Reluctantly Alice by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

after Marilyn broke up with me, and one of the guys knew this girl who had a sister who had a friend . . . That kind of thing. It was Crystal.”
    Lester and I sat down across the table from each other, putting some food aside for Dad because he was working late.
    â€œWhat’s going to happen with you and Crystal and Marilyn?” I asked him.
    I thought he might tell me it was none of my business, but he didn’t.
    â€œIt’s up to Marilyn now,” he said. “I told her if she’s ready to get engaged, I’ll give her a ring and give up Crystal. If she’s not . . . well, I don’t want to be jilted again.”
    I picked up all the little pieces of cheese on my plate, mashed them with my finger, and put them in my mouth all at once. “What did she say, Les?”
    â€œShe’s thinking about it. The ball’s in her court.”
    â€œI like them both,” I said. “A lot .”
    â€œYeah, that’s the trouble. So do I.”
    The next day at school, something absolutely wonderful happened. The cafeteria was serving hamburgers on poppy-seed rolls, the only food they make that’s any good, and Pamela and Elizabeth and I had just eaten ours and were heading outside, sharing a bag of Fritos, when we saw two ninth-grade boys standing in the doorway. I noticed that one of them was holding a notebook and pen, and the other had a camera. Just as we reached the door, the one with the pen said, “Hi. You a seventh grader?”
    I waited for Pamela or Elizabeth to answer, then realized he was looking right at me. I nodded.
    â€œWell, I’m a roving reporter for the Eagle and this is our photographer. I wondered if we could interview you for the school paper.”
    I stared. “Me?”
    â€œIf you don’t mind,” he said. “We choose a different person every issue—help students get acquainted.”
    Not Pamela with her long blond hair? Not Elizabeth with her creamy complexion and thick black eyelashes? Me, Alice McKinley, with this sort of blondish-reddish hair and freckles?
    â€œUh . . . I guess so,” I said. We went out in the hall, where Pamela and Elizabeth sat down on a bench to wait.
    I sat down on another bench facing the reporter while the photographer tinkered with his camera.
    â€œOkay now,” the reporter said. “You’re . . .”
    â€œAlice McKinley,” I said, and spelled it for him.
    â€œWhat are your favorite subjects?”
    â€œUh . . . Language Arts and Life Science. I guess.”
    â€œWorst subject?”
    â€œWorld Studies.” Oh, boy, wouldn’t I be popular with Hensley when he read that.
    â€œJoined any clubs yet?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œWhat do you think of junior high so far?”
    The interview lasted about five minutes. Every time I gave an answer, I realized how stupid it would look in the paper and wished I’d said something else. The boy with the camera took three different pictures of me and saidhe’d print the best one. Then the interview was over and they left. Pamela and Elizabeth rushed over.
    â€œAlice!” Pamela squealed. “You’re going to be in the newspaper!”
    â€œWhat did they ask?” Elizabeth cried.
    â€œWhat did you say?” both of them asked together.
    I could feel my face blushing, and told them everything I could remember.
    â€œWhy do you suppose they chose you?” asked Pamela finally.
    I guess that wasn’t exactly a compliment. I would have liked to think it was my beautiful smile or my glowing hair or my gorgeous figure or something. But I was so excited and surprised, I didn’t worry too much about it. I was going to be in the paper !
    There was a pep rally that afternoon. Everybody had to go, but I didn’t mind. I practically floated to the top row of the bleachers, anyway, I felt so high. The band was playing the school song, and I could see Patrick playing the cymbals.
    What a pep