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  “Samantha Martone, when you talk to Michael Lawrence later and find out what happened in that office—and I know that you will—I had better be the first person you call,” she said.

  “I promise,” I said. “You better be home to answer my call! I tried to get you yesterday and you were in some important meeting.”

  On the way to class, I told Hailey all about my phone calls with Danny Stratham and Michael Lawrence. She thought Michael’s response was definitely a jealous reaction. I wasn’t sure. He seemed more uncomfortable than jealous.

  He seemed even worse at our Voice meeting that afternoon. He was back in his spot next to me on the love seat, which was a good sign, but I could tell he was hardly paying attention to anything Mr. Trigg said at the beginning of the meeting.

  When we broke off into teams, I asked him what happened in Mr. Pfeiffer’s office with Officer Mendez.

  “I can’t tell you that, Sam,” he said. “That’s confidential information.”

  “Very funny,” I said. “So what did you two talk about?”

  “I’m not joking,” Michael replied. “I can’t tell you what we talked about.”

  “Michael Lawrence, we are working on an investigative report on the very incident that you were meeting with a police officer about in the principal’s office,” I reminded him. “Tell me what you talked about!”

  “Samantha Martone, do you remember Mr. Trigg’s lecture about journalism and ethics?” Michael reminded me. “That would be blurring the lines.”

  “How?” I said angrily. “I don’t see it. We need to use all of our resources to get to the bottom of the story, and you talking to the police about the incident is just one of those resources. As long as it’s legal and ethical, there’s no problem.”

  “Let me spell it out for you, then,” Michael said, just as angrily. “I spoke to Officer Mendez as a member of the football team. Not as a reporter. I don’t think it is ethical to share that information. And nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise.”

  Whoa.

  “I think our meeting’s over now,” Michael added. “See you around, Sam.”

  Then he stormed off.

  I was so confused by what had just happened, I didn’t know how to react. I think I had just yelled at Michael Lawrence. I think he had just yelled back at me. I think I’m still mad at him. And I think I’m even angrier because I don’t like it when we disagree. We always see eye to eye on things. That’s why we work so well together.

  Mr. Trigg came over to the love seat.

  “Is everything okay, Ms. Martone?” he asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Michael and I just had a difference of opinion about how to approach the cougar story. We’ll work it out.”

  “Ms. Martone, when I’m in a pickle, I try to picture someone I admire and imagine the way that they’d handle it.”

  “You mean like Winston Churchill?” I asked.

  “Exactly!” Mr. Trigg beamed.

  A thought about Mr. Trigg’s advice all day, and I was still thinking about it when I went to bed that night. It was a pickle, all right. Who would compare to Winston Churchill as a mentor, though?

  I looked out my window and saw a star. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” I have been doing that since I was really little. If you wish on the first star you see, your wish will come true. It’s not a superstition either. It’s just something you do. Before I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I made a wish. I wished that Michael Lawrence and I would get back to seeing things eye to eye. And I hoped that the Cougar Curse wouldn’t get in the way of my wish.

  Chapter 7

  DYNAMIC DUO DISAGREES; MARTONE LOOKS FOR A QUICK FIX

  My star wish didn’t come true the next day. It proved my original point, though. Facts, you can count on. Wishes are as unreliable as curses.

  Michael Lawrence avoided me like I had a bad case of the cooties. It was pretty easy for him to do that because Coach Dixon decided that the football team needed to double their practice time. Considering the outcome of the last two games, I couldn’t disagree with his assessment. So I continued to gather information for the cougar story and figured that we’d work out a way to put it all together at our next Voice meeting.

  My week also became a study in the “What would ____ do?” theory as I tried to put Mr. Trigg’s advice to the test. What would William Shakespeare do? I thought in English class. What would Alfred Wegener do? I wondered in earth science. What would Allie do? I asked myself at home. Then I erased that thought from my brain. I could find a better mentor than Allie, for sure.

