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  “Ms. Martone, forgive me for not introducing you earlier,” he said. “Ms. Fields has told me great things about you. Would you please tell the rest of the staff a little about yourself?”

  I gulped, closed my notebook, and smiled nervously at the impressive and intimidating array of journalists seated around the table.

  “Hello, everyone,” I said. “Thank you so much for having me here today. My name is Samantha Martone, and I’m a student at Cherry Valley Middle School. I work as a reporter on our newspaper, the Cherry Valley Voice, and it’s my dream to one day be a real journalist, just like you.”

  One by one, the Gazette staff introduced themselves and gave me a sentence or two of advice. I could start a journalism textbook with their words!

  Mr. Swope took control of the meeting again.

  “Ms. Martone, as I’m sure you are aware, the newspaper business has been going through great changes in recent times,” he informed me. “Some say it’s a dying industry. We like to believe it’s evolving. We also produce a Web version of the Gazette, and perhaps one day we won’t print hard copies. I hope I don’t get to see that day, though. I still love the smell of newsprint on my hands.

  “With the future in mind, I’d love to get your take on the paper. We’re always looking for ways to grow our audience, and if we don’t appeal to the younger age group, then the people who predict that we’re dying will be correct. So . . . any thoughts?”

  I reopened my notebook and took a few seconds to get some things in my head that I thought were good enough to share. Then I cleared my throat. I heard my voice crack a few times, but you can’t blame me. “I think that the local stories are really important,” I said. “Especially the coverage of the schools and the sports teams, because that’s the stuff we read, and I know those are the articles my mom reads too. We also rely on the newspaper to keep us up to speed on things that will affect us, like the school budgets or the new curfew at the park.” In my wildest dreams I had never imagined that an entire table of journalists would be opening their notebooks to take notes about the things that I was saying! Incredible!

  All the journalists looked friendly and a lot were nodding.

  “Thank you!” said Mr. Swopes.

  When the meeting had ended, everyone came over to me to shake my hand and wish me luck in the future. Lauren Fields was about to walk me down to the lobby when Mr. Swopes called out to her.

  “Ms. Fields, Ms. Martone, may I interrupt for a minute?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Ms. Fields replied.

  “Harry was telling me that you had an idea for the story about the Cherry Valley cougar,” Mr. Swopes explained. “I’d love to hear your take on the story, and I’d like to get it wrapped up as soon as possible.”

  “I haven’t fully fleshed out the story yet,” Ms. Fields began, “but I thought I would write about the hyper-competitive nature of school sports these days and about how the crazed approach to competition led to the statue being vandalized.”

  “Interesting,” Mr. Swopes said. “Do you have any evidence to prove that theory?”

  “I’ve gathered quotes from players, fans, and parents about the increased pressure to compete,” Ms. Fields replied.

  “I’m not doubting that part of it,” Mr. Swopes answered. “I’m just wondering how exactly you know that it led to the vandalism. Considering the police don’t have a suspect yet. Or do you know something that I don’t?”

  “No, I don’t,” Ms. Fields admitted. “I’m no closer to knowing who did it than Sam is.”

  “Oh, Ms. Martone, do you have a lead on the story?” Mr. Swopes asked.

  “Not one,” I said honestly.

  “Then I think you need to find a new angle, Ms. Fields,” he declared. “Until we know who was responsible for the statue, that angle is pure speculation.

  “Ms. Fields, sometimes a news story is just a news story,” he continued. “No need to add drama to make it seem more interesting when it is already interesting at its core.”

  “I understand,” Lauren Fields acknowledged. “I’ll write a draft of the news story and get it to Harry right away.”

  “I look forward to reading it,” Mr. Swopes said before walking away.

  I couldn’t believe Lauren Fields had gotten shot down like that, with me standing next to her, no less.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” I said, “I thought your angle was a really good one.”

