Samantha Sanderson on the Scene
Page 1
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ZONDERKIDZ
Samantha Sanderson On the Scene
Copyright © 2014 by Robin Caroll Miller
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zonderkidz, 3900 Sparks Dr., Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
ePub Edition © March 2014: ISBN 978 – 0 – 310 – 74248 – 7
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Zonderkidz is a trademark of Zondervan.
Editor: Kim Childress
Cover design: Cindy Davis
Illustration: Jake Parker
Interior design: Ben Fetterley and Greg Johnson / Textbook Perfect
Printed in the United States of America
14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 /DCI/ 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Isabella. . .
Because you’re funny and smart and beautiful
and you inspire me.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I love you.
~Mom
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
CHAPTER ONE
Then I just felt the pop. Next thing I knew, I couldn’t even stand up.” Jefferson Cole’s red hair hung over his forehead, almost reaching his blue eyes. His voice hadn’t deepened yet like some of the other guys’ at Joe T. Robinson Middle School.
Samantha “Sam” Sanderson glanced over the list of questions in the Notes app of her iPhone. “Do you have any idea how your ankle got hurt?” she asked him. Sam was reporting on last week’s seventh-grade game against the Pulaski Acadamy Bruins.
He shook his head. “Like I said, I was running to the end zone, was tackled, then felt my ankle snap. It took two guys to take me down. One of them landed on my leg.” He lifted a single shoulder. “Coach said someone came down on it wrong.”
“Bet it hurt.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” The freckles seemed to jump off his face.
“You had to be rushed to the hospital?”
“I wouldn’t say I had to be rushed to the hospital, exactly,” Jefferson answered.
Sam gritted her teeth. He needed to work with her here.
It was bad enough she’d been assigned this story in the first place. Aubrey Damas, school newspaper editor and thorn in Sam’s side, had given Sam this assignment, knowing full well that whoever reported anything negative about sports would have half the school upset with them.
Robinson Senators stood behind their team one hundred percent. That Sam was a cheerleader made her writing an article on the dangers of football even worse. Aubrey knew that and had given Sam the assignment on purpose.
“But you went to the hospital straight from the game, right?” Sam pushed. Having to be rushed to the hospital sounded a lot more interesting than he went to the doctor and was treated for an ankle fracture. Not really blazing the journalism world with this stuff.
“Yeah. Doctor says I have to stay in this soft cast for the rest of the week.” Jefferson leaned his head back against his couch. “He said I have some tendon damage, so coach will probably bench me for the whole season just to be safe.”
Talk about a flare for the dramatic. Sam turned her head so he couldn’t see her grin. She glanced around the Cole’s living room, noticing again the boxes piled in the corner. They were nearly hidden by the recliner, but she’d noticed them when Mrs. Cole had let Sam in. Probably Mr. Cole’s things.
By now, most everyone at school knew the Coles were separated and heading toward divorce. Sam had overheard — for once, she hadn’t been purposefully eavesdropping — one of the ladies at church mention that Mr. Cole had rented an apartment nearby. It was sad for a family to break up. Sam had been praying for them, especially Jefferson’s sister, Nikki, who was on the newspaper staff with Sam. Nikki was Aubrey’s best friend, which meant Nikki wasn’t exactly friendly toward Sam.
Jefferson cleared his throat. “Dad says he’ll talk with Coach after my cast is off. He told me he’d work with me every weekend to practice plays. Maybe I’ll stand a chance of making the eighth grade te
am next year,” he said. “I hope so. Man, I heard they might let some eighth graders play with the ninth graders next year, too.”
“That’s promising.” Sam couldn’t imagine being so fired up about being hit, but whatever. A lot of people didn’t understand her passion to become a journalist.
Jefferson nodded. “Dad says it’ll take a lot of hard work, but we can do it.”
“I’m sure you’ll make it.” Sam didn’t miss the emphasis on we . . . was Jefferson planning on living with his dad after the big D? Nikki hadn’t said anything about living arrangements. Then again, she didn’t really talk to Sam. Because of Aubrey, Nikki and Sam didn’t talk much. Still, Sam couldn’t help feeling sorry for all of the Cole family.
