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“Nope, none yet,” Ms. Fields confessed. “That's why I'm here, working the police beat. You guys probably know more than I do at this point.”

She squinted her eyes, leaned toward Michael,
and stared right into his baby blues. “Do you?” she asked.

I needed to remember that trick the next time I was interviewing someone. Michael looked like he had been totally thrown off guard. And he didn't even know anything more than I did!

Lauren Fields started laughing and slapped Michael on the back.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm just kidding. I'm actually taking the angle that the whole school rivalry thing is getting out of hand. The tension between these schools and their sports teams is insane—and totally inappropriate for your age group, by the way.”

I took out my notebook and scribbled some thoughts. That was an interesting way of looking at the story, and I'd never even considered it.

“Here's my card,” Ms. Fields said as she handed Michael and me each a business card. “If you hear anything interesting, shoot me an e-mail or give me a call. And if you ever want a tour of the newsroom, we can probably arrange that, too.”

“Are you serious?” I gasped. “That would be
incredible. Thank you so much!”

“Okay, we'll figure something out another time,” she said. “Like I said when I first got here, I'm on a deadline, so I'm going to talk to Officer Mendez and let you two get back to your reporting.”

Somehow Michael and I left the police station, got back into his mother's car, drove all the way to my house, and said good-bye to each other, but if you asked me exactly what happened, I wouldn't be able to tell you. I think I spent the whole time staring at Lauren Fields's business card and imagining what it would be like if my name were on the card instead of hers.

On Wednesday, Michael and I told Mr. Trigg about our meeting with Officer Mendez. He took it as an opportunity to give us a Journalism 101 refresher course.

“I don't think Officer Mendez's request is unreasonable, considering this is a school newspaper,” he told us. “So you can e-mail her and tell her that you will send her the story when it's finished. But I do need you to know that it is not a practice
you have to continue as a professional journalist. You're under no obligation to get approval from the people you quote, even from officials like a police officer, if you quote them accurately and keep a record from the interview, like the recording you made. This way, if anyone ever accuses you of representing them inaccurately, you can show them the proof behind your words.”

I scribbled frantically in my notebook as Mr. Trigg spoke. I could listen to him talk about journalism all day, and it wasn't just because of the dignified British accent. Everyone has a passion, and you can tell what that passion is because when you're in the middle of it, you don't care what else is happening around you. That's how I feel about the news.

“Sam, we should probably figure out our next steps,” Michael said wisely.

Have I mentioned how much I love the way his brain works?

“Right,” I agreed. “What are you thinking?”

“I think we should talk to some of the kids at West Hills,” Michael said. “I can start with the
guys I know on the team and then branch out from there. I have some ideas about who might be involved, so I'm going to try to feel them out.”

“Oh really?” I asked. “You know as journalists we have to remain neutral and fair in our reporting. Do you think you can be that way toward your football nemeses?

“I was thinking we might explore the Cougar Curse angle a little more,” I added. “Maybe we can start there.”

“Perfect, Pasty!” Michael replied. “You can take West Hills, since I'm ‘biased,' and I'll talk to some Cherry Valley kids about the curse.”

Somehow, this conversation hadn't gone the way I'd thought it would, but I didn't see a way that I could back out now. Michael's plan made sense, but it meant that I would have to go it alone when I would have much rather spent the time with my favorite baby-blue-eyed partner. Maybe the Cougar Curse was trying to tell me something.

Michael Lawrence may have been friendly with the guys on the West Hills football team, but I had my own West Hills connections. My mom's best friend, April, lives in West Hills. They've known each other since kindergarten, and April's known me since before I was born. She has a daughter, Emma, who's just a year younger than I am. Of course, Mom and April had dreamed that Emma and I would be BFFs, just like they are, but that didn't exactly pan out.

Don't get me wrong. I like Emma, and whenever we all get together, we have fun hanging out. It's just that she's very . . . West Hills. Again, I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just that Emma and her friends are into different kinds of things than my friends and I are into.
Like horses . . . and saddles . . . and riding competitions . . . and riding outfits . . . and, well, you get my point.

Anyway, I really do like Emma, and she was my best chance of getting a West Hills source, so when I got home from school I sent her an e-mail asking what the kids at West Hills were saying about the cougar incident. I had a pile of homework to do, so I shut off the computer and opened my math book. Twelve math word problems, two short responses about mechanical and chemical weathering, a review of my Spanish flash cards, and an hour of reading my book club book later, I was ready to get back to Mr. Cougar—after a snack, of course.

