by Rachel Wise
I could tell Michael was feeling the same way, although he didn’t have much to say to me that day. We passed each other in the hall on the way to the cafeteria. We both nodded and then put our heads down.
“What’s up with you?” Hailey asked. “Wait a minute. . . . Is it Danny Stratham again?”
Trust Hailey to make a girl laugh in her darkest hour.
“No, it’s not him,” I said. “It’s just this story we’re working on. We’re . . . we’re having trouble putting all the pieces together.”
“Well, it’s not going to come together if you just nod your heads and don’t talk to each other,” Hailey noted.
“I know. You’re right,” I agreed. “We just need some time. Trust me. It will all be okay.”
“I know it will,” Hailey said. “You guys are the dynamic duo of the Cherry Valley Voice! How could it not turn out okay?”
I hoped that Hailey was right. That afternoon I waited on the love seat during the Voice meeting, but the seat beside me sat empty. Michael rushed into the meeting fifteen minutes after it started. I nodded at him, but this time, he didn’t make eye contact. He just sat in that same chair in the back of the room, and then he left fifteen minutes early.
I went home and made my call to Lauren Fields. I told her that Michael knew something about what happened to Mr. Cougar and that he knew the people who were responsible for damaging the statue, but that he wasn’t ready to share what he knew.
“Wow, that’s a tough one,” she said. “It’s pretty impossible to be neutral when you know the people involved in a story. He should tell what knows because it’s the right thing to do. Then he should take himself off the story. He’s just too close.”
I knew she was right, but I had no idea how I was going to convince Michael to do that. Luckily, I didn’t have to.
Michael called later that night, sounding even worse than he had during our previous conversation.
“Sam, I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Coach Dixon and Principal Pfeiffer,” he said.
“You did?” I said incredulously. “I’m so glad you called them. What did you say?”
“I told them everything I knew,” he stated. “And I felt like a traitor the whole time.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been so tough,” I said.
“It was,” Michael confessed. “And it turns out they’d already suspected the kids who did it. They said they appreciated my honesty. They also promised to keep my name out of the investigation.”
“That’s good news,” I said, trying to be cheerful. “Right?”
“Sure. No one will know I’m a traitor but me,” Michael answered sarcastically.
“You’re not a traitor,” I assured him. “You did the right thing.”
“There’s another thing I have to do to make things right,” Michael added.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t think I can work on this story with you,” he announced.
“I agree,” I told him. “You’re too close to it to be objective. I understand.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“See?” I said. “You did two right things in one day. You shouldn’t feel bad.”
“Right,” said Michael. “I ratted out some of my friends, and I let my favorite writing partner down. Best day ever.
“Oh, and I still have the Cougar Curse,” Michael added. “I threw four interceptions in practice today.”
“Well, Mr. Cougar will be fixed soon, and then the curse will be lifted,” I said hopefully. “Just see if you can wait it out a little longer.”
“Thanks, Pasty,” Michael said. “I’ll try.”
After I hung up the phone, a wave of guilt rushed through my body. Michael Lawrence had been brave enough to tell the truth. What was my problem?
I went into my mom’s room and sat at the edge of her bed. “Mom, I have something I need to tell you,” I said solemnly.
“What is it, Sam?” she asked. “Bad grade? Missed an assignment? Trouble with Hailey?”
“No, none of those things,” I answered. “I did something really bad a few months ago, and I hid it from you. And I’m really so sorry that I didn’t just tell you right away.”
Mom put her hands down on the bed, as if she were trying to prop herself up. I didn’t know what was going through her mind, but I don’t think it was a broken vase.
“What did you do, Sam?” she said, her voice almost as low as a whisper.
“I broke your favorite vase—you know, the blue one with the white flowers,” I said. “I didn’t mean to, Mom. It was a complete accident. I was actually trying to do something nice for you. I picked you a bunch of wildflowers and I was going to put it on the kitchen table. It just slipped out of my hand.”
Mom looked relieved. Then she looked serious again. “I know accidents happen,” Mom said. “But that vase was from Grandma. It can never be replaced.”
I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks. I hated breaking Mom’s vase, but I hated hurting her feelings even more. I didn’t know what to say.
“There’s another, even more important thing that’s very hard to replace when you break it, Sam,” Mom added. “Do you know what it is?”
“No,” I admitted.
“It’s trust,” Mom said. “It hurts that you broke that vase, but I would have gotten over it. It hurts even more that you hid it from me. You broke a piece of our trust, Sam, and that’s a really delicate thing.”
By now I was pretty much bawling my eyes out. “Will you ever trust me again?” I wailed.
Mom pulled me close, hugged me, and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “Samantha Martone, you are a good girl,” she said. “I know that, and I trust you. So let’s keep it that way. If you do something wrong and you tell me, that trust will stay strong.”
“I promise, Mom.” I sniffed. “I will never ever keep anything from you again.”
“I hope so,” Mom said. “And you’ll make up the broken vase by folding laundry for a month, deal?”
