Don't Kiss Him Good-Bye by Sandra Byrd Page A

pet project clothing store, and some happy-go-lucky nonfacts about May Day. Care to try again?”
    I suddenly had a new understanding of the wounds caused by a paper cut.
    Everyone in the office kept their heads down—listening, I knew, but not intervening. “No, actually, I don’t,” I said. “I’ve done my best, and if this won’t work, I’m sorry, but I won’t be a help to you on this article.” I was sorry Melissa would be let down. Neither she nor Jack was there that morning.
    “Fine, then,” Natalie said. “Since you clearly can’t follow directions, I’ll take the snaps at the ball myself.”
    I nodded but said nothing so as not to betray the sorrow caught in my throat. Just peachy. Why did she have to come back? I headed toward the back and asked Rob if I could use his computer for a minute. “Sure, Savvy,” he said. “Sorry about Little Miss Sunshine. You could always talk to the adviser about her.”
    I shook my head. I had my secret assignment. I had friends on staff. I’d make my own way in my own time.
    “I’m off to class, then,” he said. “Log off when you’re done, all right?”
    “Okay.” I logged on to my e-mail to see that Jack had already confirmed receipt of my column and had forwarded a few new messages to me. I quickly looked through them to see if there was anything new from Louanne. Mostly just the usual suspects—boy trouble, friend trouble, parent trouble. One caught my eye. The subject line simply said, I Know.
    I read it quickly, one eye on the clock, knowing that Mr. Thompson was going to come down hard on me if I was late again.
    Hullo. I have a few of your papers—rough drafts of questions and answers that let me know your real identity as the author of the Asking for Trouble column. I’ve kept it a secret. Do you want your papers back, or should I destroy them?
    Someone knew my secret! But who? And how?
    I logged off and then raced to class, sliding into my seat just as the bell stopped ringing. I didn’t offer Brian gum, and I didn’t look at Hazelle to see if she had any sympathy at all for me after my interaction with Natalie that morning. I pretended to jot down what Mr. Thompson was saying, but my entire brain was focused on one question: Who knows?
    Could it be Hazelle? or Rob or Rodney or Melissa? Someone at the paper was the most likely choice because they could have stumbled upon something in the newspaper office. But no one had given the tiniest hint.
    Who else? Louanne . . . from last night’s e-mail? Possibly. But the e-mail voice was pretty mature. And Louanne would have said, hi or hello and not hullo like most Brits.
    Where had I kept those papers? In my notebook. And where had I taken my notebook? Everywhere.
    I worried about it all day. On my way out of school I bumped into Rhys, who happened to be standing near the exit I normally took on my way home.
    “Hey, Savannah.” He looked at my face. “You okay?”
    I took a deep breath. “I guess so.”
    “Can I help?” He really did seem concerned. “Do I need to step in and break some skulls for you?”
    I smiled but wasn’t sure if he really meant it or not. “I assume you don’t beat up girls,” I said back. Since he’d appeared really concerned, and since one of the deals had gone down in a public newsroom, I decided to just say, “Well, I had a major disagreement with someone on the newspaper staff today. I was supposed to be a partner and the photographer for the May Day Ball article. But Natalie took me off—and told me off—in front of everyone.”
    He rested his arm on my shoulder. I could smell the rosemary mint of his shampoo. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was hard to breathe with him this close. “I’m sorry. But maybe it’ll all work out for the best. Even if she was mean. It might make it possible for you to enjoy the ball yourself.”
    I nodded. I was aware that I hadn’t answered him and that I needed to so he could ask someone else if he wanted to. “I’ve