  “Me too.” Ms. Fields laughed. “Seriously, though, he’s right. Sticking to the simple approach may not seem like the most creative way to tell a story, but there are some stories that are just better when you let the facts tell them. They’re the ones that usually lead to the investigative stories. Not every story can be a big dramatic one.”

  “Can you give me a minute while I write that down in my notebook?” I said. “That’s an important lesson.”

  Ms. Fields and I chatted during the elevator ride down to the lobby. I went to shake her hand good-bye, but she gave me a big hug instead.

  “Say hello to that cutie Michael Lawrence for me,” she said as I walked toward Mom’s car. “I hope things are working out better between you guys.”

  “Thanks!” I yelled back. “Me too!”

  Chapter 9

  COUGARS HATCH A PLAN TO SAVE THE DAY

  Mom definitely had her listening ears on during the car ride home. I couldn’t stop talking about everything that had happened in my visit to the Gazette. It was by far the most exciting day of my journalism career—maybe even my entire life!

  Later I thought about Mr. Swopes’s advice to Ms. Fields as I typed an e-mail to Michael.

  Michael,

  Forget about the curses and stuff. I think we should take a straight news approach to the cougar story. What do you think? We could work on it together at the fund-raiser tomorrow.

  —Sam

  I thought Michael might be busy with the guys from the football team, getting ready for the big car wash, but he was obviously not too busy to reply right away. This made me even happier than I already was, which was pretty ecstatic to begin with. What’s happier than ecstatic? Jubilant? Euphoric? Elated?

  Hey, Pasty,

  Sounds like a good plan. You can come to my house after the fund-raiser. My mom will drive us.

  —Michael

  I was all set to flop onto my bed and rewind on the day’s events, playing them like a movie in my mind. Then I remembered—Dear Know-It-All! I still had that column to write too.

  I logged on to my e-mail and clicked through letter after letter about the Cougar Curse. Then I saw one that didn’t mention the curse at all.

  Dear Know-It-All,

  If I know one of my friends did something wrong, how do I handle it without feeling like a traitor? Should I tell someone? Do I keep my mouth shut? It was pretty bad, and I know he’s sorry for what he did. He’s just too afraid to tell anyone. I’m more twisted than a roller coaster.

  Please help.

  —Guilty Conscience

  Whoa! That was heavier than I was expecting. I wondered if whoever wrote the letter knew who broke Mr. Cougar. This could be important. I opened a new file and started to type.

  Dear Guilty,

  Of course you should tell someone about what happened. You shouldn’t even question it. If what your friend did was wrong, he or she needs to stand up and face the consequences.

  —Dear Know-It-All

  The doorbell rang, so I hit save and quickly closed the file. I didn’t want anyone snooping around and finding out that I was Dear Know-It-All. Hailey was coming over to make dream bars for the bake sale, and as hard as it was, I couldn’t even let my best friend know about that assignment.

  I was a little worried that we wouldn’t have any dream bars left to sell. It seemed like Hailey was chowing down on them as fast as we could take them out of the oven. But even Hailey had her dream bar limit—eight, totally gross—so we wrapped up the rest of them and went to bed. Not to sleep, of course. A
llie needed some payback for the squealfest she threw with her friends, so Hailey and I made sure to scream our loudest right in the direction of Allie’s room as we watched not-so-scary movies that night.

  When Mom pulled up at the school parking lot the next morning, there was already a line ten cars long waiting to be washed. And we were an hour early! Hailey and I ran to the bake-sale stand while Mom and Allie waited in the car.

  The dream bars sold out in less than twenty minutes. It seemed like every parent at Cherry Valley and their friend pulled their car into the parking lot that morning. It was definitely worth the price of the car wash to see Mr. Pfeiffer in gym shorts and a T-shirt, totally soaked from head to toe. I wondered if Jeff Perry, the photo editor, had gotten a photo of that—who was I kidding? He probably had a whole camera full.

  I was in the middle of selling half a cherry pie to Jenna and her dad when I saw Hailey waving frantically in my direction and pointing. I looked in that direction and saw that Danny Stratham was walking toward me. Yikes!

