by Robin Caroll
“How?” Sam asked.
“Come on, girls, stop holding up the line,” said Mr. Emmitt, the science teacher. He motioned them to move faster.
Once the three of them got their trays and sat down, Makayla blessed the food for them.
“So, how can I see the comments?” Sam asked. She stabbed her straw into her carton of chocolate milk.
“Well, every time a comment is posted on the blog, an email is sent to the blog’s email address. In this case, Ms. Pape’s.” Makayla shrugged. “Just ask Ms. Pape to put all the comments into a document and then you have them all.”
“How do you know this? You aren’t even on the paper,” Lana said.
Makayla ducked her head. “Updating the school’s website is one of my EAST group projects. Today, we updated to include the paper’s blog. I had to go pull the address to post and noticed the settings.” She shrugged, but Sam could tell she was a little embarrassed.
“That would be great,” Sam said. “If I could just get Ms. Pape to do that for me.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Makayla asked.
“She’s trying to make that whole post disappear, so she probably deleted all the emails.” Sam shoved a fry into her mouth.
“Didn’t you say that Mrs. Trees was the one who pulled the post? If Ms. Pape wasn’t the one behind it, maybe she kept the emails.”
Sam pushed her uneaten chicken sandwich across the plate. She ate another fry. “Maybe, but I doubt it. If Mrs. Trees told her to take down my article, then I’ll bet Ms. Pape deleted the emails, too.”
Makayla swiped the paper napkin across her mouth. “Just because you delete something doesn’t mean it’s gone.”
Sam swallowed and stared at her bestie, raising a single brow. She hadn’t thought about that, but Mac was right.
“Really?” Lana asked.
Makayla lifted a casual shoulder. “It’s easy enough to retrieve emails you thought you’d deleted.”
“Even if you’ve cleared your trash out?” Lana asked.
Makayla nodded. “It’s not that difficult. Most people can do it, even if they aren’t all that computer savvy.”
“I didn’t know that.” Lana looked at Sam. “Do you know how to do it?”
Sam grinned. “I do.” She pointed at Makayla. “But Mac . . . well, girl, you’re just so ninja-good it’s scary.”
Makayla blushed under her light, mocha skin. “Whatever.”
“Oh look, it’s poor little Sa-man-tha Sanderson. Reporter wannabe.” Aubrey and Nikki walked past. Aubrey suddenly stopped beside their table, almost causing Nikki to run into her. “How does it feel to be booted?”
Sam’s blood boiled. She hated that Aubrey knew she detested her full name. The mean girl never failed to use it. All. The. Time. She shook her head and plastered on a wide smile. “Poor Aubrey Damas. Editor wannabe. How does it feel to be kept out of the loop?”
Aubrey’s eyes narrowed into little slits. Her fists popped to her hips covered in the most expensive pair of khaki-colored jeans. “Your article was taken down this morning.”
“Yep, it was. For reasons Mrs. Trees and Ms. Pape explained to me. I would enlighten you, but since neither of them felt compelled to fill you in, maybe they don’t want you to know.” Sam flipped her hair over her shoulder, mimicking Aubrey. “But don’t worry, I’m still on the Senator Speak.”
Aubrey’s face went so many shades of red, it looked like she might burst into a fiery explosion any second. She turned and stomped off without another word, Nikki double-stepping to keep up.
The bell rang, and the cafeteria became crowded as everyone stood and made their way to the trashcans and door.
Sam held Makayla’s arm, letting Lana and the others from their table go ahead of them. “Can you get into the system and retrieve those emails?” she whispered as they waited for other kids to exit first.
Makayla caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I can.”
“Will you?” Sam hated to ask, but she really wanted to read the comments, and she didn’t have any classes left where she’d have access to the system. “Please?”
Makayla hesitated.
Kids pushed around them, a couple accidentally bumping into them. They were moved into the crowd and out the door. The air hot whipped around the building, shoving against them.
“Let me see how the server is set up for the paper’s blog,” said Makayla. “If I can get the comments without going through Ms. Pape’s email, then I’ll pull them into a document and email it to you.”
