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  “So the Cougar Curse won’t be broken until we fix Mr. Cougar?” Jordin asked.

  “If you believe in the curse, I think that’s your answer,” Mr. Rinaldi replied. “Now let’s get back to some ratios.”

  The word from math class started spreading around the school. Soon everyone was talking about plans to fix Mr. Cougar. They wanted the student government to get involved to make sure that the Cougar Curse was broken as soon as possible. I suggested they talk to Anthony and Hailey.

  “Hey, Martone,” I heard Hailey call as I stuffed my books into my locker before lunch period. “What’s this I hear about Lauren Fields?”

  “Can you believe it, Hails?” I said. “She actually came to our Voice meeting. And she invited me to come to a postmortem!”

  “What’s that?” Hailey cried, alarmed. “At a morgue? Like where they have dead bodies?”

  “Not a real postmortem, a newspaper postmortem,” I explained. “That’s where the editors and writers and other staff from the paper meet to go over the latest issue and analyze it. They look at the things that were done well and the things that went wrong.”

  “That sounds right up your alley.” Hailey laughed.

  “There’s actually a morgue at the Gazette, too,” I said. “It’s where all the old issues are kept. It used to be a room filled with file cabinets and actual copies of the paper, but today a lot of morgues are digital.”

  “Thanks for enlightening me,” Hailey said. “I will never think of a newspaper in quite the same way.”

  “Did you hear about the plan to break the Cougar Curse?” I asked. “I think you and Anthony are going to be pretty busy.”

  “I know!” Hailey said. “I was nearly knocked over after gym period. A crowd of kids wanted to know what we were doing to fix Mr. Cougar.”

  “What did you tell them?” I asked.

  “I was honest,” Hailey replied. “I said that we hadn’t done anything because we figured that the school would handle it. But if the students wanted us to get involved, we would bring it up to Mr. Pfeiffer.”

  “You’re such a good VP,” I said, proud of my best friend.

  “You’re such a good journalist,” said Hailey, returning the compliment.

  “I’d be a better journalist if my partner were pulling his weight,” I said. “I’m going to have to pin him down in the cafeteria. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Good luck with that,” Hailey said.

  “Thanks. Even though I don’t believe in luck, I’ll take it now,” I joked.

  Michael Lawrence was scooping a pile of mac ’n’ cheese into his mouth when I sat down next to him.

  “Finished the interviews yet?” I asked.

  “Almost,” Michael answered.

  “Got any interesting insights from anyone?” I asked.

  “Not really,” said Michael.

  This was going worse than the time when I babysat my little cousin and he cried the whole time and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.

  “Michael, we really need to get this story done,” I said. “Today in math class we were talking about how you get rid of a curse. Maybe that would be a good angle to take.”

  “Sure. That’s good,” Michael said. “Better than trying to figure out who did it. I don’t think we’ll get very far with that angle.”

  “No, it doesn’t seem like anyone is getting far with that angle,” I agreed. “Even the professionals like Officer Mendez and Lauren Fields.”

  “Do you have any idea how to get rid of a curse?” Michael asked. “Because if I throw another interception, I might quit the football team.”

  “I don’t have a clue how to get rid of something I don’t believe in,” I said. “But some of the kids in math class think that the Cougar Curse won’t be broken until Mr. Cougar is fixed.”

  “Interesting,” Michael replied. “I’ll finish my interviews and ask some other kids what they think will end the curse. You can look it up on the Internet, too. Then we’ll write the story about different ways to end the curse.”

  “Welcome back, Michael Lawrence,” I said, smiling. “It’s nice to have my partner back. That sounds like a good plan.”

  “I get it, Pasty,” Michael said. “And I’m sorry. I just really have been feeling cursed lately.”

  “You could have told me that,” I said.

  “Next time, I will,” he promised.

  I was thrilled that Michael Lawrence and I were on the same page again, but that feeling didn’t last long. Michael called me at home later that night.

