Free Tabloidology by Chris McMahen

“Martin Wettmore and Trixi Wilder to my office, please.”
    Martin was still thinking about Bolivia as he trudged down the hall toward the office, walking as if his shoes were filled with concrete. His head, his arms, his shoulders, even his nose and ears felt like limp lifeless rags.
    But not Trixi. She swaggered down the hall, her arms swinging back and forth, her head held high. She walked as if she owned the world—including Bolivia.

    Trixi reached the principal’s office first. She found the door wide-open and Ms. Baumgartner sitting behind her desk with her arms tightly crossed and a deep crease running down the center of her forehead. In one hand, she clutched a crumpled copy of the school newspaper.
    Trixi slid past the principal and took her place in one of the two yellow chairs. Moments later, Martin shuffled into the office and flopped into the other yellow chair.
    â€œI’m afraid there’s only one word I can use to describe this edition of the school newspaper,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “Shocking. This paper is absolutely shocking.”
    â€œBut I thought you said…,” Trixi began, but she knew to stop when Ms. Baumgartner raised her hand. The principal was obviously in no mood to argue.
    â€œThis…this…newspaper is…is…shocking! That’s the only word I can use!” Ms. Baumgartner took a very deep breath. “I asked you to write a school newspaper, not a collection of fairy tales! How do you think Mr. Dobson feels when students ask him to swallow some swords? And the primary students are terrified of the maple trees! As for the instructions for building a stink bomb…I don’t think I have to say any more about that!”
    As Ms. Baumgartner turned the pages of the paper, she said, “A dog? Driving a car? Snow? In September?”
    Trixi had seen Ms. Baumgartner angry many times, but this time, she’d taken her anger to a whole new level. Her nostrils were flared, one of her eyebrows was twitching and the creases in her forehead were deeper than ever.
    â€œBut Ms. Baumgartner,” Trixi said, “we only did what you asked us to do!”
    The principal’s eyes widened, and when she spoke, it was in a dangerously calm voice. “What did you say?”
    â€œI said we only did what you asked us to do,” Trixi repeated, her eyes never leaving Ms. Baumgartner.
    The principal took another deep breath and said, “I certainly did not ask you to write completely untrue stories about vicious trees and sword-swallowing crossing guards! And I most certainly did not tell you to teach our students how to build stink bombs!”
    â€œBut you did say you wanted a newspaper the kids at our school would want to buy and read.” Trixi kept her eyes on Ms. Baumgartner.
    Ms. Baumgartner looked up to the ceiling and sighed. “Yes, I suppose…I suppose that is what I said. But this…this thing you call a newspaper is not what I meant.”
    â€œYou saw how eager everyone was to buy it,” Trixi said. “I’d say this edition of the school newspaper is a great success.”
    â€œA success?” Ms. Baumgartner replied, glaring at Trixi.
    â€œOf course it’s a success! Everyone loves the new school newspaper. Who can blame them?” Trixi said, jumping out of her chair. Ms. Baumgartner cleared her throat. Trixi sat back down and said, “That article Martin wrote on the dog obedience class? A fine piece of journalism!”
    Martin lifted his head for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with tears.
    â€œAnd his interview with the crossing guard showed outstanding questioning techniques,” Trixi yammered on, not stopping for a breath. “Only a highly skilled reporter such as Martin could write such a wonderful interview!”
    Ms. Baumgartner smoothed her copy of the paper on her desk. “As I look at the first article, I count more than twenty