Sam hugged her. “Thanks, Mac. I owe you.” She spun the lock on her locker.
“Only if I can get them like that. I’m not going through a teacher’s email. Deleted or otherwise.” Makayla’s face was stern as she opened her own locker.
“Right. Of course.”
Sam could barely contain herself all through the afternoon periods until school dismissed. After school, she waited by the lockers again for Makayla. Newspaper had been brutal. Aubrey acting like she was somebody important as she explained why Sam’s article wasn’t on the blog. She hadn’t said anything about comments. Nor had Ms. Pape.
Was praying that Makayla had accessed the comments wrong? Sam didn’t see how. Ms. Martha always said that God knew your thoughts . . . so it shouldn’t be wrong that she prayed for Makayla to get copies of the comments. At least she was up front and honest, right?
“Hey.” Makayla opened her locker.
“Well?” Sam asked, shifting her backpack to her shoulder. “Could you get the comments?”
Makayla smiled. “I could. I emailed them to you. They were sitting where I could easily grab them without getting into any trouble.”
Sam hugged her. “Thank you, Mac. You’re the best.”
Makayla giggled. “Check your email when you get home. And I’ll see if anything came back on my queries after karate class.”
“Thanks. Call me.” Sam turned and headed to the car rider line, looking for Mrs. Willis’ old car. She still hated that Dad wouldn’t be able to pick her up from school the rest of the week, so their next-door neighbor would, but cheerleading practice wasn’t held on Wednesdays, Thursdays, or Fridays. Usually there was a game on Thursday or Friday. Their first game would be Friday.
Sam liked their neighbor Mrs. Willis for the most part, even if she was hard of hearing and didn’t see as well as she used to. It was just that some of the kids who didn’t know Sam saw her getting into Mrs. Willis’s old, beat-up car and assumed Mrs. Willis was Sam’s grandmother. It was kinda embarrassing sometimes, but the only other option was to ride a bus. And there was no way she was doing that. Those things didn’t have air conditioning, so everybody either got their hair all blown crazy from the windows being down or they got all hot and sweaty. Gross. Sure, Dad refused to let her ride a bus because they didn’t have seatbelts, but that was beside the point.
She saw Mrs. Willis in the parking lot. Thankfully, in the back row.
“Hello, dear. How was your day?” Mrs. Willis asked as Sam slid into the front seat.
The cracked vinyl nearly scorched Sam through her jeans. “Fine.” There was no reason to be rude. “Thank you for picking me up.”
Mrs. Willis started the car, revving the engine like she always did. Sam suspected she needed to do that to make sure the car was running. “It’s no problem. I enjoy spending time with you.”
Sam smiled, but her heart sat like lead in her chest. When was the last time she’d gone next door just to visit with Mrs. Willis? She couldn’t remember. Was it two weeks ago, when she’d seen Mrs. Willis working in her flower beds? Mrs. Willis’s husband died about three years ago. She was probably really lonely since her kids didn’t live in town.
Sam made chit-chat with Mrs. Willis all the way home, but declined her offer of cookies as they pulled into her driveway. “I’ve got to get homework done and our casserole in the oven so it’ll be hot by the time Dad gets home.”
“Okay, dear. Remember, if you need anything, I�
�m right next door.” Mrs. Willis unlocked the car door.
Without a reason, Sam reached over and hugged the older woman. “Thanks, Mrs. Willis. I’ll see you later.”
Sam sprinted across the yard to her garage door. She punched in the code on the keypad, and the mechanical door loudly opened. She gave Mrs. Willis a wave goodbye before heading into the house, hitting the button to shut the garage door on her way into the kitchen.
Chewy met her as soon as she walked inside, jumping and wagging her tail so hard that her whole body shivered.
Sam laughed, dropping her backpack onto the entry bench and then bending over to love on her dog. Chewy licked her face while standing on her hind legs.
She took off her student ID badge and shoved it inside her backpack before heading into the kitchen. After she let the dog into the backyard, she opened the freezer and stared inside. What casserole to have tonight?
