Breaking News Read online

  Oh yeah, and they lost the game, too. It wasn’t a romp like the game against West Hills. It came down to the last play of the game, and that’s when Brandon Abrenica intercepted the ball and ran it in for Valley View’s winning touchdown. Final score: twenty-six to twenty-one. Ouch!

  I didn’t bother waiting for Michael after the game. I knew what his reaction would be, and anyway, I had investigating to do. Everyone else in Cherry Valley could walk on eggshells because of the Cougar Curse. It wasn’t going to stop Samantha Martone, girl reporter extraordinaire, from doing her job.

  Chapter 4

  ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES MARTONE A GREAT REPORTER

  Back at home, Allie and her friends had completely taken over the kitchen. Mural paper stretched from the refrigerator to the kitchen door, and Allie looked like she had taken a bath in glitter glue.

  “School project?” I asked. “On a Friday night?”

  “Yup,” said Ashley Flynn. “We have to depict a historical event we’ve learned about this semester in an inventive way. It’s due on Monday. We decided to combine it with a sleepover.”

  “And this event is . . . ?” I wondered as I looked at globs of glue on the mural paper.

  “The Battle of Gettysburg, duh,” Allie huffed.

  “Wow! Combining war and glitter glue is definitely an original concept,” I noted.

  “Hey, Sam, how’s that Cougar Curse going?” Ashley Diaz chimed in.

  “Oh, I don’t believe in the curse,” I answered. “But what’s really exciting is that I’m investigating the story for the school paper. I’m going to interview police involved, get information from the first people to arrive at the scene, and talk to students at Cherry Valley and West Hills—”

  “Um, Sam,” Allie interrupted. “My friends. Your room.”

  Allie pointed her finger toward my room as if she were ordering me to leave her presence. While I walked away, I could hear Allie and the Ashleys burst into a fit of giggles. Sometimes Allie could be kind of cool, but most of the time, she’s, well . . . a big sister. Ugh!

  I kicked off my sneakers and turned on my computer. Some people might get distracted and waste their time poking around on Buddybook or making a wish list on their favorite shopping site. I was focused on the investigation. I checked my e-mail and saw that Officer Mendez had replied.

  Dear Miss Martone,

  I received your e-mail request. I’d be happy to talk to you and Mr. Lawrence about the case. We can arrange a meeting at the precinct one afternoon next week. Let me know what day and time work best for you. We will need to keep the meeting under thirty minutes, so please prepare your questions in advance.

  Looking forward to meeting you.

  Sincerely,

  Officer Jeanine Mendez

  Perfect! I was tempted to write back right away and suggest the best day and time to meet, but I knew that wouldn’t be fair to Michael. Now I had a dilemma. Should I put my eagerness on the backburner and wait to call Michael tomorrow, or should I keep things moving forward and call him on a Friday night, after another heartbreaking Cougar loss? If Allie hadn’t been so rude, I would have asked for her advice, but from the sound of the shrieks coming from the kitchen, I knew I was on my own. I had so much nervous energy, I decided to channel it into making a pros vs. cons chart.

  PROS

  CONS

  CALL NOW

  • keep the investigation moving forward

  • Michael might not be in the mood to talk after the football game

  • channel my nervous energy

  • Officer Mendez probably isn’t going to read her e-mail on a Friday night anyway

  • get to talk to Michael Lawrence

  • Michael might not be home and I might have to talk to one of his brothers

  CALL TOMORROW

  • give Michael time to sleep on the loss

  • I WON’T BE ABLE TO SLEEP!!!!

  • have time to work on my e-mail reply to Officer Mendez

  I sat on my bed, staring at the chart, still unable to make a decision. And then I did something that I wasn’t sure was the best use of my reporter skills, but that had been itching my brain for the past few days. I typed “Danny Stratham” and “West Hills” into a search engine. I looked at my computer screen for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than fifteen seconds, and then I hit the return key.

  There weren’t a lot of entries, only ten, in fact. None of them referred to suspensions or a criminal record, dog-kicking or tattoos. Eight were about West Hills football games and his role as a star receiver. One was about a volunteer park cleanup that he’d helped to organize. The last showed a picture of him and the West Hills principal—Patricia Stratham, his mom!

  I printed it out because I couldn’t wait to show to Jenna, Kristen, and Hailey the real reason that Danny Stratham went to the principal’s office every afternoon. I looked at my chart again and then my clock and decided that even if it meant a sleepless night, it would probably be best to wait until tomorrow to call Michael. I decided to forward Officer Mendez’s e-mail to him instead with a quick note. Except that my “quick” note took about twenty minutes to write, because I kept rewriting the first line.

  Hey, Michael,

  Sorry about the loss to Valley View.

  That was a tough game.

  You played a lot better than you did in the game against West Hills.

  It seemed impossible to get the “friendly, encouraging, and concerned” tone I wanted, so I decided to just stick to the facts.

  Hey, Michael,

  See below. Officer Mendez will meet with us. What day/time is best for you?

  —Sam

  I almost fell out of bed when my computer chimed a minute later. Michael had already e-mailed me back! It said only:

  Want to talk?