  It turned out that Mr. Trigg had the answer in any case. I was sitting next to the newly silent and brooding Michael Lawrence at a surprise Voice meeting later that day.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Trigg said, starting the meeting with his usual greeting. “It is my honor to introduce one of Cherry Valley’s finest local reporters.”

  Who walked into the Cherry Valley Voice newsroom? Lauren Fields! Hello, mentor! What would you do?

  “Salutations, journalists,” Ms. Fields said to the Voice news team. “Let me start by saying thanks to Paul—I mean, Mr. Trigg—for inviting me here. And I’d also like to give a shout-out to Samantha Martone and Michael Lawrence. Hello, again, Sam and Michael!”

  “Hello, Ms. Fields!” I chirped. “Great to see you again.”

  “Great to see you again,” Michael said.

  Mr. Trigg explained that Ms. Fields had come to Cherry Valley as part of her own investigation of the Mr. Cougar story, but that she had graciously agreed to join the Voice team meeting and was happy to answer questions and share advice with the students.

  “Does anyone have a question for Ms. Fields?” Mr. Trigg asked.

  The silence was excruciating, especially considering that we were supposed to be a group of inquisitive journalists. I felt Michael’s leg start to shake and was surprised when he mumbled a question.

  “I know you wouldn’t put this in your news story,” Michael said, “but if you had to guess, who do you think is responsible?”

  “I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t hear all of your question,” Ms. Fields said as she walked closer to the love seat. “Could you repeat it?”

  “Do you have an idea who’s responsible for the vandalism?” Michael asked a little louder.

  His leg felt like it was hitting the spin cycle on our washing machine.

  “No, I don’t,” Ms. Fields said. “Of course, like everyone else, I thought the most likely suspects would be West Hills students. But I spent some time there, and I honestly haven’t come across anyone that made my Spidey Senses tingle.”

  OMG! Ms. Fields just said Spidey Senses! She may not have been Winston Churchill, but she was definitely worthy of my admiration.

  “Ms. Fields,” I said. “I have a question that doesn’t specifically relate to the cougar story.”

  “That’s fine,” she replied. “I’m here to answer all your questions.”

  “Great,” I continued. “I was wondering what happens when an editor and a writer, or even two writers, don’t agree on the direction of a story.”

  “That’s a great question, Sam,” Ms. Fields complimented me. “It happens every day at the Gazette, and I’m sure at every newspaper around the country.

  “Most of us are raised to always think that disagreements are a bad thing and full-blown arguments even worse,” she continued. “But as a journalist, you need to grow a thick skin and get comfortable with the fact that not everyone will think the same way that you do. When we challenge each other, it always brings out the best stories. And I don’t think that’s true only for my profession either. It’s a very good thing to develop the ability to listen to criticism objectively.”

  Ms. Fields went on to tell us a story that happened when she first started on the Gazette. She was working for an editor who had a reputation for being as hard as nails. He gave her small
assignments, she turned them in, and he handed them back marked up with red ink. It was fine, because she knew she was just starting out and had a lot to learn.

  Then one day, he gave her a chance to work on a bigger story. Ms. Fields poured her heart into the story and was extremely proud of her work. Ten minutes after she handed in the story, the editor returned it to her with a big red X on the front page. She wanted to cry. Then she got angry. A big red X wasn’t going to help her become a better journalist.

  Ms. Fields marched the editor’s office and told him that. She said, “I know I can learn a lot from you, but I put my heart into that story and you just handed me a red X. That doesn’t help me understand what you want.”

  “The problem is that you put your heart into it,” the editor told her. “You’re a journalist. Your heart shouldn’t be involved in the process. You have to be objective at all times. On the other hand, you are absolutely correct about the red X. Let’s talk about it and how to rewrite your story.”

  She finished by telling us that the editor sat down with her and went over her story line by line, explaining what worked and what didn’t. Ms. Fields revised the story and the next day had her very first byline in the Gazette.