  “Hi, Sam. I have some bad news,” he said. “It’s going to cost thousands of dollars to replace Mr. Cougar. Mr. Pfeiffer said that we don’t have the budget to do it. Maybe we shouldn’t do the story about breaking the curse. If everyone believes that it won’t be broken until Mr. Cougar gets fixed and he never gets fixed, Cherry Valley will be permanently cursed.”

  “I disagree,” I said. “It’s still a good story. It’s what everyone’s talking about. Real news is what matters to your audience. Our audience cares about the Cougar Curse.”

  “Do you mind if I talk to Mr. Pfeiffer first and find out the exact amount?” Michael asked. “I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

  “Okay. Just do it right away,” I said. “We can’t hold off on writing the story much longer.”

  Chapter 8

  COUGARS HATCH A PLAN TO SAVE THE DAY

  Obviously, Michael’s talk with Mr. Pfeiffer didn’t go very well. He showed up at my locker the next morning looking like the sullen Michael Lawrence I had been hoping had disappeared forever.

  “It’s going to cost five thousand dollars to fix Mr. Cougar,” Michael reported. “Mr. Pfeiffer said the school can’t afford to spend that much money on a statue.”

  “Five thousand dollars?” I asked incredulously. “It’s not like Mr. Cougar’s made of gold. That’s a lot of money.”

  “Yup,” Michael agreed. “Looks like the curse will continue.”

  “It could end right now if people stopped believing in it,” I replied. “The curse is ridiculous.”

  “Face it, Sam,” Michael said. “That’s not going to happen. You may not believe, but there are a lot of us who do.”

  “It looks like Mr. Cougar’s going to be missing a paw for a while,” I said. “So you might want to rethink that and just move on.”

  I didn’t wait for Michael to answer. I had heard enough about the curse, and the bell for homeroom was just about to ring. I was really frustrated, too. How could someone with a brilliant brain like Michael believe in something as stupid as the Cougar Curse? It was mind-boggling.

  Also mind-boggling were the letters to Dear Know-It-All. I opened them in the privacy of my room later that night—it was too dangerous to look at them in school and risk exposing my identity. I opened each letter, and they all sounded like they could have been written by the same person.

  Dear Know-It-All,

  Help! I’ve been cursed! I can’t find my assignment pad anywhere.

  -Looking for Luck

  Dear Know-It-All,

  Everything’s been going wrong since Mr. Cougar’s paw was broken. I don’t know what to do. My dad yelled at me for my messy room. I’m so cursed!

  —My Life’s a Mess

  Dear Know-It-All,

  How long do curses last? Because I need the Cougar Curse to end right away. I have a math test next week and I don’t want to fail another one.

  -Math Cursed

  I looked at the Dear Know-It-All e-mails that Mr. Trigg had screened for me, and they weren’t any better. It was bad enough that Michael was giving me a hard time with the cougar story. I thought Dear Know-It-All might be the easy assignment this time around. I was obviously mistaken.

  Michael looked a little more like his old self the next day at school.

  “Hey, Pasty,” he greeted me. “Did you hear the big news?”

  “Nope, what happened?” I asked.

  “I told Coach Dixon about the c
ost of fixing Mr. Cougar,” Michael explained, “and that the school wouldn’t be able to afford it. He had a great idea.”

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “The team’s going to try to raise some of the money ourselves,” Michael answered. “We’re going to have a fund-raiser.”

  “That is a great idea,” I agreed. “How are you going to raise the money?”

  “We thought a car wash would be fun,” Michael said. “We can do it in the school parking lot. Coach said he’d even let us count it as a practice.”

  “Do what in the school parking lot?” Hailey asked.

  Michael and I hadn’t even seen her coming. Anthony Wright was by Hailey’s side. Great timing, BFF—just when Michael Lawrence was beginning to seem like his old self for a minute.

  “Hi, Anthony!” I said cheerfully. “Don’t you and Hailey have some important school business to conduct?”

