'll give me a chance to use my Spanish. I'll get them all back here at four, gathered around the TV wall, so they can watch Angela."
"Sounds okay. But, you know, they don't speak Spanish."
"Who don't?"
"The Brazilians. They speak Portuguese."
Suzie didn't want to believe me, I could tell, but she finally did. She said, "Is that right? They must understand it, though. If everybody else down there speaks it, they must understand it."
"You could give it a try." I looked back through the window. Angela del Fuego was feeling a guy's fur collar.
Suzie turned her attention to a FedEx envelope on her desk, so I got back to work on my feature. I quickly made about a dozen edits before she interrupted me again. "I helped organize a big fund-raiser last night at Marina Bay, a big political fund-raiser. People came to meet Mr. Lyons and to give him their support. You know he's running for the state senate? He has some famous campaign manager from Washington helping to get him elected. Your dad and I met him last night. His name is Philip Knowlton."
Suzie paused, as if waiting for me. I said, "Was he nice?"
She looked at me like maybe I was putting her on. But I wasn't. She answered, "He's not here to be nice, Roberta. He's here to get Mr. Lyons
I shrugged. "No, I'm not."
"This is what an editor would do to you ten minutes after hearing that you had just won the Pulitzer Prize for journalism."
I shrugged again. "It's okay. Really."
I turned the article facedown. I pointed to the back of the newsletter. "Did you look at my short feature?"
"This 'People Pieces' thing? No, that's trivia. I'm only interested in the journalism."
"Okay. Thank you, Mr. Herman. Now what should I do with this?"
"Type it up, with my changes, and give it back to me. I'll put it in your portfolio."
"Okay."
Mr. Herman looked away, into his briefcase. He pulled out a pile of journalism class papers and started to mark on them. I got out my math and Spanish books and set to work finishing my homework assignments. But my mind driftedâfirst to my mom, then to Arcane, then back to the mall newsletter. I was still trying not to take Mr. Herman's critique personally.
A strange sight greeted me when I got to the mall entrance. In the mallway, directly opposite Suzie's glass window, was a pile of television sets. The sets were stacked up three high and three wide, forming an almost perfect square. Once inside, I could see that all nine sets were turned on to the same channel, Channel 57. I could see nine separate images of Angela del Fuego, Mr. Herman's least-favorite television journalist. The sound was off, but that didn't matter. Today's topic on
Angela Live
was pretty obvious. She was interviewing a row of men who were dressed like women.
Suzie was watching the TV wall from her desk as I walked
in. She said, "I wish the sound were on. I want to hear what those guys have to say."
I said, "Can I use the computer? I have to revise my feature."
Suzie looked alarmed. "What for?"
"For class. Mr. Herman wants to put it into my portfolio."
"Will anybody else see it?"
No.
"Okay, then. Go ahead."
I logged on and located my document. Suzie called over to me, "Hey, you know what?
Angela Live
has its own website. I got onto it today. And guess what? You can see what her topics are going to be up to a week in advance. I'm glad I looked. I have a bus full of Brazilian teenagers coming in here on Friday. And guess what the topic is?"
"What?"
"'Teenagers in Brazil'! I couldn't believe my eyes. I called Sam up at Crescent and asked if I could borrow a big-screen TV for Friday. He didn't want to risk putting a big screen out in the mallway. He thinks somebody's gonna vandalize it. But he offered thisânine portable TVs. What do you think? I like it even better."
"Yeah. It looks pretty cool."
"I'm going to take the teenagers on a tour of the mall at three. It'll give me a chance to use my Spanish. I'll get them all back here at four, gathered around the TV wall, so they can watch Angela."
"Sounds okay. But, you know, they don't speak Spanish."
"Who don't?"
"The Brazilians. They speak Portuguese."
Suzie didn't want to believe me, I could tell, but she finally did. She said, "Is that right? They must understand it, though. If everybody else down there speaks it, they must understand it."
"You could give it a try." I looked back through the window. Angela del Fuego was feeling a guy's fur collar.
Suzie turned her attention to a FedEx envelope on her desk, so I got back to work on my feature. I quickly made about a dozen edits before she interrupted me again. "I helped organize a big fund-raiser last night at Marina Bay, a big political fund-raiser. People came to meet Mr. Lyons and to give him their support. You know he's running for the state senate? He has some famous campaign manager from Washington helping to get him elected. Your dad and I met him last night. His name is Philip Knowlton."
Suzie paused, as if waiting for me. I said, "Was he nice?"
She looked at me like maybe I was putting her on. But I wasn't. She answered, "He's not here to be nice, Roberta. He's here to get Mr. Lyons
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