  So I replied:

  Sure. Call me whenever you want. I’m home.

  The phone rang almost immediately. Michael obviously was in need of a diversion from thinking about football.

  “I GOT IT! I GOT IT I GOT IT!” I yelled out my bedroom door as I grabbed the phone.

  “Hi, Michael,” I heard Allie say with a giggle. “Sam’s here. Hold on a minute.”

  “Hi, Michael,” I said on the other receiver. “I got it, Allie. You can hang up now.”

  I heard a click, and then it sounded like a herd of cattle were thumping down the hall outside my room. Allie, Ashley, and Ashley poked their heads into my bedroom.

  “Are his brothers home?” Ashley Diaz whispered.

  “Could you ask?” Allie said.

  “Um, Allie,” I replied, covering the receiver. “My call. Your room.” I pointed to her room across the hall. Payback is awesome!

  “Sorry about that, Michael,” I said into the phone. “Allie and her friends are having a sleepover and they’re driving me a little nuts.”

  “No problem,” Michael replied. “I have brothers. I know the feeling.

  “Oh, and before you say anything,” he added, “can we not talk about football?”

  “Football? What’s that?” I joked.

  “Exactly,” Michael said. “Thank you.”

  I filled Michael in on the details, including my “background check” on Danny Stratham. I was surprised when Michael started to laugh.

  “Danny Stratham? Really, Sam?” He chuckled. “He’s only one of the nicest guys on the West Hills team. He always shows great sportsmanship. I would never suspect that he would do it.”

  “Well, you and I may be the only Cherry Valley students who think that,” I said, a little miffed. “His name was spreading through the school like the flu virus in February.”

  “That’s just because he looks tough,” Michael said. “I think we can safely cross him off the suspect list. I’ll vouch for him.”

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” I replied. “Speaking of suspects, is there anyone on your list? Anyone from West Hills?”

  “From West Hills?” asked Micha
el. “No, I can’t think of anyone. They’re all pretty nice guys, even though they’re the enemy.”

  “Right, but the playoffs are coming up,” I reminded Michael. “Everyone said that Cherry Valley is the only team that can take the championship away from West Hills. Even nice guys will sometimes do questionable things to get a competitive edge.”

  “No way!” Michael protested. “They wouldn’t do that.”

  It seemed a little strange to me that Michael would defend West Hills, but maybe it was some sort of football brotherhood thing that I didn’t know about.

  “Fine. We said we weren’t going to talk about football anyway,” I reminded him. “Let’s just figure out when we can meet with Officer Mendez.”

  Michael and I came up with a few suggestions, and I wrote our reply to Officer Mendez and sent it.

  I knew I always fumbled when I talked to Michael about football, but I also knew that he was feeling down and I wanted to make him feel better.

  “Michael, I’m really glad Mr. Trigg gave us this story,” I said. “I think we can really do some great work here . . . maybe even break the case and find out who did it!”

  The line was silent for a few seconds.

  “Michael? Are you still there?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m here,” Michael replied. “Sam . . . ?”

  Michael’s voice trailed off. I could hear sadness in it, and I wished I could make it go away. These games must have really gotten to him.

  “Yes, Michael,” I answered.

  “Good night,” he said abruptly. “Have a great weekend.”

  After I hung up, I looked at the phone in disbelief. Michael Lawrence definitely hadn’t just been going to say good night, so what had he been going to say before he stopped himself?

  I heard screams coming from Allie’s room and knew that the scary moviefest had begun. I flopped down onto my bed, grabbed my pillow, and put it over my face. Samantha Martone, meet sleepless night.

  Chapter 5

  MARTONE MEETS IDOL, LOSES ABILITY TO SPEAK

  Tuesday afternoon, Michael Lawrence and I headed to the Cherry Valley Police Station. We had hardly spoken at all since the phone call on Friday night, so while his mom drove, we used the time in the car to go over our plans.

  “Here’s my list of questions,” I said, taking out my notebook and showing it to Michael. “What do you think?”

  Michael’s mom passed back a plastic bag filled with freshly baked oatmeal-raisin cookies.

  “I figured you guys might need an after-school energy boost,” she said.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Lawrence,” I said as I popped a cookie into my mouth. “These are delicious. I can see where Michael gets his baking skills.”

  Michael handed me another cookie and then pointed to my notebook.

  “Looks good, Snacky,” he said. “I think you’ve got it covered.”

  Michael always makes up nicknames for me to tease me. Hopefully he was in a better mood today if he was joking around.

  “We only have a half hour,” I said. “I don’t want to take time away from your questions. Do you have a list we can go over so we don’t repeat anything?”

  Michael tapped his temple, obviously referring to his ridiculously reliable memory. “My list of questions is right here, Martone,” he said. “And don’t worry. I won’t repeat any of your questions. I think it’s better if you take the lead on this one anyway.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” I said. “Let’s do this!”

  We headed into the police station. I was so excited and nervous, I felt like a swarm of caterpillars had cocooned in my stomach and were now emerging as butterflies. I tried to hide it and look professional. I had never been in a police station before, and it was a teeny tiny bit scary.