  Everyone in the room clapped when she finished speaking.

  “I know you have work to do too,” she said. “So why don’t you start your editorial meeting, and I’ll just observe you in action.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Fields,” Mr. Trigg said. “But please feel free to interject your thoughts during the meeting.”

  “Oh, I will.” Ms. Fields laughed. “You can count on it.”

  We took turns giving updates to the stories we were working on, sharing information about the progress we were making and explaining any problems we were having. I had a lot to share—our meeting with Officer Mendez, my interviews with the West Hills students, my background research.

  “Mr. Lawrence, do you have anything to add?” Mr. Trigg asked.

  “Me? No, I think Sam mostly said it all,” Michael replied. “I’m doing interviews too, but I haven’t finished yet.”

  “Okay, Mr. Lawrence,” said Mr. Trigg. “Just remember we have a paper to print, so wrap those up soon so you and Ms. Martone can turn in the story on time.”

  “Of course,” Michael said, blushing.

  When we split up into groups, Michael didn’t have much more to say. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he said. “With the extra football practice and all, I just haven’t had a lot of time to put into the interviews. But I’ll wrap them up.”

  “That would be good,” I said. “We really need to meet and start putting it all together, too.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Michael said, but he seemed distracted.

  I looked up and saw that Ms. Fields was walking over to us. Michael got up and shook her hand.

  “Thank you, Ms. Fields,” he said. “I learned so much from you. I have to run now. I have some interviews I need to catch up on.”

  Michael waved good-bye to some of the other kids in the room and darted off.

  “Everything okay with you and Jimmy Olsen?” Ms. Fields asked.

  “His name is Michael,” I said, confused. “Michael Lawrence.”

  Ms. Fields laughed and explained that she was making a joke. Jimmy Olsen was a character who worked on the Daily Planet with Clark Kent, better known as Superman. I laughed along with her.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I knew that, actually. I’m just a little off at the moment.”

  “Does Michael Lawrence have anything to do with that?” she asked.

  “A little.” I sighed. “Well, actually a lot. He’s usually an excellent writing partner, and he always gets the job done. Lately he’s been acting like the Cougar Curse is targeted at him. It’s weird.”

  “That’s tough,” said Ms. Fields. “I can tell you two have great chemistry from reading the stories you’ve written together. You’ll get it back. I know it.”

  “I hope so.” I sighed again. “I’d like to do a great job on the cougar story. It’s our first real news story.”

  “That’s not really true, Sam,” Ms. Fields said. “The news is whatever story is of high interest to your audience. Pay to play, healthy food for the cafeteria, school elections—those are all real news stories to the students at Cherry Valley.”

  “I never looked at it that way,” I said, secretly smiling inside. “Thanks.”

  “One last piece of advice,” Ms. Fields added. “Whatever Michael’s problem is, it’s his problem, not yours. You can always be his friend. You can be there for him if he needs you. But for now, focus on what you have to do. I know that’s going to be hard. . . . He’s really cute.”

  I knew my cheeks were probably as red as the inside of the cherry pie that was served for lunch that day in the cafeteria. “You think so?” I said, trying to sound casual. “He’s all right, I guess.”

  Ms. Fields chuckled. “So, Martone, when are you coming to see me at the Gazette?” she asked.

  “You were serious?” I said. “I’d love to visit.”

  “Have you ever been to a postmortem?” she asked. “That’s when we review the stories we’ve written and talk about how we might do them differently the next time. I’ll ask my editor, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have a problem with letting you sit in.”

  “I’d love to!” I gushed. “We don’t really get a chance to do that here, because we only meet after school and we don’t have a lot of time together.”

  “Perfect!” Ms. Fields replied. “Send me an e-mail to remind me to check into it. Sometimes I get so involved in a story, I forget about everything else.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said. “I’ll e-mail you as soon as I get home.”

  “I’ll look for it in my in-box,” she said. “Now I have to go interview some students for my story.”

