Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Down for the count
The story so far: The results of the neighborhood election have just been announced. Here are the stories as they appeared in The Robyn Report:
THE BIRD IS THE WORD
By Corinna Peters
RZ Publishing
Dorothy Allen is happy to be a loser.
She voted “no” on the park referendum on Saturday. The referendum was on whether to remove the American robin bird statue from the park and replace it with a fountain.
“I thought removing it would drive the birds away,” Dorothy said. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, though.”
Dorothy loves birds and has five feeders and two birdbaths in her backyard. She was outside watching the birds when she realized the new park fountain might not be such a bad idea.
“Birds love water!” Dorothy said. “I think this fountain will actually bring more of our feathered friends into the neighborhood.”
Dorothy is now organizing a Feeding Committee for the birds. The group will put up feeders by the new fountain and keep them filled with birdseed.
“I guess losing the park referendum isn’t so bad,” Dorothy said. “We lost a statue of an American robin, but just think of how many real robins will visit the park now!”
STREAKER RALLIES VOTERS
By J.P. Rodriguez
RZ Publishing
This year’s Great Debate will go down in the neighborhood’s record books.
“I was up on stage, and some hoodlum jumped on the stage with his skateboard,” Andrew Marx said. “He was only wearing his underwear. It was an Election Day disaster!”
Sally Palooso was also on stage, but she thinks of the event differently.
“I’m glad the young people in our neighborhood are standing up for what they believe,” she said. “They have freedom of speech, too. The streaker was just taking a stand.”
The Robyn Report caught up with the streaker after the incident. The newspaper has agreed not to reveal who it was, but the paper did get an exclusive interview.
“I didn’t want to offend Mr. Marx,” the streaker said. “But most of us kids in the neighborhood don’t have a good place for skating.”
The streaker said he wanted to encourage the other kids in the neighborhood to get out and vote. It looks like it might have worked, too. Traditionally, only half the kids in the neighborhood vote on Election Day. On Saturday, nearly 95% voted.
“It’s our neighborhood, too,” the streaker said. “We should have a say in what happens!”
When asked whether he was afraid of people seeing him in his underwear, the streaker had only one thing to say.
“At least it was clean!”
NEW PRESIDENT WINS BY 4
By Robyn Zimmerman
RZ Publishing
Election Day is never dull.
After a streaker at the Great Debate and a missing ballot box, Election Day finally got underway.
“We had a great turnout,” Melissa McMillan said. “Nearly 95% of the neighborhood showed up to vote. That is a new neighborhood record!”
Sally Palooso squeezed out the victory over opponent Andrew Marx by only four votes. Since it was such a close margin, Mr. Marx demanded a recount.
“We recounted the votes three times, but Sally was still the winner,” Melissa said. “I guess the neighborhood has spoken.”
Mrs. Palooso said she is honored to be the new president of the Neighborhood Association.
“Now we can finally get started on the new skate park,” she said. “I’m glad I’m able to help the neighborhood kids while I’m in office.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Marx says he will spend his free time organizing a “Keep the Neighborhood Quiet Committee.”
“Our first order of business will be to watch over that skate park,” he said. “We don’t want it to ruin the good of this neighborhood.”
So far, the committee has only two members.
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Every vote counts
The story so far: J.P. and Logan have just announced that the most important part of Election Day is about to happen.
J.P. and Logan pull us into the library.
“What are you doing?” Corinna asks. “We were counting up the votes.”
“Exactly!” J.P. says. “We have to vote.”
He points to his watch. “We only have three minutes left.”
I can’t believe I almost forgot to vote on Election Day. The rules for voting are very strict. You have to be in line to vote before noon. There are no exceptions. We file into the short line at the voting table.
Mr. Phillips walks up to us. He is Mr. Marx’s best friend. He would do anything to make sure his friend wins.
“Sorry, kids!” he says. “You’re too late to vote.”
J.P. points to the clock on the library wall.
“We still have two minutes!” he says.
“You have to be checked in five minutes before the voting deadline,” he says. “It’s in the election book.”
I study Mr. Phillips’ face. I think he’s making it up.
“Is that true, Robyn?” Corinna whispers.
“I don’t think so,” I whisper back. “I know all the rules. I’ve been studying them for weeks.”