“Deal,” I agreed.
Mom and I shook hands; then we hugged each other tightly.
“Mom?” I said.
“What is it, Sam?” she asked.
“I just remembered something really important I need to do,” I explained.
“Okay, so go do it!” Mom laughed.
My Dear Know-It-All column draft was waiting on my computer. It needed a major rewrite.
I woke up the next morning and found a message in my e-mail in-box.
Sam,
Just wanted to check in and see how everything went. I believe in you.
—Lauren Fields
I picked up the phone and called the Gazette. I wasn’t sure if Ms. Fields would be at work so early, but I figured that since she was a reporter, she probably got an early start. I was right.
“Hi, this is Sam Martone,” I said. “I got your e-mail. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Hi, Sam,” Ms. Fields replied. “How are you? What’s going on?”
“I was just wondering if you ever use confidential sources,” I asked. “You know, off the record?”
“All the time, Sam,” Ms. Fields said in a serious reporter tone.
“Well, then, this confidential source is informing you that they know who did it, and it’s not the kids from West Hills,” I reported, feeling like I was in the middle of the Watergate investigation.
“Thanks so much, Sam,” Ms. Fields said. “I’m on it!”
She wasn’t kidding, either. The next day the story hit the Cherry Valley Gazette.
Cougar Cursed by Prank Gone Bad
The story went on to inform the readers that kids from Cherry Valley were responsible for the damage to the cougar statue in front of Cherry Valley Middle School. It didn’t name names, but all the details were in there. I admired Ms. Fields’s work. The story was straightforward but factual. As Mr. Swopes said, “Sometimes a news story is just a news story.”
I tried to take that advice
as I finished my story for the Voice. I interviewed Mr. Pfeiffer and Officer Mendez and typed in some final revisions quickly, the clock ticking over my shoulder.
They are withholding the names of the students at the present time, but “They know who they are, and we know where they are,” said Officer Mendez. “We’re working with their families to determine the best way that they can pay the restitution needed to repair the statue.”
A confidential source has informed this reporter that the students are incredibly sorry for their actions and feel terrible about covering it up.
I saved my final draft and sent it to Mr. Trigg for approval. Then I left the newsroom and looked for Michael. I found him outside the locker room.
“Hey, is everything okay?” I asked as I approached him.
He smiled at me, a bright, beautiful, happy smile that I had really, really missed.
“Getting better all the time,” he said.
“Coach Dixon just gave the team a big talk,” he added. “He talked about the importance of being honest and owning up to your mistakes. It worked. The kids involved in the Mr. Cougar incident stood up and admitted that they did it!”
That was newsworthy information! I wondered why Mr. Pfeiffer hadn’t shared it with me during the interview. Good thing I had a reliable inside source on the story: Michael Lawrence!
“Oh, and one other thing,” Michael continued. “The kids have agreed to get after-school jobs. They’re going to help pay for the repairs. They’re also going to be suspended from most of our future games.”
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “That has to hurt.”
“I won’t lie. It does,” Michael confessed. “I don’t think we’re winning the championship anyway this year, though.”
“I’ll admit, it doesn’t look that way,” I agreed. “But look on the bright side. There’s so much room for improvement now!”
Michael reached over and ruffled my hair. I thought I felt a spark, but I wasn’t sure if it was just that static electricity thing that happens, or something else.
Chapter 12
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
Nearly all the students in the hallways of Cherry Valley Middle School had their heads in a copy of the Voice after it was distributed at the end of the week. The headline of my story, Cougar Curse Cracked, appeared in big, bold letters at the top of the fold.
“That’s surprising,” I said as I turned to Hailey and snatched the paper from her hands. “It’s old news already. The story’s been out for a few days. Why is everyone so interested in it now?”
“It’s been out, but everyone knows that you’re the source for the real facts,” Hailey explained. “And don’t look like you don’t know that, either. You can feel proud, Sam. You did a great job.”
“Thanks, Hailey,” I said. “I really do feel proud.”
“It’s an important story. There were so many rumors and interpretations going on,” Hailey added. “Sometimes you just need the plain black-and-white facts.”
I had never agreed more with my best friend.
We plopped into our seats in homeroom and listened to the announcements made by Principal Pfeiffer over the PA system.
“Students, I have some incredible news to share with you today,” Mr. Pfeiffer told the school. “And anonymous donor has volunteered to fix Mr. Cougar. He or she will put up the money to pay the bill until the students can pay back the amount. The Cougar Curse is lifted!”
Homeroom is supposed to be a silent period, but every classroom in the school erupted with cheers after Mr. Pfeiffer’s announcement. You would have thought the Cougars had won the championship game or something, not that some silly curse was broken.
I was walking home from school that afternoon when Michael Lawrence caught up to me.
“Mind if I walk with you?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I said. “You’re just going a little out of your way, you know.”
“I know.” He smiled. “I need the exercise. Gotta get ready for the next football game.