Emma had sent me a reply:

Hi, Sam,

I wish Cherry Valley would just drop the whole cougar thing. It's crazy. Everyone just assumed someone from our school did it because we're rivals. Where's your proof?

This is giving our school a bad reputation. I hope you'll include our side in your story.

I talked to some of my friends, and they agreed to talk to you. I'll text you their info. They're all home right now, so it would be good to call soon.

—Emma

Emma's reply made me really happy that I had gotten my homework out of the way. I called Evie Fong first, since I had met her with Emma once before.

“Hi, Evie. This is Samantha Martone,” I greeted her. “I think Emma told you I'd be calling about a story I'm working on.”

“Hi, Sam. What's going on?” replied Evie. “Emma said she told you how upset everyone is at West Hills.”

“She did,” I said. “What's your take on it?”

“I think you guys at Cherry Valley are taking your cougar a little too seriously,” Evie answered. “I mean, believing in a curse—are you joking? I thought that went out in the
Middle Ages or something.”

“Oh, I totally agree with you there,” I said. “I don't believe in curses either. But Mr. Cougar was a symbol of our school, and school property, so it's still not right that somebody vandalized the statue. Do you think someone at West Hills would have a grudge against us for some reason?”

“No one I know of,” Evie replied. “Why would we have a grudge? We beat your football team in the last six championship games. It seems like the grudge would be the other way around.”

“I didn't think of it that way,” I admitted. “I just thought of the rivalry.”

“I'd be shocked to find out that someone from West Hills did this,” Evie said. “Honestly, I don't know anyone who would risk getting in that much trouble for something dumb like that.”

“Thanks for talking to me, Evie,” I said. “I'll definitely make sure West Hills's voice is heard in my story.”

I called three other kids on Emma's list, and each one had a similar stance on the matter.
No, I don't know anyone at West Hills who would
vandalize Mr. Cougar. Yes, I think the Cougar Curse is silly. Please let everyone know that West Hills had nothing to do with it.

When I got to the last name on the list, I actually gasped.
Danny Stratham!
I hadn't known Emma was friends with him. Now, this was going to be interesting.

I dialed his number and held my breath. It sounded like an older man answered the phone—I guessed it was his dad.

“Hello, this is Samantha Martone. May I please speak to Danny?” I said in my most formal voice.

“Danny!”
the man yelled. “There's another girl on the phone for you!”

Interesting. I guess Danny Stratham was a ladies' man. I hadn't known that about him either.

“Hello?” said a voice that sounded the way I would imagine Danny Stratham's voice to sound.

“Danny? This is Samantha Martone, Emma's friend,” I explained.

“Oh, hey, Samantha,” he said in a really friendly voice. “I think I've seen you around before at the football games. Emma described what you
look like. I definitely remembered seeing you in the stands.”

“You may have,” I told him. “I'm at every game.”

“Because you're Michael Lawrence's girlfriend, right?” he said.

“G-g-girlfriend?” I stammered. “No, we're, um, just friends. And writing partners. We're working on a story together right now about the cougar incident.”

“Interesting,” Danny replied.

“Oh, do you know something about what happened to Mr. Cougar?” I asked.

“No, I meant interesting that you're not Michael Lawrence's girlfriend,” he said.

I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, and I was relieved that I had called Danny over the phone and not through a video chat. Was Danny Stratham actually flirting with me? Was I blushing because of it?

“I don't know if that's interesting or not. It's just a fact,” I said. “I do know that I have a story to write about what happened to Cherry Valley's cougar statue. That's why I was calling.”

“Yeah, that's what Emma told me,” Danny said. “But I don't really know anything about that. I just thought it would be fun to talk to you.”

“Really? I have to tell you, Danny, your name was mentioned all over Cherry Valley Middle School as someone who might be responsible,” I informed him. “Not that I believed it, but that's what everyone else was saying.”

“They're just jealous because I owned them on the football field that day.” Danny laughed. “I'm working on getting a scholarship to college. Why would I mess with my future by breaking your dumb cougar?”

“I don't know,” I said honestly. “Like I said, I didn't think that you did it. I'm just telling you what I heard.”

“Okay, Miss I'm-not-Michael-Lawrence's-girlfriend,” he said. “I'm just telling you that I didn't do it, and I don't know who did.

“You guys should get over that whole curse thing, anyway,” he added. “It's so elementary school.”

I couldn't help myself. I laughed out loud.

“Thanks for talking to me, Danny,” I said sincerely. “If you think of anything I should know about the cougar incident, give me a call. And good luck with the football scholarship.”