“I wish you had them here now,” Corinna says.
“Wait a minute!” I say. “I do!”
I go over to the corner of the library and pull a folder off the shelf. It’s the neighborhood association handbook. The library always carries the latest copy, and it has the Election Day rules in it.
I take the folder over to Mr. Phillips. “Please show us where that rule is,” I say.
He glares at me. “It’s going to take me a minute to find it,” he says.
“We’ll be in line,” I say.
I don’t think Mr. Phillips will be back to bug us. Mrs. McMillan checks us in and has us sign our names.
“I was wondering if you all would make it,” she says.
I take my ballot and head for a voting booth.
I put an X by Mrs. Palooso’s name. Then I vote “No” on the park referendum. I figure I might as well support my fellow robin. We finish just in time. They close the voting booths and ring the bell. This means the election is over.
We go out to the front of the library. The pancake breakfast has just gotten under way.
This is an Election Day tradition. After the bell rings, everyone eats. While the neighborhood fills up on pancakes and sausage, the Election Committee counts the votes.
“Should we eat?” Corinna asks.
I hand my reporters plates. They did a good job on Election Day. Now we eat!
I top my pancakes with bananas and strawberries. Then I cover them with syrup. This is the best way to eat pancakes! Half an hour later, Mrs. McMillan comes outside. She is carrying an envelope.
The results are in!
She walks up to the microphone. The crowd stops talking at once. Everyone is anxious to know the results.
“First off are the results on the park referendum,” Mrs. McMillan says.
Logan and J.P. stare at each other. I hope their friendship can survive the vote!
“The neighborhood has voted yes on the referendum,” Mrs. McMillan says. “We will remove the bird statue and replace it with a fountain.”
Logan smiles. The people with E shirts stand up with their signs and cheer.
“DOWN WITH ROBIN!” they shout.
Mrs. McMillan holds up her hand. “Next are the results for Neighborhood Association president,” she says.
Everyone gets quiet again.
“This was a very close race,” she says. “The votes came in at 133 to 137.”
I write as fast as I can in my notebook. I don’t want to miss anything.
“And the winner is…”
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 8
Chapter 8
On with the election
The story so far: Robyn has figured out that Mrs. McMillan’s mother probably took the missing ballot box, but now they are both missing.
I’ve never seen Mrs. McMillan so upset.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Elle will show up.”
“It’s all my fault,” she says. “I never should have left her alone. What was I thinking?”
I turn to Corinna.
“We have to calm her down,” I whisper. Corinna nods.
“It’s all right, Mrs. McMillan,” Corinna says. “Let’s look back in the library.”
Before we can walk away, someone jumps out from behind the air conditioner.
“Boo!”
Elle is giggling. “I gotcha!” she says.
Corinna and I join in, laughing with Elle.
“I never knew you could move so fast!” Corinna says.
“Oh, honey,” Elle says. “I used to play basketball in the ’30s. I’ve got moves you’ve never seen.”
This makes Corinna and me laugh harder.
Mrs. McMillan scowls. “I’m glad you two think this is funny,” she says.
Elle pokes Mrs. McMillan in the ribs. “Come on and lighten up,” she says. “Did you see how fast I was moving?”
I think I see a little smile on Mrs. McMillan’s face.
She picks up the ballot box and hands Elle’s poetry book back to her. “This is the official ballot box!” she says.
“Come on,” Elle says. “This whole neighborhood needs to lighten up. I’ve never seen so many people get so worked up.”
“Let’s go,” Mrs. McMillan says. “You’ve caused enough trouble today!”
“Me? Trouble?” Elle says. “That’s nonsense! Now, if you want to hear about trouble, I could tell you about the trouble you caused me when you were in fourth grade.”
Corinna and I follow them back into the library.
“Election Day is never boring,” Corinna says.
Mrs. McMillan takes the ballot box back to the table. Election Day can finally begin.
It’s a good thing, too. The line leading out from the library is really long. I think the whole neighborhood came to vote.
Mrs. McMillan checks voters in at the table. Then they go to one of three voting booths. When they’re finished, they drop their vote in the official voting box. Corinna points to the box.
“Who knew that little box would cause so much trouble?” she says.