  “Are you okay?” Michael asked.

  “Yeah, why?” I answered.

  “I don’t know. You look a little stone-faced,” he said.

  Thank you, Michael Lawrence, for your honest assessment. Stone-faced was definitely not the look I was going for, so I took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was a challenge, because the frenzy of activity inside the police station was somewhat overwhelming, and I could tell the place was just filled with news stories. Just then, a tall woman wearing a dark blue uniform approached us.

  “Samantha Martone?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied, and I held out my hand when I saw her name tag. “Nice to meet you, Officer Mendez. This is my partner on the story, Michael Lawrence.”

  Officer Mendez shook my hand firmly, then turned to Michael. It was hard not to stare at the gun holster strapped around her waist, but I tried my best.

  “Let’s go somewhere we can talk privately,” she said.

  We followed Officer Mendez through a maze of cubbies; then she led us into an interrogation room. “This is where we interview our subjects,” she said. “It’s a different process from your investigation, but not so different.”

  Michael and I sat across the table from Officer Mendez. I took out a small recording device from my bag. Mr. Trigg had told us that since this was an official investigation, it would be best to document our interviews with something more than my notes or Michael’s photographic memory.

  “Do you mind if I record the interview?” I asked Officer Mendez. “Just to make sure that we accurately represent anything you say.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” she replied. “I’d actually insist on doing it myself, if you didn’t ask. It’s for both of our protection.

  “Also,” she continued, “I’ll need to see a copy of your story before it’s printed. I have to make sure it won’t interfere with the investigation or misrepresent the facts. I hope you understand.”

  “I do,” I said. “I hope you understand that I’ll have to check with our advisor, Mr. Trigg, before I can agree to that. But I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

  Michael kicked my foot under the table, as if to say, Way to be professional, Martone!

  “Sure. You can let me know by e-mail,” Officer Mendez replied. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll contact your advisor directly. Now, let’s get the tape rolling. We don’t have a lot of time.” Boy, she was all business.

  I pressed the record button and did a quick test, just to make sure that we could hear everyone in the room clearly—another Mr. Trigg tip. Then I turned to my list of questions.

  “Officer Mendez, can you tell us how the police were first alerted to the cougar incident and what they saw when they arrived on the scene?”

  “There was an anonymous 911 call that alerted us to the incident,” Officer Mendez began. “We sent two officers in a patrol car to the crime scene. They cordoned off the area and called in the investigative unit. They looked for any signs of evidence and dusted for fingerprints.”

  “About what time did the police arrive?” I asked.

  “The patrol car arrived on the scene at ten forty-five a.m.,” Officer Mendez reported. “The investigative team arrived at eleven eighteen a.m. All well before the crowd started gathering for the game.”

  I noticed that Michael’s leg was shaking up and down. I had no idea what that was about. Maybe he was as nervous about doing an official interview as I was.

  “Did they find any evidence?” Michael asked.

  “Nothing that’s been useful yet,” answered Officer Mendez. “They found fingerprints on the statue, especially on the area around the broken paw, but there’s no way to know if they belong to students or to the perpetrators.”

  “Perpetrators?” Michael asked. “It’s a broken statue.”

  “It’s a crime,” Officer Mendez said. “We take vandalism seriously. If we identify the perpetrators and the school decides to press charges, then the consequences for those individuals could be severe.”

  “Like jail time?” Michael asked.

  I could swear that I actually saw him gulp after he asked that question. He looked a little pale, too.

  “Probably not jail time, no, unles
s they have a prior record,” Officer Mendez admitted. “But it could go on their permanent record, and they may be served with a community service sentence. It’s hard to say, because it depends on the justice system. We just apprehend the perpetrators. We don’t decide what happens to them.”

  “Do you have any suspects?” I asked.

  “We don’t have any particular suspects at the moment,” Officer Mendez said. “And if we did, I wouldn’t be able share their names with you. Let’s just say that the Cherry Valley police force considers the vandalism that occurred at Cherry Valley Middle School to be a serious offense, and we will continue our investigation until we are able to locate the person or persons who are responsible for it.”

  Michael and I continued to ask questions about the incident. I don’t know that we learned a lot more than we already knew, but it was still worthwhile to get some official quotes to add to our story and to get the experience of interviewing a police officer. When exactly thirty minutes had passed, Officer Mendez pushed back her chair and said it was time to wrap up.

  “Thank you so much,” I said as I shook her hand good-bye. “I’ll make sure to let you know what Mr. Trigg says.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Michael added. “We know your time is valuable, and we really appreciate that you took the time to talk to us.”

  Before Officer Mendez could respond, we heard someone shouting her name. A woman wearing charcoal-gray slacks and a white Oxford shirt came rushing over.

  “Hey, Mendez, I’m on deadline,” she panted. “Got anything new for me?”

  Officer Mendez smiled at us. “Just finishing up here,” she said. “Samantha and Michael, meet Lauren Fields, reporter for the Cherry Valley Gazette.”