Tabloidology Read online

  At the other end of the school was Martin Wettmore. Wearing a dress shirt, a tie and a blue blazer, he sat behind a table, resting his hands on a stack of papers next to a sign: The latest issue of the Upland Green Examiner ON SALE NOW!

  He held up a copy and waved it at anyone who walked past. “Paper! Get your paper! The latest news about our great school. Only twenty-five cents! Read all about the junior soccer team’s latest game. Hear all about Mrs. Donnelly’s class making a papier-mâché dinosaur. Read next week’s weather forecast. You won’t want to miss this week’s newspaper!”

  Unfortunately, no one cared if they did miss this week’s newspaper. Martin might as well have been invisible. No one even slowed down on their way to the girls’ washroom.

  “Oh, come on!” Martin said. “It’s only twenty-five cents! And it’s full of really interesting stories!” Martin’s hand tightened its grip on the copy of the paper. He waved it about and said, “None of you know what you’re missing! This is the best edition of the newspaper ever! This time, I even started a Knock-Knock Joke of the Week feature. And there’s a contest too! Match the teacher with their baby picture. It’s interesting!

  It’s really, really interesting!”

  Someone did finally stop at Martin’s table. It was Trixi Wilder. She snatched a copy of the newspaper off the top of the pile and began to read through it.

  “Hey! If you want to read it, you have to pay for it,” Martin said. He reached out to grab the paper, but Trixi took two steps back without looking up.

  Once she’d read through all four pages of the paper, she slapped it back down on the pile. “Tell me something, Marty. There are four pages of school news in here and not one mention of me! Didn’t you hear about the special guest speaker I brought to our class last Monday?”

  “I can’t include everything that happens around the school in the paper,” Martin said. “Ms. Baumgartner only allows me four pages, so I have to choose what I think are the most important stories to put in the paper.”

  “You consider a story about a papier-mâché dinosaur more important than my guest speaker?” Trixi said. “Come on, Marty. The guy brought his Harley to school and rode it down the hall and right into room thirty-six! Plus, he had a tattoo of a dolphin. You know how everyone loves dolphins!”

  “It’s not just about what one person finds interesting,” Martin said. “I have to choose stories that are important to everyone in the school. That’s what journalists do. And anyway, I don’t believe he rode his motorcycle down the hall. Ms. Baumgartner would never allow that.”

  “Okay, then. If the stories you choose to put in your paper are so important, then why doesn’t anyone ever buy your newspaper?” Trixi said.

  “You think nobody’s buying my paper, Trixi? Ha! Just take a look,” Martin said. He waved a copy of the newspaper at Brad Wells as he headed past, on his way to the excitement outside the girls’ washroom. “Hey, Brad! How about buying a copy of this week’s paper? This edition is full of fascinating features! Absolutely fascinating!”

  “Yeah, right!” Trixi said. “Really fascinating. Except he left out the very most exciting thing that happened in the school this week!”

  “Don’t listen to her, Brad. Just have a look at what’s actually on the front page.” Brad hesitated and looked as Martin held up the paper.

  “If you’re looking for a story about a Harley doing a wheelie down the main hall last Monday, you won’t find it,” Trixi said. “You also won’t see a story about the potbellied pig I brought to school dressed up as Cupid on Valentine’s Day. And you won’t see a story about the spectacular magic show I did for the kindergarten class.”

  “There were reasons they weren’t reported, Trixi. The pig made a mess, and you set the kindergartners’ building blocks on fire!” Martin said. “Come on, Brad. This edition is really good! Please buy a paper!” But Brad shook his head and walked on.

  Martin sighed, his arms hanging limply by his sides. After taking a deep breath, he tried again.

  “Hey, Trisha! You should buy a paper. Your name’s in it! I wrote a story about your class’s field trip to the wallpaper factory!” Trisha never even slowed down.

  Finally, Martin saw a ray of hope. The principal was heading his way. When Trixi saw Ms. Baumgartner, she made a quick exit, scooting off in the opposite direction.