Chili . . . ugh, too hot for chili. Mexican casserole? Nah, wasn’t in the mood. Finally she decided on beef noodle casserole and pulled it out. It would only take about forty-five minutes to heat to where the cheese bubbled.
She set the temperature and the timer on the oven, stuck the casserole inside, and set a can of green beans on the counter. Dinner the easy-peasy way.
Sam let the dog back in, refilled her water bowl, then grabbed her backpack and headed to her room. She opened her MacBook, then her email. Within seconds, she had Makayla’s email with the document attached.
Several comments must have been between the time Lana checked and when Mrs. Trees killed the blog post because there were sixty-one comments. As Lana had stated, most of them were amazingly congratulatory on the article itself and of her as a reporter.
Only a few of them chastised her for being critical of mental illness. One person, in fact, posted, “A person can no more help that they’re mentally ill than a person can help having heart disease.”
Well . . . true. Sam popped her knuckles and read the rest of the comments. The heart disease one was the harshest. Maybe Mrs. Trees had done the right thing to kill the post.
She reduced the file down and went back to her inbox. There was another one from Makayla. The subject line read: Hughes info. Sam opened it and read.
I’ll look for more on this after Mom leaves for ladies group. She’s monitoring me again, but we are still on for Saturday. Anyway, I thought you might like to know this info: Frank Hughes lost his seventeen-year-old daughter, Trish, two years ago following a car accident. His daughter, who reportedly had only been out of a drug rehab program for a few months, ran a red light. She was killed instantly, as was the man whom she hit, Mr. Needles. Trish was the only child Frank and his wife had. Unconfirmed reports that she had drugs in her system at the time of the accident.
How horrible. Now Sam felt bad about her article. Had she only made the poor man’s suffering worse? What if people stayed away from the theater and he lost so much business that he lost the franchise? He’d be bankrupt. If that happened, would she be partially responsible?
God, please forgive me if I hurt this man who recently lost so much.
CHAPTER 11
WINDOW-WAY IN
I know, Sam, but it’s a little different with a school newspaper. Especially middle school,” Mom said. “I know that doesn’t make you feel any better, but surely you can understand where Mrs. Trees was coming from.”
“I do.” She already felt guilty about Mr. Hughes . . . was she supposed to feel sorry for Jessica Townsend now too?
“Mom, someone’s responsible for planting that bomb. I can’t hold back information in my articles just because I sympathize with the potential suspects.”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t.” Mom paused. “But you have to balance the information you give with the possibility of repercussions that can be detrimental to the people you’re reporting to.”
“You always said as long as the truth is reported . . .”
“Yes,” Mom interrupted, “but the points of mental illness aren’t imperative to your story or to casting questions about the suspect.”
Sam kept quiet, thinking about that. It wasn’t?
“Go at it from a different angle, my girl. I know you can figure it out.”
Maybe she could. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I talked to Dad earlier.” A long pause followed. Like she was waiting for Sam to take the conversation.
“He told you he wants me to give up the story, didn’t he?” Sam asked. Surely Mom couldn’t agree with him!
“He did, but I explained how important this was to you.”
“Thanks, Mom. I knew you’d understand.”
“I do, and you know I support you. So does your father. Just . . .” Mom sounded so sad all of a sudden. “Well, cut Dad a little slack, will you? He’s having a difficult time being the lead on the case, and his captain’s son goes to your school. Every article you write, the son goes to the dad and asks why you know these things and he doesn’t, since he’s the captain’s son and all.”
She’d forgotten that Doug York had transferred to her school this year. He’d been attending one of the popular private schools, but rumor was he’d gotten expelled, so his dad had made him go to the public school in the district.
“Dad understands your drive, Sam, he really does. He supports your desire to be a journalist, and he’s proud of you too. He’s just in a hard spot,” Mom said. “So, as a favor to me, give him a little more understanding. It’s hard for him. And try to find a different angle for your next article. You’re talented enough that you can think outside the box. Can you please do that for me?”