The voters in line look anxious. This is an important election. The neighborhood is voting on two very big issues today. First, we vote for the next president of the Neighborhood Association. We choose between Mrs. Palooso and Mr. Marx. I think about my rollerblades at home. I know whom I’m going to vote for.
Then there’s the park referendum. I had to ask my mom what a referendum is. She says it’s just a fancy name for a vote on Election Day. We’re voting whether we are for or against something. If you vote yes for the park referendum, you want a new fountain. If you vote against it, you want to keep the robin statue.
“Are you going to vote to keep the statue?” Corinna asks.
I shrug. “I can’t decide. How are you going to vote?”
“I didn’t even know we had a bird statue,” Corinna says.
It is 10 a.m. The polls close at noon. The election is underway. I know my reporters are ready. We have been preparing all week. They know exactly what to do. Logan is covering Mrs. Palooso’s election party. J.P. is covering Mr. Marx’s election party. Corinna and I will interview people after they vote.
“Ready?” Corinna asks.
I reach into my backpack for a new notebook. I’m going to need a lot of paper.
There are two main exits in the library. Corinna will stand at one, and I will stand at the other. Whenever someone comes out, we will ask how he or she voted. This is called exit polling. All reporters do it. It’s a good way to figure out who is most likely to win. The first person to come out my door is Andre Allen. I stop him right away.
“Could I ask you who you voted for?”
He stares down at me through his dark, thick glasses.
“That is my private business,” he says. “I think you are being very rude.”
“It’s confidential,” I say. “I’m not going to write down who people voted for. It’s just for The Robyn Report.”
He sneers and walks away. I guess some people don’t like talking to the media. The next few people who come out are nicer. Two people voted for Mrs. Palooso. Four people voted for Mr. Marx. Almost two hours later, Corinna and I compare notes.
It’s almost time to close the polls. There aren’t many more people coming out of the doors.
“What does it look like?” I ask her.
“It’s going to be close,” Corinna says. “Mr. Marx and Mrs. Palooso are almost dead even.”
I look down at my own notebook. My count shows them really close, too.
“ROBYN! CORINNA!”
We turn around. J.P. and Logan are standing at the bottom of the library steps.
“Why are you yelling?” I ask.
“Are you kidding?” Logan asks. “This is the most important part of the day!”
Corinna and I look at each other, confused. J.P. and Logan grab us by our backpacks.
“Hurry!”
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Rhyme time
The story so far: As Robyn and her friends went through the neighborhood to cover the Election Day news, the ballot box was stolen. Robyn thinks she knows who took the missing ballot box.
“How do you know who stole the ballot box?” Corinna asks.
I hold up the piece of paper from the garbage.
“This!” I say. “It tells me everything I need to know.” Corinna raises one eyebrow. I don’t think she believes me.
“What does it say?” she asks.
Up in the morning by dawn’s early light. I’ll take this box and release it to flight.
Corinna still isn’t convinced. I can tell by the look on her face.
“How does that tell you anything?” she asks. “It’s just some poem.”
“Exactly!” I say. “It’s a poem. And you know who writes poetry?” Corinna raises one eyebrow again.
“Umm … the ballot box stealer?”
“Yes!” I say. “It’s Elle.”
“Robyn!” Corinna says. “How could you accuse Elle? She’s the oldest person in the neighborhood.”
“Everyone is a suspect!” I say. “It doesn’t matter what age you are!” Corinna grabs my arm and pulls me into the voting booth.
“Listen,” she whispers. “You can’t go around accusing people like Elle of stealing. The neighborhood wouldn’t like it.”
“Trust me,” I say. “Have I ever been wrong before?” Corinna just stares at me.
“Corinna!” I say.
“Well, I’m thinking about it,” she says. She closes her eyes like she’s in deep thought. When she opens them, she smiles.
“No,” she says. “I don’t think you have been wrong before.”
“See,” I say. “Now come on.” We duck out of the voting booth. I walk back to Mrs. McMillan. I have to talk to her about her mom.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“Oh!” she says. “Did you forget something, Robyn dear?”
“I’d like to talk to you in private,” I say. She leads Corinna and me behind the voting table.
“What can I do for you girls?” she asks.
“We need to know where Elle is,” I say.
“What for?” she asks. I hand her the piece of paper with the poem.
“I think you should read this,” I say. As I watch her read, I see her eyes get big.