“I’m studying both the seventh grade and eighth grade playbooks all the time. I nearly have everything memorized already. Dad says — ”
“Who brought this in?” Nikki’s voice rose above the music coming from the den where she’d been supposedly doing homework since Sam had arrived at the Cole house. She stormed into the living room, waving a piece of paper. “Jefferson, did you put this on the front door?”
Her brother tapped the top of his cast. “Seriously?”
Nikki turned her glare to Sam. “You. Did you do this?”
Sam started to claim innocence, but curiosity got the better of her. “Let me see.” She stood and held out her hand.
Nikki thrust the paper at Sam. “You did this. You wrote this and left it at the front door, didn’t you?”
Smoothing the paper, Sam read the single sentence, written in black, bold letters:
NIKKI COLE IS A FATTY
“Why would you do something like this? Are you the one making the calls, too?” Nikki’s face turned redder than Sam’s shoulders, which had been sunburned just two weeks ago. “Why? Why would you do this? Aubrey’s right — you are jealous of us.”
Jealous? Of Aubrey and Nikki? Oh, puhleeze. But that wasn’t the issue at the moment. “Nikki, I didn’t do this. I promise. I wouldn’t do such a thing.” This was just mean and nasty. Sam would never stoop so low. “You’ve gotten calls? What kind?”
“You’re going to deny it?”
Sam shook her head. “Nikki, I know we aren’t friends, but you have to believe me. You know I’d never lower myself to something like this.”
Nikki paused, studying Sam for a long moment, and then she snatched the paper away. “Never mind. Just forget about it.” She spun and stomped from the room.
Sam started to follow her.
“Don’t bother.” Jefferson’s words stopped Sam. “She’ll lock herself in her room to cry. Then Mom will go talk to her for a long time before ending up calling Dad to come have dinner with us.”
He knew his sister’s routine.
“Has she gotten notes like that before?” Sam sunk back into her seat on the chair across from the couch. She couldn’t imagine someone writing such a thing, let alone deliver it.
But Jefferson nodded.
“Just like that?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes it says she’s ugly. And she’s gotten a couple of text messages saying she’s fat and ugly, too.”
Text messages meant a phone number. “Has she recognized the phone number?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Dad tried calling it back, but it just rang until he got the recording that the voice mailbox hadn’t been set up yet.”
“What do the police say?” Sam’s dad was a detective with the Little Rock Police Department, so she put a lot of stock in law enforcement investigations.
Jefferson’s eyes widened. “We haven’t called the police. Calling a girl fat and ugly isn’t a crime.”
Now it was Sam’s turn to shake her head. “This is beyond just calling someone names. Texting and writing her notes, that can be considered bullying. All states have some form of law against bullying, so it actually is a crime.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. It can become real serious.” She nodded toward the doorway Nikki had left through. “You see how upset that made her. Some people get stuff like that constantly. A lot of teenagers. Until they can’t take it anymore.” Sam didn’t want to talk about all the documentaries she’d seen about how many kids had hurt themselves or worse because of one form or another of bullying. “Your mom or dad should call the police and report it.”
“I’ll tell them.”
Good. Maybe the police could find out who was behind this and catch them before Nikki got even more upset. In the meantime, Sam made a mental vow to pay attention to everyone around Nikki at school. “How long ago did this start?”
“Yesterday, I think.” Jefferson answered.
Hmmm.
“Do you have any more questions about my injury?” Jefferson’s question pulled Sam from her thoughts.
“Uh, no.” She’d better get professional. If she wanted to be seen as a serious journalist like her mom, she had to act like a pro no matter how dull the assignment. She forced a smile and stood, slipping her phone into her backpack. “I think I have everything I need. Aubrey said Marcus had already come by and taken your picture?”
“He left just a few minutes before you got here.”
The school paper’s photographer was always on time. Sam didn’t think Marcus had missed a deadline. Ever.
Neither had she, but she had the career goal to become not just a journalist, but the best. She’d wanted to be a journalist ever since she could remember. Following in Mom’s footsteps and all. Her travels . . . her experiences . . . Sam wanted all that for herself one day.