  We shook hands good-bye and I started to pack up my stuff. Kids were trickling out of the newsroom, and it looked like the meeting was ending. On the way out, I stopped at my mailbox. There was an envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL. I knew those were my Dear Know-It-All letters from Mr. Trigg. I quickly stuffed the envelope in my book bag. Even though I was doing the bulk of the work on the Mr. Cougar story, I still had a Dear Know-It-All column to write too.

  I knew I’d be home in a few minutes, but I couldn’t wait to share my big news with someone. As soon as I got out of the school, I pulled out my cell phone and started to write a text.

  Me: Mom! Guess who came to newsroom?

  Mom: Who?

  Me: LAUREN FIELDS!!!

  Mom: Really?

  Me: YES!!! And she asked me to come to a meeting at the Gazette.

  Mom: That’s incredible!

  Me: I KNOW!!!

  Mom: R u coming home?

  Me: Be right there!

  Mom: <3 u

  Me: <3 u 2!

  Mom was waiting at the door for me. She gave me a giant hug. “Tell me all about it!” she said. “I can’t wait to hear.”

  I gave Mom a detailed description of everything that had happened at the Voice meeting. I was happy to relive every second of it!

  “Is Michael going to the Gazette too?” Mom asked.

  “I don’t know. I was thinking of asking him, but . . .” I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling.

  “Is everything okay between you two?” Mom asked.

  “Oh yeah. It’s nothing,” I fibbed. “He’s just a little busy with football. I’m not sure he’ll have time to go.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Michael,” Mom observed. “He’s usually so reliable.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “It’s the whole Cougar Curse thing.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe in curses now?” Mom laughed.

  “Never!” I said. “But I think everyone else in school does,” I admitted.

  “Sometimes it’s easier to believe in myths than to recognize the truth that’s staring you in the face,” Mom said.

  Mom had no idea how true her words were. By
Monday the Cougar Curse myth seemed to have taken over the school.

  Mr. Rinaldi dropped his book at the beginning of math class.

  “Oops, must be the Cougar Curse!” he joked.

  “Don’t joke about the curse,” Sue Diaz gasped, “or it will come back to you ten times worse.”

  “Oh please,” Bart Visitini said. “There’s no such thing as a curse.”

  Finally! A rational thinker joins me at Cherry Valley Middle School.

  “This is a good opportunity to review our ratio and proportion skills,” Mr. Rinaldi said. “Let’s take a vote. Who believes that the Cougar Curse is real?”

  Sue raised her hand into the air and was joined by sixteen other students in the class.

  “Who believes that the Cougar Curse isn’t real?” Mr. Rinaldi asked.

  Bart Visitini and I raised our hands. I looked around and was surprised to see twelve other kids had raised their hands too. I had obviously miscalculated. There were more of us in the Cherry Valley Rational Thinking Club than I had imagined.

  “So what’s the ratio of Cougar Curse believers to the total number of students in the class?” Mr. Rinaldi asked.

  “Seventeen to thirty-one,” Sue said after Mr. Rinaldi called on her.

  “Correct,” said Mr. Rinaldi.

  “We are correct,” Sue added. “Because the curse is real.”

  Everyone started calling out an opinion at the same time.

  “Let’s put math aside for the moment and discuss this,” Mr. Rinaldi said.

  “You just dropped a book,” Bart said. “It happens all the time. Everybody drops a book so a curse had nothing to do with it.”

  “I have to agree with Bart’s point,” Mr. Rinaldi said. “Because I have dropped many books before Mr. Cougar was vandalized.”

  “What about all the other things that have happened?” Jordin Ali asked. “Our football team has never looked this bad before.”

  “Let’s say the curse is real,” Sue said. “How are we going to break it?”

  “Well, if we’re thinking about this logically—and I’m not sure that we are,” Mr. Rinaldi said, “the logical answer would be that to break the curse, you would have to reverse the process that started it in the first place.”