“Uh-oh,” she says.
I turn to Corinna. I hope she sees that I’m right. She rolls her eyes.
Mrs. McMillan hands the piece of paper back to me.
“Let’s go find my mother,” she says.
We walk around the library, but Elle is nowhere to be seen. Mrs. McMillan bites her lip. “Oh, mom!”
I feel bad for making Mrs. McMillan worry.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’ll find her.”
“It’s my fault,” she says. “I bet Mom is up to one of her tricks.”
Suddenly, Corinna understands.
“So Elle did steal the ballot box?” she asks.
“She didn’t steal it,” Mrs. McMillan says. “She probably just thinks she’s being funny.”
Corinna giggles. “It is kind of funny,” she says.
I open the clue and read it again.
Up in the morning by dawn’s early light. I’ll take this box and release it to flight.
“Ah-ha!” I say. “There’s a clue right here.”
Corinna takes the paper from me.
“I don’t see a clue,” she says.
“It says, ‘I’ll take this box and release it to flight,'” I say. “So where do things fly?”
Corinna gives me a weird look. “Um … in the sky?” she asks.
“Yes!” Mrs. McMillan says. “Mom is outside!”
We run out the side door of the library.
“Okay. Now which direction does the sun rise?” I ask.
“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” Mrs. McMillan says.
“Exactly!” I say. “We need to look for her on the east side because her poem says ‘by the dawn’s early light.’ Dawn is in the morning.”
Mrs. McMillan leads us to the other side of the library. It’s just an alley.
“Mother!” Mrs. McMillan calls. “Are you out here?”
I see something move behind the air conditioner.
“I think Elle’s over there,” I say.
We run over to investigate.
“Look!” Corinna says.
The Election Day ballot box is sitting in the alley. An open book is next to it.
“What is that book?” Corinna asks.
“That is my mother’s poetry book!” Mrs. McMillan says.
We look around, but Elle is nowhere in sight. Mrs. McMillan looks like she might cry.
“We have to find my mother!”
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Looking for clues
The story so far: Robyn and her reporters are covering the Election Day news. They’ve just learned that the ballot box is missing.
“What do you mean the ballot box is gone?” I ask.
“Someone stole it!” Corinna says.
“Why would someone steal a ballot box?”
“I don’t know,” Corinna says. “It was here one minute. Then, they got stuck in the voting booth …”
I think about what Corinna just said.
“Wait!” I say. “Who got stuck in the voting booth?”
She looks down at her notebook.
“It was Andre Allen and Rose Feliz,” Corinna says. “They both wanted to be the first one to vote. They ran for the voting booth and got stuck.”
I think about Mr. Allen and Mrs. Feliz, squeezed into the voting booth. Now that is a funny picture.
“Did you get a picture of that?” I ask.
Corinna nods, and I smile in approval.
“So then what happened to the ballot box?” I ask.
“No one knows,” she says. “They finally got them unstuck, and then the ballot box was gone.”
A missing ballot box on Election Day. This is big news. I take out my notebook. There’s no time to waste.
“Do we have any clues?” I ask.
“We just started looking,” Corinna says. “Logan is interviewing the Election Day volunteers. I’ve been checking out the scene of the crime.”
“Good thinking,” I say. “I’m going to help Logan. You keep looking.”
Corinna is a first-rate investigator. If there are any clues, she will find them. I walk over to the election table. Logan is interviewing one of the volunteers.
“Do you need any help?” I ask.
“I still need to interview Mrs. McMillan,” he says. “She was checking people in when the ballot box went missing.”
I see Mrs. McMillan standing at the end of the table.
“Good morning, Mrs. McMillan,” I say. “How are you?”
Mrs. McMillan is one of my mom’s best friends. She loves The Robyn Report and gives me tips on good stories in the neighborhood.
“Hi, Robyn dear,” she says. “It’s good to see you on the case.”
Mrs. McMillan is nice, but there’s no time for small talk. I have a mystery to solve.
“I need to ask you a few questions,” I say.
“Of course, dear,” she says. “What would you like to know?”
“Where were you when the ballot box was stolen?” I ask. She points to the election table.
“I was checking people in,” she says. “It’s my job to check voters in and then have them sign their name.”
“Were you doing this by yourself?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Well, my mother came to help, but she was working on her poetry instead.”
