Front Page Face-Off by Jo Whittemore Page A

conspiratorially. “And rumor has it that a certain editor and his new girlfriend will be there and there may be a few sea turtles as well.”
    â€œReally.” My fingers curled around the edges of the pictures. “How interesting.”

Chapter Seven

    As I rummaged through my closet for Twilight Surf clothes, I gave serious thought to blowing my whistle. On the list of Little Debbie emergency situations, I was certain that fashion crises ranked somewhere between breakups and bad facials.
    Even though I owned enough khaki to outfit a preppy army, my wardrobe suffered from a severe lack of sundresses, skirts, or anything remotely feminine. Nobody, in my opinion, would take a reporter in a halter top seriously.
    After waffling between a dress with a lace collar and a skirt coveredin smiling ladybugs, I chose the lesser of the two embarrassments and slipped into the dress.
    When I strolled into the kitchen, Major had his head buried in the refrigerator, so I tapped him on the shoulder.
    â€œBye, Major! I’ll be back after dinner.”
    I managed three steps toward the door before I heard him say, “Hold up there, Delilah.”
    I scowled at the ceiling before turning around. “Yes?”
    Major stood “at ease,” legs apart and arms folded behind his back. “You’re wearing one of your old dresses.”
    I glanced down as if noticing it for the first time. “Yes.”
    â€œTo the beach.”
    My weight shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes.”
    Major leaned forward and, in a voice barely above a whisper, asked, “Why?”
    â€œBecause …” My hands went to the lace collar, which now felt like a noose. “Most girls … I mean, this guy …”
    From the look on Major’s face, I knew there was no right answer.
    â€œDelilah,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of you changing yourself for anybody .” He frowned. “Especially if it means you’ll be dressing like an urban pilgrim.”
    â€œPilgrims don’t wear sneakers,” I pointed out.
    Major turned me to face my bedroom. “Into your normal clothes, please.”
    Fifteen minutes later, I was stepping onto a city bus with Jenner, wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt.
    â€œYou look nice,” she said. “That outfit is very you.”
    â€œBut it’s the me Ben already knows,” I countered. “The simple Delilah who threw up in his living room. I want him to see a more sophisticated Delilah.”
    Jenner blinked at me. “You’re twelve. Sophisticated doesn’t happen until college.”
    I regarded my reflection in the bus window. “Ava’s sophisticated.”
    â€œBlah. Ava’s an alien from the planet Pretentious.” She dug into her beach bag and pulled out a magazine and a pack of licorice.
    â€œWhat’s this about?” I took the magazine from her.
    It was the same issue Paige had shown me the day before but with some of the pages marked by scraps of paper. “You never read these kinds of magazines.”
    â€œMy mom got me a subscription over the summer.” She snapped a licorice whip in half with her teeth. “And I found some articles that made me think of you.”
    I flipped through the marked pages, reading the headlines.
    peer pressure: the personality killer.
    the good girl’s guide to getting what you want.
    squashing the jealousy bug.
    I lowered the magazine and fixed Jenner with a steely gaze. “What a thoughtful friend you are.”
    She sighed. “I’m just looking out for you.”
    â€œNo, you’re pointing out what you think is wrong with me!” The bus driver glanced at us in the mirror, and I lowered my voice. “ None of these articles apply. I mean, they’re even more irrelevant than this .” I jabbed at an article entitled “The 411 on Flirting.”
    â€œFine.” Jenner focused all her attention on