  “Hi, Samantha,” Anthony replied. “Actually, we do. Mr. Pfeiffer said that he wanted to talk to us about an important issue.”

  “It’s probably Mr. Cougar,” Michael told them. “The school can’t afford to fix him. But the football team wants to have a car wash in the parking lot to raise money for the repairs. We won’t get it all, but at least it will be a start.”

  “I like it,” Anthony said. “I’ll let Mr. Pfeiffer know that you have the support of the student government.”

  “I like it too,” Hailey agreed. “I just wonder if there’s a way to get more students involved. The Cougar Curse doesn’t just affect the football team, after all.”

  “Hailey’s right,” I said. “I know a lot of other kids who’d like the curse to end.”

  “What about a bake sale?” Anthony suggested.

  “Perfect, partner,” said Hailey. “Sam, we can make your Mom’s Delish Dream Bars! I can smell them now!”

  “Relax, Hailey,” I said. “We don’t even know if Mr. Pfeiffer will approve any of this yet.”

  Hailey gets a bit out of control when it comes to sugary snacks. Her mom’s a bit of a health-food nut, and Hailey’s dessert options usually consisted of a choice between fruit salad or trail mix.

  “I don’t think Mr. Pfeiffer will have an objection,” Anthony said. “Hailey and I will bring it up to him in our meeting later. I’ll let you both know if he gives it a green light.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it,” Michael said. “I’d do anything to stop the Cougar Curse.”

  “I’d do anything to get a bite of a dream bar.” Hailey laughed.

  “Well, I’d like to get a bite of a cinnamon bun,” I added. “Any chance you’d make some for the bake sale, Michael?”

  “Always thinking, Martone,” said Michael. “I love that about you.”

  I couldn’t look Hailey in the eye, because I knew she was thinking, Ooooh, Michael Lawrence said love! It did make my heart skip a little bit, but I didn’t want him to see that.

  The next day Mr. Pfeiffer didn’t just approve the idea; he offered to wash some cars himself! The car wash/bake sale was going to be a big hit. Everyone wanted to see the principal get covered in soap bubbles, so they’d make sure their parents and every grown-up they knew would get to the event.

  I had another big event to plan for too. Ms. Fields and I had exchanged a few e-mails, and I was going to the Gazette offices after school on Friday. I felt a little bad about not asking Michael, but he was kind of off on his own planet lately. Besides, Ms. Fields had invited me, not both of us. In any case, Michael probably didn’t even want to go. But I was nervous, of course, about what to wear. As much as I hated to admit it, this situation called for a little Allie Martone advice.

  I knocked on Allie’s bedroom door on Thursday night.

  “I’m doing my homework, Mom,” Allie whined. “I swear I’m not texting!”

  “It’s not Mom; it’s me.” I snickered. “Can I come in?”

  “If you must,” Allie declared.

  I opened the door to Allie’s room and peeked inside. Allie had pulled her backpack onto her bed, just in case it had been Mom, but she had her phone in her hand and could barely make eye contact with me.

  “Can you possibly be nice to me for five minutes?” I asked. “I know it’s asking a lot, but it’s been a tough couple of weeks.”

  “Cougar Curse getting to you?” Allie suggested.

  “Something like that,” I replied. “Tomorrow I have my big visit to the Gazette, and I don’t know what to wear. Mom’s picking me up right after school, so I don’t want to stand out too much, but I do want to look professional and not like a kid at the meeting.”

  “Hmmm, sounds like a case for layering,” Allie remarked. “Let’s go take a look in your closet.”

  Allie pulled out a pair of navy blue leggings, a taupe long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of navy ballerina flats.

  “This is what you’re going to wear to school,” she announced.

  Then she shuffled through the closet and pulled out a dark chocolate–colored blazer.

  “This is what you’re going to keep in your locker,” she continued.

  She rushed across the hall to her room and returned with a patterned scarf. It had taupe, navy, and brown accents.

  “This is what you’re going to toss in your backpack,” she declared. “Neatly folded, of course.”