Everyone knows Mrs. McMillan’s mother. She is the biggest practical joker in the neighborhood. She loves April Fools’ Day. Elle has lived in the neighborhood all her life. She’s been here more than 80 years.
“Elle writes poetry?” I ask.
Everyone calls Mrs. McMillan’s mom Elle because her name is Eleanor.
“She’s very good,” Mrs. McMillan says. “She reads me a poem every night before she goes to bed.”
Elle has lived with Mrs. McMillan ever since her husband died. I ask Mrs. McMillan some more questions. She doesn’t have much to help the case. I go back over to Corinna.
“You got anything?” I ask.
“No one saw anything,” she says. “I don’t know how a ballot box could just disappear like that.”
“So you didn’t find any clues?”
“Nope,” she says. “The only thing I found was a piece of paper with a silly little rhyme on it.”
“What?” I ask.
“It was nothing,” Corinna says.
“Where is it?”
“I threw it away,” Corinna says.
I run over to the trashcan.
“Is this the right one?” I ask. Corinna looks at me with one raised eyebrow.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You are digging in the garbage. That is so gross!”
I pick up a piece of paper on top of the trash. I read it and smile.
“I know exactly who stole the ballot box,” I say.
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 5
Chapter 5
The search continues
The story so far: It’s Election Day, and Robyn and the reporters are covering the story for their neighborhood newspaper. Robyn is trying to find the identity of the skateboarding “streaker” when suddenly she sees a group of skaters coming right at her.
It’s like the skaters are in slow motion. They fly through the air like planes taking off from a runway. I pull my backpack over my head and duck. This is not going to be pretty. I feel a breeze rush past my head. Wheels bang hard on the pavement. I open my eyes.
The skaters are waiting at the top of the stairs. It seems like they flew right over my head!
“Come on,” J.P. says.
He’s holding onto a scooter.
I can’t think of anything to say. My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest. I stand up and climb the steps.
“Get on,” J.P. says.
This time, I don’t ask questions. I hop on the back of the scooter.
“Here!” Mike says. He hands me a helmet.
“Better put this on,” he says. “J.P. says you like to follow rules.”
The skaters laugh. I think about the rules of reporting. I wonder what Grandpa would say about this? I don’t have time to think about it. As soon as I get my helmet on, the skaters take off. J.P and I ride close behind.
“I’m sorry,” J.P. shouts through the wind as we speed along. “This was the only way.”
“You sure about that?” I yell.
“Just wait,” J.P. says. You’ll thank me later.”
We speed through the neighborhood. The sidewalks in the area aren’t very big. We have to go one at a time. Right then and there, I decide to vote for Mrs. Palooso. I think she’s right. These kids need a place to skate. I could use some practice on my rollerblades, too.
I have to be fair when I report the election. But I don’t have to be fair when I vote. I want her to win!
We go past the park. I can see the Ws and Es still protesting at the Robin statue. I have no idea how I’ll vote on that. At the corner of the park, Mike stops at the playground.
We all screech to a stop behind him.
“Why are we stopping?” I ask. “I thought we were going to find the streaker.”
Mike gets off his skateboard and walks over to us.
“She’s gotta learn to relax,” he says to J.P. while pointing at me.
“She’s cool,” J.P. says.
Mike flashes his sneaky grin. “If you say so, dude.”
Mike takes off his backpack and reaches inside. He pulls out a wad of clothes.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Mike walks over to the tube slide on the playground. He throws the clothes inside. Soon, a boy pops out of the slide, holding a skateboard.
“Alex!”
Alex Martinez is my next-door neighbor. He’s also one of the quietest and shiest kids in school. Alex’s face is red.
“Hi, Robyn,” he squeaks. “How’s it going?”
I look at J.P. and wonder if he knew. He looks just as surprised as me. This is not who I was expecting. A streaker is someone who is brave and loud. It is not Alex Martinez.
At least, I didn’t think so. This story is going to be better than I thought.
“I want to write a story for The Robyn Report,” I say. “Can we interview you?”
Alex looks down at the ground. He mumbles something that I can’t hear. Now this is the Alex I know. I get my notebook ready.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I said I’ll talk, but you can’t use my name,” he says.