  He waved at me and smiled. I could definitely see where he got the ladies’ man reputation and why so many girls liked him.

  “Samantha Martone, fancy meeting you here,” he said, grinning.

  “I go to school here, Danny, and you know it,” I said, trying not to grin. “What’s your excuse?”

  “The guys from West Hills felt bad for the Cougars,” he explained. “We like the competition. It’s no fun to play against teams that are easy to beat.

  “We talked some of our parents into getting their cars washed here,” he added. “And I’m here to check out the snacks.”

  “And the girls?” Hailey coughed behind me.

  “Oh, just one girl in particular,” Danny said, winking at me.

  I tried to ignore the wink.

  “There’s not many snacks left, so if you want something, you’d better choose now,” I said matter-of-factly.

  Just then, a soaking-wet Michael Lawrence came sloshing over to the booth. “The guys on the team are going to be hungry after this is done, Sam,” he said. “So you’d better save some snacks for us.”

  I wasn’t sure why Michael sounded so gruff when he said that, but I had an idea . . . and its initials were D.S.

  “We already put some aside,” Hailey told him. “Don’t worry. Sam’s thinking about you.”

  “Oh and, Sam,” Michael said before he walked away. “My mom will be here in a half hour to pick us up. You are still coming to my house, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “I’ll be ready.”

  Danny Stratham picked up a cupcake and handed me a dollar.

  “Thanks for the snack, Samantha,” he said. “You’re still sure that’s not your boyfriend?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “We’re working on a story together. The Cougar Curse story.”

  “Well, it would sure be bad luck for Lawrence if you found a new partner to hang out with.” He laughed.

  “Danny Stratham, that’s enough!” Hailey interrupted. “We appreciate that West Hills is supporting our cause, but it’s almost time for us to pack up. So thank you—and good-bye. Enjoy the car wash!”

  “Thanks,” I said to Hailey when Danny walked away. “I don’t know why I have trouble getting out of those conversations.”

  “Um, let me see, cute . . . athletic . . . charming . . . I can’t imagine why you’d want to talk to someone like that.”

  “I do not like Danny Stratham, Hailey,” I protested. “You know that.”

  “I know you don’t like him,” Hailey countered. “But you can like flirting with him. I’d wonder what was wrong with you if you didn’t.”

  “He’s not that charming.” I laughed.

  By the time we helped pack up the booth, Michael’s mom had arrived to pick us up. Back at Michael’s house, he set up the laptop in the kitchen so we could work side by side at the kitchen table. Danny Stratham who?

  “I’d offer you a snack, but I’m guessing you’re not very hungry,” Michael’s mom said. “I have some work to do, so I’ll just get out of your way. If you do get hungry, just tell Michael.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Lawrence. You’re right. I’m totally stuffed with snacks,” I said.

  “You can start typing your notes into the laptop,” Michael said. “I’m going to get out of these wet clothes. Be right back.”

  I started by typing the basic questions that are crucial to every good news story.

  Who?

  What?

  Where?

  When?

  Why?

  We didn’t know “Who” or “Why” yet, but I had at least a little info to fill in for the rest of the questions.

  Michael returned in some dry sweatpants and a T-shirt. He sat down next to me, smelling like soap and car wax. I liked it. I didn’t like the way he was acting, though. He wasn’t quite sullen Michael, but he was definitely worried or bothered by something. I hoped it wasn’t me, but I wasn’t really sure.

  Our story turned out just like our work session—good, solid, but not very exciting.

  Chapter 10

  THE TRUTH IS REVEALED

  My work as Dear Know-It-All gave me a lot of insight into the emotional lives of my fellow students at Cherry Valley Middle School. It did not prepare me, however, for the phone call I received that night.

  “Hello, Sam?” I heard a shaky voice say on the other end of the line.

  “Michael? Is that you?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I have a confession to make. I’ve been keeping something from you.”