  I tried the combination on and looked in the mirror. Allie was soooo good at this. I jumped up and gave her a big squeeze.

  “You know, you’re amazing sometimes,” I admitted.

  “Take it easy.” Allie coughed. “It’s just some leggings and a blazer. Get over it.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks,” I mumbled. “Now you can get back to your . . . homework.”

  At the end of school on Friday, I grabbed my things and headed into the bathroom for a three-minute makeover. Blazer . . . check. Scarf . . . check. A nose for news . . . double check.

  Mom was waiting for me outside of school with a bottle of water and a granola bar. “I know you don’t want your stomach growling during a big news meeting,” she said.

  “Oh, that would be beyond embarrassing.” I laughed. “It might even qualify as mortifying.”

  “I see you’ve been putting that vocabulary app to good use,” Mom noted.

  It took about a half hour to reach the offices of the Gazette.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Mom asked. “Just until you get situated?”

  “I’m okay, really,” I said. “Lauren Fields told me exactly what to do.”

  “And that is . . . ,” Mom said, always looking for an opportunity to drill me on proper procedure.

  “I go to the security desk. I show them my student ID. I tell them I have an appointment to meet with Lauren Fields. The security guard calls her. Then she comes down to meet me,” I reported.

  “Good girl,” said Mom. “I’ll be back in an hour. I know you said it will be longer than that, but if you need me earlier, just text me.”

  “I will,” I said. “Do you think I look okay?”

  “Better than okay, Sam,” Mom said. “Like a professional.”

  I gave my mother a kiss and then followed the procedure I had described to her exactly. It took three minutes and twenty-seven seconds for Lauren Fields to come down after the security guard called her. I know because I counted every second. It helped to take my mind off of my nerves.

  The newsroom was like a busy beehive. Phones rang in every corner of the room, reporters typed frantically on their keyboards, and small groups of people—I’m guessing editors and writers—argued vigorously. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying, but I could see their hands flying through the air as they illustrated their points.

  “It’s a little crazy here,” Lauren Fields commented. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?” I said. “I love it!”

  “Good, because it will get even crazier in the meeting,” she said. “Some people can get a little edgy when their work is criticized during a postmor
tem. Not me, of course, just some other people.”

  “I’m just so grateful to have the chance to sit in,” I confessed. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

  “You’re welcome, Sam,” Ms. Fields replied. “One day, you’ll be the senior reporter taking a newbie for a tour. It’s how we work in the news business, a lot of on-the-job training. There’s only so much you can learn in school.

  “Although don’t get me wrong—school is important,” she said, catching herself.

  “Don’t worry. I know,” I assured her. “And if I ever forgot, my mom would be sure to remind me.”

  Ms. Fields took me into a conference room with the longest table I had ever seen in my life. There must have been at least thirty chairs around it. Chairs also lined the outside wall of the room. Ms. Fields pointed to a chair in the corner.

  “You can sit over there,” she said. “Don’t be nervous. I’m going to be sitting right in front of you at the table.

  “If you need anything,” she added. “Just kick my chair.”

  I sat down in the chair with my back as straight as a pin and my head held high, just like Mom had advised. I took out my notebook and pencil and watched quietly as the writers and editors entered the room.

  Ms. Fields wasn’t exaggerating. It took only about five minutes for the meeting to warm up. After ten, it was sizzling.

  One reporter complained about the way his story had been cut to fill the news hole. I wasn’t sure what that was, but Ms. Fields explained later that it was a term for the amount of space available in the paper. First the editors learned how much advertising had been sold for the day’s paper. Then they figured out how big the news hole was. If there was a lot of advertising that day, and it seemed like there was on the day in question, then there was less space for the news.

  I scribbled notes frantically. It felt like I could have filled up three notebooks with everything I observed in the meeting. I even had a few thoughts on how they could do things differently, but of course they were going to stay in my notebook. I could have fallen out of my chair, though, when Samuel Swope, editor in chief of the Gazette, turned his gaze in my direction.