I close my notebook. This is not what a reporter wants to hear. An anonymous source is not bad. But it’s not good.
Reporters always want their sources to be on the record. This means, when you talk to someone, you want to use that person’s name. It makes your report more credible.
“No way,” I say.
“Wait a minute,” J.P. says.
“I don’t want to use an anonymous source,” I say.
“Just think about it,” J.P. says. “It could be really fun to do it this way.”
J.P. usually knows what he’s talking about, but I’m not sure. I remember what my grandpa told me when I first started The Robyn Report.
“Sometimes you just have to trust your reporters,” he says. “You can’t do everything yourself.”
“Come on,” J.P. says. “Let me do the interview.”
J.P. is a good reporter. He has never let me down.
“Okay,” I say. “It’s all yours.”
J.P. stays to interview Alex. I take the scooter back to the library. I have to get back to Election Day. As I roll up to the library, I see a crowd of people arguing. I walk up to Corinna.
“Are they still fighting about the streaker?”
“No way,” she says. “That’s old news.”
“What’s the big deal then?” I ask.
“It’s the ballot box,” she says. “It’s gone!”
PAGE \# “‘Page: ‘#’?'” The dictionary I checked shows this spelling as acceptable but the other spelling as preferred.
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 4
Chapter 4
The Search is on
The story so far: Robyn and her roving band of reporters are covering the neighborhood election when something happened during the Great Debate.
The crowd at the debate is in an uproar. The streaker skates off. He’s wearing red underwear and a mask. I write this down in my notebook.
“See!” Mr. Marx says. “If we have a skate park in this neighborhood, we’ll get hoodlums like that.”
“What’s a hoodlum?” J.P. asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I don’t think it’s good, though.”
Mrs. Palooso stands up. “The skate park is not a bad thing,” she says. “These kids need a place to play!”
I slip out of the crowd and motion for my reporters to follow.
“Where are we going?” Logan asks.
“We have to find the streaker,” I say. “This is a great story for the neighborhood.”
“But what about the debate?” Corinna asks.
She has a good point. We can’t all leave. Usually, I would send J.P. and Logan to cover this story. It might not be such a good idea today. With the whole Ws-and-Es thing going on, I’d better split them up.
“Here’s the plan,” I say. “Logan and Corinna, you stay here to cover the debate. J.P. and I will go look for the streaker.”
They all nod in agreement.
“Don’t forget The Robyn Report motto,” I say.
Corinna sighs. “We never forget it,” she says. “You won’t let us.”
“On 3 now,” I say. “1-2-3 …”
“Day or night, we’ll get it right!” we shout.
Corinna and Logan squeeze back into the crowd. J.P. and I take off in the opposite direction.
“Follow me,” J.P. says. “I think I know where he went.”
We head around the back of the library.
“How do you know he went back here?” I ask J.P.
“It’s one of the only places in the neighborhood that’s good for skateboarding,” he says. “Everyone knows that.”
I guess I’m not everyone.
Behind the library, there’s a group of skateboarders.
“What’s up, J.P.?” one boy asks.
“Hey Mike!” J.P. says.
They do some weird handshake. I think I recognize Mike from the house on the corner. He’s kind of new to the neighborhood.
“When are you going to come boardin’?” Mike asks.
“Soon, dude,” J.P. says. “Not today, though. I’m on a story right now.”
Mike looks at me. “Oh, yeah. That reportin’ stuff, right?”
I don’t say anything. I figure it’s best to let J.P. do the talking.
“Listen,” J.P. says. “I need a favor, dude.”
Mike stomps on his board, and it flips up into his hands.
“I’m listening.”
“We were in front of the library just now, and someone came through on his skateboard,” J.P. says.
Mike shrugs. “So what’s the big deal?”
“The skater was wearing only his underwear,” J.P. says.
Mike grins. “Oh yeah?” he asks. “Too bad I wasn’t there to see Marx. I bet he flipped.”
J.P. nods. “He flipped, all right. It was sweet.”
I watch J.P. work his magic. He’s doing just what I taught him. First you earn someone’s trust. Then you ask your questions.
“So what’s the favor?” Mike asks.
J.P. leans in closer.
“The thing is, dude,” he whispers. “We really need to figure out who the streaker is. This would make a great story.”
Mike frowns. “I’m not a snitch,” he says.