  “Hey, Ms. Baumgartner!” Martin said. “You’ve got to see the latest edition of the Upland Green Examiner. It’s the best edition yet! You’ll find it very interesting reading.”

  Ms. Baumgartner took a copy off the top of the pile and handed Martin a quarter. “It doesn’t look like you’ve sold many papers, Martin. How many is it this week?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly keeping track,” he said.

  Ms. Baumgartner quickly flipped through the four pages, nodding and smiling as she read. “Once again, you’ve maintained your high standards of spelling and grammar, Martin. Very well done,” she said.

  “Thank you, Ms. Baumgartner. I think this week’s edition has some particularly interesting stories, as well. I think you’ll find the story about the class trip to the wallpaper factory fascinating.”

  “Hmm,” Ms. Baumgartner replied. “Next week, you might want to print fewer copies, Martin. All these unsold papers just end up in the recycling. And every copy costs the school money.”

  “But Ms. Baumgartner, I wouldn’t want the paper to sell out. I couldn’t sleep knowing that some students never got a chance to read about what’s happening around their school!”

  “We’ll talk about this later, Martin,” the principal replied. “There’s a little problem down at the girls’ washroom I have to clear up.”

  As the principal headed off, Martin waved a copy of his newspaper and shouted, “Get your paper here! Parking Lot Lines Repainted. Read all about it in the Upland Green Examiner!”

  The crowd outside the girls’ washroom parted when Ms. Baumgartner arrived. “Excuse me, kids,” she said. “I have a small plumbing problem to attend to.” Inside the washroom, she stopped and listened.

  “Stuck in this washroom

  I’m so full of gloom.

  But although I’ve been flushed,

  I’ll never be hushed!”

  Ms. Baumgartner walked to the middle cubicle, lifted the lid off the toilet tank and pulled out a garbage bag containing a cassette recorder. She held the dripping bag at arm’s length as she left the washroom, walked through the crowd in the hall and headed back to her office.

  Moments later, her voice could be heard throughout the school over the pa system. “Could I please have everyone’s attention? The problem in the girls’ washroom has now been fixed. And could Trixi Wilder please report to the office as soon as possible. Thank you.”

  A few minutes later, Trixi waltzed through the office door. The school secretary, Mrs. Sledge, said, “I think you know where to sit.” Trixi stepped into the principal’s office and flopped down on a small, yellow, plastic chair.

  Ms. Baumgartner was hunched over her desk, flipping through a file folder stuffed with reports, letters and test results. Across the top of the folder the name BEATRIX HILDEGARD WILDER was written in bold, bright red letters.

  The principal looked up from her desk and picked the dripping garbage bag containing the cassette recorder up off the floor. “I suppose this was your poetry assignment for Mrs. Green,” she said.

  “How do you know it was me?” Trixi said.

  “Even coming out of a toilet tank, I’d recognize your voice, Trixi.”

  “Okay, so it was me. But I was just doing what Mrs. Green asked.”

  “I appreciate your creativity, but I’ll let Mrs. Green be the judge of your poetry. My concern is with the location of your poetry reading. You do realize that having a voice coming out of the back of a toilet was a terrifying experience for many of the other students.”

  “Yeah, but you have to admit,” Trixi said, “no one in the school has ever heard poetry coming out of the back o
f a toilet. It was a first for the school, right?”

  “There’s no denying it was a first for this school.” Ms. Baumgartner shuffled through the papers in the file folder. “In fact, many of the things you’ve done since arriving at Upland Green School have been ‘firsts.’ I appreciate your tremendous creativity, but you have to think of the consequences of your actions.”

  “But most of the kids like what I do. Everyone’s still talking about that lunch-hour baseball game we played with the water-filled balloons,” Trixi said. “And a bunch of other kids are asking me when I can bring Curly to school again.”

  “Curly? Who’s Curly?” Ms. Baumgartner said.

  “The pig I dressed up as Cupid for Valentine’s Day.”

  “Oh, yes. How could I forget?” Ms. Baumgartner said.

  “The point is, Trixi, as principal, my job is to provide a place where students can learn and teachers can teach without distractions. If someone disrupts the school and interrupts learning, then it is my job to deal with the problem. Do you understand?”