“Great job on the cougar story, Pasty,” he added. “I’m sure Lauren Fields is proud of you. I know I am.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I turned my head to the side just in case I was blushing a little. But Michael didn’t notice, because he was pulling something from his backpack. It was the latest issue of the Voice.
“I also really liked the Dear Know-It-All column,” he said. “I mean, listen to this. . . .”
I like to think of what someone I respect would do. It’s always tempting to think you can get away with something or try to cover it up and make it better, but the truth usually comes out, and in the meantime, it will eat you up inside and twist you around like a roller coaster. Being honest is always the best policy. It sounds boring, but sometimes the most straightforward approach is the best approach. No one ever regrets doing the right thing, but doing the wrong thing can really haunt you.
“That’s pretty good advice,” I said.
“I think so,” Michael agreed. “I definitely know what it’s like to be twisted like a roller coaster. And I was sure Dear Know-It-All would know the right thing to do.”
I twisted up my face, squinted my eyes, and looked at Michael sideways. Wait a minute! Did he write the letter? Did he know that I’m Dear Know-It-All?
“Dear Know-It-All is definitely a smarty,” I said, trying to stifle a giggle.
“She is,” Michael replied. “It’s a great idea to think what someone you respect would do.”
Did you ever have a moment with someone when you feel like time just stops and stands still? Not like one of those romantic scenes in a movie, where the winds are blowing and you’re staring into each other’s eyes dreamily. Just a sort of Wow, we’re so in sync and everything feels so right; let’s just stop and stay quiet and enjoy it all kind of a moment? That’s the moment I had with Michael Lawrence just then.
Of course, then we both burst out laughing a few moments later.
Then Michael raised his water bottle into the air and proposed a toast. “Here’s to doing the right thing,” he said.
I clinked my water bottle to his.
“And to being rid of the Cougar Curse!” I added, right before the bottle slipped out of my hand and I spilled water all over myself.
“But never being rid of the Clumsy Curse!” Michael laughed. “That’s my favorite curse ever!”
That night, before I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I looked out my window and tried to find my lucky star. I didn’t see it, but I thanked it anyway.
Extra! Extra!
Want the scoop on what Samantha is up to next?
Here’s a sneak peek of the eleventh book in the Dear Know-It-All series:
Late Edition
SUBURBAN TEEN DIES OF SLEEP DEPRIVATION!
I rolled over and stared at the clock next to my bed. The numbers cast a bloodred glow across both the computer and the empty diet cola can on my bedside table. It was 1:05 a.m. I quickly did the math in my head for the tenth time that night: My alarm will go off at 6:15, which means if I fall asleep right this very second, I will still get only five hours and ten minutes of sleep.
Which is not enough.
I sighed heavily and flopped on my back to stare at the ceiling. I’d read an article a few months ago on Huffington Post about teenagers and how their internal clocks are out of whack with the rest of society. I guess a lot of studies have been done and teenagers’ bodies need to stay up late and sleep late. (Like I did this morning. Blissful eleven-o’clock Sunday-morning sleep-in!) It’s some kind of adaptation that has developed over thousands of years. Maybe I should pitch an article to Mr. Trigg, our school newspaper advisor, on teenage sleep patterns. That could be good. I flipped on my lamp, wincing at the brightness, and reached for my laptop to e-mail the idea to myself. (My trusty notebook was already packed in my messenger bag and I didn’t feel like getting up to get it.) After closing the computer, I switched off the lamp and settled back und
er the covers with a sigh, waiting for sleep to come. I sighed again loudly and fluffed my pillow. Nothing.
Suburban Teen Dies of Sleep Deprivation!
I wondered how fast it could happen.
At some point I must’ve fallen asleep, but it was well after one thirty, because that was the last time I remember doing my sleep math.
“Sammy, sweetheart, you’re going to be late if you don’t get up right now!” My mom sounded stressed.
“Yeah, sweetheart!” sang out my sister, Allie, passing by my room—while texting, I’m sure.
I groaned and thought about how I keep meaning to wear clean school clothes to bed so all I have to do is roll out and brush my teeth. Tonight. For sure.
“Just put your feet on the floor. Once you’re up and moving, it will be a whole lot better. I promise,” said my mom, watching me with folded arms from her perch in the doorway.
I did as she said and mentally reviewed my day, trying to figure out the soonest moment I could get some shut-eye, even if it was just a nap in the library.
“Okay, Mom. I’m up and it’s not better!” I called, but she had already left.
My mom was a little bit right, in that once my day was under way, I wasn’t as tired as I’d been all snuggled under my down comforter. Getting up in the morning is kind of like writing on deadline. You dread it, and it’s hard to get started, but once you get going, everything just flows. That’s how it is for me anyway.
Hailey and I were at lunch when I suddenly let out a huge yawn.
I wish I could have my day start later. I can’t get to sleep at night, and it’s driving me crazy!”
“Why?” asked Hailey, picking up a muffin from her tray and chewing thoughtfully.