“Oh, no. It’s not like that,” he says. “We don’t want to get him into trouble. We just want to talk to him.”
Mike looks at me again. I think he’s trying to decide whether to trust me.
“I’m not a snitch,” he says again.
I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with Mike. We’d better hurry if we want to find the streaker.
“Let’s go,” I say to J.P.
“Not yet,” he says.
“Are you kidding? We can’t wait around for him to decide to help us.”
Mike grins. I don’t smile back.
“J.P. It’s time to go now!” I say loudly.
“Trust me,” J.P. hisses. “Now go wait over there.”
I try to object.
“Now!” J.P. says.
I quickly walk over to the steps. I’m not used to someone telling me what to do. I’m usually the one who gives the orders.
J.P. and Mike keep talking.
We don’t have time to waste. J.P. better know what he’s doing. I open my backpack to make sure I still have my notebook. It’s there, along with my favorite reporting pen. I close my backpack and look back at J.P. and Mike.
They’re gone.
I throw my backpack over my shoulder and walk around the parking lot. All the skaters are gone. Before I can think anymore, I hear a loud rumble from behind. I turn around. A huge group of skaters speed through the parking lot heading straight at me.
Mike leads the pack. It looks like they’re aiming at me!
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 3
Chapter 3
The Great Debate
The story so far: Robyn and her reporters are covering the neighborhood on Election Day. Robyn just heard Corinna scream out, “Ripe apple!”
I look at Mrs. Allen and Mr. Dexter. I can’t stay here and listen to them argue.
I have to go. And fast. A ripe apple is big. No, it’s bigger than big. It’s huge. Reporters at newspapers and TV stations call it breaking news. At The Robyn Report, we call it a ripe apple.
I made up the name. I think it sounds better than “breaking news.” When someone has a ripe apple, you must do three things – stop, drop, and report.
I run over to Corinna.
“What do you have?” I ask.
“It’s the Great Debate,” she says. “It’s about to start.”
I check the time on my cell.
“Let’s go!” I say. “This bird protest will have to wait.” We head for the library. J.P. and Logan who decided to take up his reporter’s duties once again) are close behind.
The Great Debate is a tradition on Election Day. It takes place half an hour before the polls open. It gives candidates one last chance to win some votes.
We get to the library. The crowd is already big. I wriggle in to the front row. I want to be close so I can ask questions.
Mrs. Duncan stands on the library steps.
“The Great Debate will start in two minutes,” she says. “Candidates, this is your two-minute warning.”
I see Andrew Marx and Sally Palooso just a few feet away. They are the two candidates in today’s election. Mr. Marx is retired. Mrs. Palooso works at a bank and has two kids. They are running for the president of the Neighborhood Association. It’s a big honor. The president leads the neighborhood for the next year and makes a lot of decisions.
When will trick-or-treating be held? How will our neighborhood fees be spent? When will the neighborhood block party be held?
The president decides all of these things – and more. That’s why Election Day is so important.
Mrs. Duncan explains the debate rules to the crowd.
“The debate will last 30 minutes,” she says. “Then the polls will open promptly at 9 a.m.”
The neighborhood gets to ask the questions. The candidates take turns answering. For each question, they have one minute to answer. Mrs. Duncan keeps track of the time. If a candidate goes over the time, she rings the buzzer.
“Let’s get started,” Mrs. Duncan says. “Who wants to ask the first question?”
I throw my hand up in the air. Mrs. Duncan smiles.
“Go ahead Robyn,” she says.
I stand up. I want to ask a question about the first issue.
“Please state your position on the proposed skate park,” I say.
I’ve been practicing my questions for weeks. My sister helped me get ready. The skate park is a hot topic in the neighborhood. Some want it. Others don’t.
Mrs. Palooso steps up to the microphone.
“As a mom with two children, I’m a big supporter of the skate park,” she says. “It’s a constructive outlet for the neighborhood youth.”
She goes on to give more reasons. The kids in the crowd cheer.
“I guess Mrs. Palooso is going to get a lot of those votes,” Corinna says.
Our neighborhood is unique because we let kids vote. Most elections, you have to be 18 to vote. Not in my neighborhood, though. On Election Day, you only have to be 5.
