Front Page Face-Off by Jo Whittemore Page B

shredding her licorice into strands. “Sorry.”
    Seeing the embarrassed look on her face, I wilted. “No, I’m sorry. You’re just trying to help.”
    She nodded. “I want you to beat Ava, but I don’t want you to forget about the real reason you’re doing it.”
    I gave her a questioning look, and she rolled her eyes. “The newspaper !”
    â€œRight! No, I won’t,” I promised. “In fact, I’m going to interview Katie while I’m there and see if I can learn more about Hot Stuff.”
    â€œGood!” She smiled and returned her attention to a novel that had a decapitated princess on the cover.
    To humor Jenner, I decided to read one of the articles she’d marked for me … until my eyes were drawn to the opposite page blasting the 411 on flirting.
    It was laid out like a comic strip, featuring a girl shooting
a heart-shaped arrow at a boy. They didn’t look a thing like me or Ben—but that didn’t stop me from making the comparison. When I glanced at the rules for flirting, they seemed simple and straightforward:
Be approachable. Flip that hair, show those pearly whites, and laugh it up. Guys love girls who know how to have fun.
Maintain eye contact. Guys want to know you’re focused on them and only them.
Compliment, compliment, compliment!
Flattery will get you everywhere.
Actions speak louder than words. Touch his arm and create that personal connection to let him know you’re interested.
Be his mirror so that your body language matches his. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and, as we all know, flattery will get you everywhere.
    Jenner bumped my elbow. “Come on. This is our stop.”
    I closed the magazine before I reached the end of the comic, but I knew the girl had won the heart of the boy. And if a one-dimensional scribble could get what she was after, it couldn’t be that difficult for me, could it?
    Jenner and I grabbed our beach bags and trudged toward a big painted banner that read twilight surf in sickly green letters. Once the sun went down, the paint would make the words glow in the dark, like miniature moons.
    Twilight Surf was the annual opportunity for the seventh graders at Brighton to mingle with the students from their next stage of learning, Woodcliff Finishing School. Naturally, there was a surfing competition, but there were also bonfires, barbecues, and plenty of chances to be seen. Several girls had already set up their beach gear near the lifeguard stand where the Woodcliff guys hung out.
    â€œWhere should we go?” I asked Jenner.
    â€œWell, I have to sign in for the competition first.” She pointed to her parents’ surf shop, Jenner’s Bay, where a line of teenage guys and girls flowed out the door and onto the sand. “Do you want to come with me?”
    I slid on my sunglasses to block the last rays of light and glanced around. “I think I’m going to see if I can find Katie.”
    Jenner nodded. “Head toward the shore. She’ll probably be camped out there, waiting for turtles.”
    We separated and I picked my way down the rocky slope toward the sand, checking each group of girls I passed for one with short, punky hair.
    And then I saw her.
    Ava, in another strapless dress, was chatting up a group of girls all wearing the same T-shirt with a large pair of wings patterned on the back. She looked infuriatingly pretty with her dark hair pulled into a messy bun and her French sophistication oozing out of every pore of her body. The other girls wore flip-flops, but Ava wore high-heeled sandals. Their beach towels were simple, funky colors, but Ava’s had a massive print of the Eiffel Tower.
    Slowly and quietly, I lowered my bag to the ground and opened it to grab my towel. Neither Ava nor the Angels had noticed me yet, and if I set up a towel behind them, I could probably hear their entire conversation and learn Ava’s plan of