  Trixi nodded. She’d heard this speech from Ms. Baumgartner about a million times.

  “And furthermore,” Ms. Baumgartner said, “I am wondering why an energetic creative student like you refuses to apply herself to schoolwork. There are so many good things you could do in this school with your abilities. Take Martin Wettmore, for example. Look at the wonderful school newspaper he’s produced each and every week since he arrived at the school last year.”

  “Yeah, right. The newspaper no one ever reads,” Trixi said.

  “That’s not the point, Trixi,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “Martin puts a great deal of effort into our school newspaper.”

  “Maybe no one buys it because Martin Wettmore never writes about anything that’s interesting. Maybe he can spell syzygy with his eyes shut, but when someone like me sets off a Roman candle at sports day, do you think he’ll put it in the paper? Forget it! His paper is just plain boring.”

  “Now, Trixi, don’t be so hard on Martin. He works hard at that paper, and his writing abilities are something we should all aspire to.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Trixi said. “Don’t you think spelling and grammar are just a little overrated?”

  Before Ms. Baumgartner could reply, there was a knock on her office door. It was Mrs. Sledge. “Excuse me, Ms. Baumgartner, but the new photocopier technician is here. He was wondering about the problem with the photocopier.”

  Standing behind Mrs. Sledge was a tall gangly man with a long gray beard and scraggly hair. He was wearing a moth-eaten gray suit much too small for his lanky arms and legs.

  “Merlin Pen, at your service!” he said, stepping forward and shaking Ms. Baumgartner’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pen,” Ms. Baumgartner said. He certainly didn’t look anything like the photocopier technicians they’d had before. “Yesterday, someone accidentally dropped their donut into the sheet feeder. Since then, our copier hasn’t been working all that well. We’re getting a lot of paper jams.”

  “Ah, I see!” Mr. Pen replied. “It was probably a jam-filled donut! I’ll have your beautiful machine back working in harmony in no time.”

  “Ah…Thank you, Mr. Pen. That sounds…sounds… wonderful,” Ms. Baumgartner said.

  With a smile and a deep bow, Merlin Pen was off to the photocopy room.

  “Now, Trixi,” Ms. Baumgartner said, trying to remember where she’d left off. “I can’t let the disturbance you created in the washroom go without consequences.”

  “Are you going to make me write lines again?” Trixi said, rolling her eyes. Two weeks ago, when Ms. Baumgartner was away, the teacher in charge had made Trixi write two hundred times, I will never ever again put a towel inside the piano right before assembly so that when Mrs. Stokes plays the national anthem the piano doesn’t make a sound.

  “No, I’m not going to make you write lines,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “Thanks to your poetry reading, the crowd in the hall outside the washroom left all kinds of scuff marks on the floor. After school, I’d like you to help the custodian out by giving the hall an extra scrubbing.”

  Trixi leaned forward in her chair. “You don’t really expect me to scrub the floors, do you, Ms. Baumgartner?” She stood up and stepped across the office to Ms. Baumgartner’s desk. Gripping the edge with her fingers, Trixi said, “I’ve never scrubbed a floor in my entire life! Our housekeeper, Mrs. Primrose, always scrubs the floors. I don’t know how it’s done!”

  “Mr. Barnes will be expecting you outside the door of the custodian’s room at three o’clock, Trixi. And tomorrow morning, report to the office to let me know how things went.” Ms. Baumgartner rose from her seat, opened her office door and handed the wet garbage bag with the cassette recorder to Trixi. “By the way, Trixi, I’ve never heard a poem before that rhymes regret with toilet. Very clever.”

  THREE

  The next morning, Trixi knocked on Ms. Baumgartner’s office door. There was no reply, so she knocked again. “Hello? Ms. Baumgartner? It’s me, Trixi. Trixi Wilder. Remember? I was supposed to report to you this morning?” There was still no reply, so she gave the door a nudge, and it swung open.

  Ms. Baumgartner was sitting at her desk, staring at a huge pile of intricate origami creatures. Across the office was Mrs. Sledge, standing ankle-deep in dozens and dozens of cranes, elephants, frogs, birds, horses, dogs and cats, all neatly folded out of plain white paper.