“Well, thanks for the interview.” Sam slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’d better get going. I’ll see myself out.”
“Thanks. Oh, and please don’t say anything about Nikki’s notes or texts. She gets mad if she thinks I’ve gotten into her business.” Jefferson gave a weak smile.
Sam nodded. “I understand, but do talk with your mom and dad about calling the police. They have an anti-bullying department that can help. At least they could trace the number the texts came from.”
“I will,” Jefferson said.
Sam nodded, then let herself out the front door. Nikki only lived a couple of blocks from Sam, so she’d put off the interview until this afternoon. Her article was due tomorrow, but she wasn’t worried. She didn’t have any homework, so could easily write the article tonight.
Taking these less-than-awesome assignments and turning out a quality article was a right step on her career path. Great reporter this year, editor in chief next year. Then hello high school paper. The only way Robinson High School’s newspaper accepted a freshman on staff was if they’d been the editor of the middle school paper.
Her mind kept as brisk a pace as her walking. Who could be sending those notes and texts to Nikki? Aside from her being Aubrey’s BFF, no one had a reason not to like Nikki. Of course, there was no telling if Aubrey, and Nikki by association, might have said the wrong thing to the wrong person.
Was Aubrey getting notes and texts too?
The air outside was still. Sam’s scalp felt hot under her long, thick hair. If she stayed out much longer, she’d be sweating.
She sprinted across the yard to her garage door and punched in the code on the keypad. The mechanical door opened with a creak and a squeak. Dad needed to work on that. She’d have to remember to tell him.
She raced into the house. Chewy, her German Hunt Terrier, met her at the door, jumping and wagging her whole body. Sam chuckled, then let the dog out into the backyard before starting on dinner. This morning before school, she’d pulled one of the casseroles from the freezer and shoved it into the refrigerator. That meant it wouldn’t take nearly as long to cook, so it should be ready just about the time Dad would get home from work.
When Mom was home, Sam would help her make casseroles that were easy to freeze and store. That way, when Mom was off on a journalism assignment, Sam and her dad always had home-cooked meals.
Tonight was one of those ni
ghts, but Mom was coming home next week.
Sam had just finished dumping the salad mix into the bowls when the front door opened. Dad’s keys clanked into the wooden bowl on the entry table. “Hi, Daddy,” she called out.
“Hi, Pumpkin.” As usual, he went immediately to his and Mom’s room to lock up his gun and badge.
She added dressing and cheese to the salads, then set them on the placemats on the kitchen table.
“Something smells good.” Dad kissed the top of her head after he came into the kitchen.
“It’s stuffed bell pepper casserole,” Sam answered as she handed him the hot pads.
“No wonder my stomach’s growling.” He pulled the casserole from the oven and set it on the cooling rack.
She turned off the oven and passed him the silver server and two plates. He cut generous pieces of the cheesy, meaty casserole, then carried the plates to the table. Sam joined him, carrying two glasses of milk.
Dad said grace. Her own stomach growling, Sam shoved a bite of the hot casserole into her mouth. The yummy tomato and cheese flavors made her taste buds stand up and dance. She couldn’t help making a little sighing sound.
Shaking his head, Dad laughed. “You enjoy your food like your mother.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sam answered and smiled before taking another bite.
“How was school today?”
“Good. I interviewed a football player who got hurt in last week’s game. He hurt his ankle and probably won’t be able to play the rest of the season.”
“Ouch.”
Sam nodded. “He’s not really happy about it.” She could kind of understand. If she couldn’t cheer for a season, she’d be pretty upset. Or, if for some strange reason she couldn’t be on the Senator Speak staff for even a week, that would be a fate worse than death.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Uneventful, the way I like it.” Dad smiled. It was a nice smile. Her dad was pretty handsome, if she did say so herself. Dad’s hair had turned salt and pepper, but the pepper was still winning the race.
“You’re writing a feature on this football player?” Dad asked.
She nodded. “Just one article. It’s due tomorrow, but I don’t have any homework.” She took a sip of the cold milk. Mom only let them drink milk or water with dinner. Every now and again, Dad would let her have a soda, which was a treat, but to be honest, Sam liked milk.