  “Okay, what is it?” I said. “We’re friends. You can tell me anything.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Anything?”

  “I’m sure, Michael,” I answered, starting to feel impatient. “Just say it.”

  “You know how I wasn’t really telling you about the interviews I did with the Cherry Valley kids?” he asked.

  “I know. You never did the interviews,” I said. “You were busy with football practice and the stupid Cougar Curse. It’s okay. I understand.”

  “No, Sam, that’s not it!” said Michael, sounding less shaky. “I did the interviews. And I found out who broke Mr. Cougar.”

  “Michael Lawrence, are you kidding me?” I was stunned.

  “I’m not joking, Sam,” he answered. “I’m dead serious.”

  “You just sat right next to me for hours working on this story, and you didn’t mention that you know who did it!” I yelled.

  “I know!” he yelled back. “I feel terrible. That’s why I’m calling.”

  “So what, you wanted to keep the scoop all to yourself?” I asked. “Get a front-page byline of your own?”

  “Come on, Sam. You know me better than that,” Michael replied. “It’s not like that at all. It’s not what anyone thinks at all.”

  “What is it, then?” I wondered.

  “It wasn’t the guys from West Hills, Sam,” Michael explained. “It was kids from Cherry Valley. It was supposed to be a prank. They wanted to put underwear on Mr. Cougar. They thought it would make everyone laugh before the game. But when they started to get the underwear on, the statue tipped over.

  “They panicked,” he added. “That’s when they decided to make it look like someone vandalized the statue.”

  “Michael, you heard Officer Mendez,” I said. “This is a crime. You need to tell someone what you know, even if some of these people are your friends.”

  “But I’d feel like such a traitor, Sam!” he cried. “I hang out with some of these guys every day! They’re my buddies.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I answered. “There’s only one right thing to do. So do it.”

  “You’re not listening, Sam,” Michael pleaded. “These guys are my friends. They didn’t mean to do it. And they’re really, really sorry.

  “That’s why we came up with the idea to do the fund-raiser,” he explained. “We figured it would be a good way to come up with the money to fix Mr. Cougar. Then everything wo
uld be okay.”

  I stopped and thought for a moment. Was I better than the guys who broke Mr. Cougar? A few months ago, I picked some flowers on my way home from school with Hailey. I went to put them in my mom’s favorite vase to surprise her. But the vase slipped and crashed into a million pieces on the floor. I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I swept up the pieces and threw them in the neighbor’s trash can so Mom wouldn’t see them. Mom’s been looking for that vase for months. It hurts my heart every time I see her digging through a box or pulling stuff off a closet shelf. I was hoping she’d forget about it, but she hasn’t. So I guess I’m just as guilty as the Cougar vandals, after all.

  I decided to be a real friend, and I shared my story with Michael.

  “So you kind of know what I mean?” he asked, sounding a little hopeful.

  “Kind of,” I answered. “But not really. Breaking a vase is an accident. Vandalizing something is a crime even if it started as an accident. I still think you should tell. But I understand why you don’t want to.”

  “Thanks for listening, Sam,” Michael said. “I’ll definitely think about what you said.”

  “I hope you do,” I replied. “See you Monday at school?”

  “See you Monday at school,” Michael said before hanging up.

  I tossed and turned in bed that night. I felt like a hypocrite. What would Winston Churchill do? What would Lauren Fields do? What would I do?

  Chapter 11

  DEADLINE APPROACHING FAST; MARTONE HUSTLES TO MEET IT

  I sent Lauren Fields an e-mail before I went to school on Monday. She replied right away and said I should call her after school.

  The day seemed endless. I usually enjoyed my classes more than most of my classmates, but I felt like I was locked up in a cell that I couldn’t escape from. Mostly I felt like I was locked up in my own brain and I wanted to escape from that. I didn’t know what I would do if Michael didn’t tell someone what he knew. I didn’t know how I could let the broken vase cover-up go on. I wanted it all to just go away.