by Robin Caroll
“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’s 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.
Sam sprinted across the yard to her garage door. She punched in the code on the keypad by the door. 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 dog, 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 nights, but Mom would be home next week.
Sam had just finished dumping the salad mix into the bowls when the front door squeaked open. Something else Dad needed to work on when he had time. His 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 as 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 will probably not 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.
“I thought you had cheer practice tonight since you have a game tomorrow.” Dad wiped his mouth with the paper towel folded beside his plate.
Sam shook her head. “Mrs. Holt said we needed the break so we’d be charged and ready tomorrow for the pep rally.”
“Makes sense.”
She just couldn’t stop thinking about Nikki’s notes and texts. “Hey, Dad . . .”
“Yes?”
“What are the laws about bullying here?”
“Why? Are you being bullied?” Dad’s face turned into his bulldog look — eyebrows drawn down, lips puckered tight. His cheeks even seemed to sink in.
“No, not me. Just someone I know.” She finished off her milk, but her mouth still felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls.
“Sam, if you know someone’s being bullied, you have to report it.”
“She told her parents. I’m sure they’re handling it.” Well, maybe. Maybe Jefferson told Mr. and Mrs. Cole they needed to contact the police, if not the school.
Dad didn’t release his bulldog expression. “Bullying is very serious, Sam. That’s why there are laws to protect kids from being bullied. Here in Arkansas, bullying is a class B misdemeanor. People convicted of bullying, and that includes cyber-bullying, face up to ninety days in jail and fines up to a thousand dollars.”
“Oh, I know it’s serious.” But she’d have thought the punishment would be more than just a couple of months in jail and having to pay less than a thousand bucks.
“You should encourage your friend to make sure her parents not only tell Mrs. Trees and other school administrators but also the police.”
The principal of the middle school, Mrs. Trees, had zero tolerance for any type of misbehaving. Sam had no doubt she wouldn’t allow any type of bullying to go on in her school.
“Let me know if you’d li
ke me to speak to her parents,” Dad said.
Nikki would flip her lid and Sam would really be socially outcast then.
“I’ll let you know. Thanks, Dad.”
Even though she had no plans of telling Dad who was being bullied, Sam had every intention of finding out who was behind it.