  “Wow, Ms. Baumgartner,” Trixi said. “The two of you must really be into origami. I particularly like the elephant, although you might want to make it out of more colorful paper next time.”

  Ms. Baumgartner looked at Trixi and shook her head. “The photocopier.”

  “The photocopier?” Trixi replied.

  “Yes, the photocopier,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “The photocopier did this.”

  “You mean, the photocopier folded all these animals?”

  Ms. Baumgartner just nodded.

  “That’s incredible!” Trixi said. “That’s even more amazing than a toilet reading poetry!”

  “Yes, Trixi. It certainly is amazing—but not in a good way,” Ms. Baumgartner said. She picked up a frog and began to flatten out the paper. “Every time a teacher tries to photocopy a worksheet or a test, the copies come out as origami animals. Mr. Wainwright’s math test was turned into thirty frogs. Mrs. Donaldson’s newsletter came out as twenty-eight paper horses.”

  “Is there some special origami setting on the machine or something?” Trixi said.

  “Unfortunately not. I checked the user’s manual. It copies double-sided booklets with hole punches and staples, but I didn’t see any mention of origami animals,” Ms. Baumgartner said.

  “That’s amazing.”

  “It certainly is. But we’ll have to get Mr. Pen in here to fix the problem.”

  Ms. Baumgartner picked up the phone, but before dialing, she looked up at Trixi and said, “By the way, I think you have a hidden talent.”

  “I do?” Trixi said.

  “Yes, Trixi, you do. The hall looked spectacular this morning. Here,” she said, picking up a piece of paper off her desk, “have a giraffe.”

  The following Thursday, Martin was back behind his table in the hall attempting to sell the latest edition of the Upland Green Examiner.

  “Get your paper here!” Martin called. “Read all about it! The latest in school news!”

  As usual, the first person to stop by was Trixi Wilder. She snatched up a copy from the pile of papers and began reading through it.

  “Hey! I keep telling you, you have to pay before you read it,” Martin said. This time, he stepped out from behind the table and tried to grab the paper back, but Trixi just kept backing away.

  “Nothing!” she said. “Not a word! Not a single mention of the most original poetry assignment in the history of poetry assignments.” She stopped and waved the paper in front of Martin. “You don’t get it, do you, Marty? People won’t buy your paper if your big, sp
lashy, front-page headline is School Begins Juice-box Recycling Program. ”

  “It’s a very important issue, in case you didn’t know,” Martin said. “Read the article and find out why!”

  “But kids at this school don’t really care about the juice-box recycling program.” She flipped to the second page. “And they don’t really care about A Day in the Life of a School Bus Driver.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. I was quite amazed by Mr. Anderson’s account of his day-to-day routine,” Martin said. “If you read the whole article, you’ll see the great responsibilities and challenges he faces each and every day.”

  Trixi kept reading, mumbling, “Weather forecast, lunch-hour hockey league scores, new books in the library and a story about a firefighter doing a presentation for Fire Safety Week. And not one word about the photocopier suddenly folding origami?” Trixi said. “One of the most mind-boggling things this school has ever seen, and you don’t even mention it in your paper!”

  “Photocopier malfunctions are not newsworthy,” Martin said.

  “Not newsworthy?” Trixi said. “Listen to me, Marty. This week at our school, you had two of the greatest stories any newspaper editor could hope for. Just think of the headlines you could have had: Photocopier Goes Wild! This Week Origami.Next Week Paper Airplanes? ”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Martin said.

  “Or how about Toilets Reciting Poetry at Upland Green School. What Will They Do Next? Sing Opera? Tap Dance? ”

  “That’s even more ridiculous. In my newspaper, I just report the facts,” Martin said. “My grandfather was a newspaper editor, and he believed in the facts and nothing but the facts. And that’s exactly what I’ve written!”

  “Well, no wonder no one buys your paper,” Trixi said. “Facts are boring.” She breezed by Martin and slapped the paper back on the top of the pile as she headed off down the hall.