Doug York was a big whiner. Everybody at school knew that. She didn’t want Dad caught in a bad spot because of her. “Okay. I will.”
“Thank you, Sam. Listen, I have to run, but I should be home next Wednesday. I’ll see you then. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” Sam disconnected the call and set her iPhone on the desk before turning her attention back to her computer monitor.
The blinking cursor on the screen seemed to mock her. She needed something new—a fresh angle, like Mom had suggested. What to write . . . what to write . . . what to write?
Hmm. A different angle, Mom had said. A different angle.
There was no different angle. Jessica Townsend was a legitimate suspect. That she hit a nun kinda made it clear she didn’t hold religion as anything sacred.
Wait a minute . . . Mom said that Jessica Townsend’s stay in a mental hospital wasn’t important to the story.
. . . Jessica Townsend, the spokesperson of the local chapter, was the one who headed up the federal case for the right to plaster Godless ads on local Little Rock buses.
What do YOU think? Could someone who personally attacked a nun and professionally led the way for slamming Christianity be capable of planting a bomb as some sort of anti-religion statement? Sound Off, Senators. Leave a comment with your thoughts. ~ Sam Sanderson, reporting
“I totally didn’t mention a thing about her past mental health issues,” Sam said, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at Ms. Pape. “That’s what Mrs. Trees had an issue with.” She ignored the victorious sneer Aubrey wore.
“I know that.” Ms. Pape tapped her front teeth with the end of her pen. “It’s just in this article, you all but say if Jessica Townsend could hit a nun and spearhead the bus ads, she could plant a bomb.”
“But I don’t say that. I ask that.” There was nothing wrong with asking the question aloud, right? Sam knew she was skirting the very edge of a gray issue. She also knew she’d slammed Jessica Townsend for exercising her freedom of speech rights. But it was all in the name of good reporting.
At least that’s what she believed.
“It should be edited.” The teacher looked at Aubrey.
Sam couldn’t let Aubrey cut her article, which was what her version of editing would be. “Ms. Pape, it’s a fact that she assaulted a nun — it’s in the court record of her case. It’s also a fac
t that she was the leader in going into federal court to enforce her constitutional free speech rights.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t provide facts in the article, Sam. I’m just not sure if we should leave it up in its entirety, considering her mental illness past. As you said, she’s already led the way into a federal courtroom.”
“And because of that, we should leave the article up.” Sam tugged her hair behind her ear. “She can’t have it both ways, Ms. Pape. If she is such a strict believer and supporter of freedom of speech, then she can’t get mad or threaten to sue me because I exercised my exact same rights.”
Ms. Pape looked at Aubrey again. “I’m going to let you make the call on editing this, Aubrey. This is what editors have to face . . . these kinds of decisions and consequences of their decisions.”
“As much as I hate to agree with Samantha, I have to.” Aubrey looked like she’d just swallowed a bug.
What? Aubrey agreed with her? Were the planets in some strange alignment? Was the apocalypse around the corner?
“Okay, then. I’ll let it stay unless Mrs. Trees orders it taken down.” Ms. Pape waved at them. “Go ahead and get to class. If you hurry you won’t be late. I don’t want to write either of you a pass.”
Sam snatched up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She followed Aubrey into the hall. “Thanks for backing me in there.”
Aubrey spun and faced her. “I didn’t back you in there. I made a decision for the paper, the best choice. It had nothing to do with you, I assure you, Samantha Sanderson.” She marched off toward her locker just as the first bell sounded.
Hurrying, Sam barely made it to first period before the tardy bell rang. She slipped into her seat and opened her English notebook.
After Mrs. Beach had passed out their worksheets, Sam felt someone tapping her shoulder.
“So? Is your blog post going to stay up?” Grace Brannon whispered. While not in newspaper with Sam, she was a fellow cheerleader. Sam liked Grace with her bubbly personality and freckle-covered, smiling face.
“For now.” Unless Mrs. Trees had already ordered Ms. Pape to take it down. Surely Ms. Pape would explain to the principal why it was okay to leave it up.