Voting has been this way for 30 years. From the very first Neighborhood Association Election Day, kids have been able to vote. My sister even remembers voting when she was a kid.
The buzzer dings, and Mrs. Palooso’s turn is over. Now it’s time to hear Mr. Marx.
He stands in front of the microphone and stares into the crowd.
“This skate park is nothing but trouble!” he says.
I hear a couple of people echo his enthusiasm.
“That’s right!”
“You got it, Marx!”
Corinna giggles. “It’s all the old people,” she says. “They are the ones who don’t want the skate park.”
I try not to laugh. After all, a reporter must be fair. This is one of the most important rules of reporting. Sometimes you don’t feel like being fair. The skate park is one example. I have rollerblades and would really like a place to skate. It doesn’t matter what I think, though. I have to report the facts.
Mr. Marx finishes his argument. As he turns to go back to his chair, someone in the crowd shrieks.
“We have a streaker!”
Corinna turns to me. “What’s a streaker?” she asks.
I laugh and point at the top steps of the library.
“That!” I say.
A skateboarder flies through the air in front of Mr. Marx. He gasps.
“Oh my!” Corinna says. “That skateboarder is wearing only…”
I laugh harder.
“Yep! He’s wearing only his underwear.”
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Robin vs. Robyn
The story so far: Robyn and her roving band of reporters are getting ready to cover Election Day for their newspaper, The Robyn Report. They have just gotten to the library, where they hear people chanting.
I walk closer to the crowd. The chanting gets louder.
“DOWN WITH ROBYN. FLY AWAY. DOWN WITH ROBYN. DO NOT STAY.”
Corinna grabs my arm.
“Is that who I think it is?” she asks.
I look where she is pointing. It is my third reporter, Logan, marching with the crowd. He is holding a sign. It reads, ROBIN STINKS.”
“At least he could have spelled your name right,” Corinna says.
I glance at the sign again. She’s right. He spelled Robin with an “i” instead of a “y.”
My reporters don’t misspell names. This is one of the biggest rules of reporting. I teach my reporters well. Something is up.
Logan sees us and runs over.
“This is not what it looks like,” he says.
“Oh yeah?” J.P. demands. “What is it?”
Logan glares at J.P.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he says. “You’re a W!”
“A what?” I ask.
“Don’t listen to the Es,” J.P. says. “You can’t trust them.”
I turn to Corinna, hoping she can explain.
“Ws. West Side. Es. East Side,” she says.
Suddenly, it all made sense. I should have noticed before. Whew! I’m really thrown off when I oversleep. It all goes back to the election. Our neighborhood gets weird on Election Day. People on the west sides of the streets call themselves Ws. People on the east sides are Es. The Ws don’t talk to the Es. The Es don’t talk to the Ws. It’s the strangest thing.
Even best friends like Logan and J.P. act weird.
Corinna and I are lucky. We live on the south side of our streets.
“I don’t care who’s a W or an E,” I say. “You have to be reporters today!” My sister taught me this. It doesn’t matter what you think. On Election Day, you just report the truth.
I turn to Logan. “Now what is going on here?” I ask as the chanting continues.
“DOWN WITH ROBIN. FLY AWAY.”
“They are protesting,” Logan says.
“I can see that,” I say. “But why are they protesting about me?”
“It’s not you,” Logan says. “It’s the bird.”
“Bird?”
“Come on!” Logan says. “The great bird debate!”
I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I am really off my game. The great bird debate has been going on for months.
There is a giant American robin statue in the park. Some people like it. Some people don’t. The people who don’t like it want it gone. They want a water fountain there instead. Today, the neighborhood will vote. Bird? No bird? Fountain? No fountain?
The neighborhood will decide.
“Okay,” I tell my reporters. “Spread out and talk to the people.”
This is important in reporting. You always have to talk to the people. Lots of reporters can write a story. But not everyone talks to the people.
We take out our notebooks. This is exciting! It’s my first protest! I walk up to Mrs. Allen. She is carrying a big sign. It reads, “BIRD IS THE WORD. SAVE OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS.” I don’t waste any time approaching her.
“Why do you want to keep the bird in the park?” I ask.
Mrs. Allen puts down her sign.
“I’ll tell you why,” she says. “Are you ready?” She clears her throat and takes a deep breath.
“This neighborhood was built on love for nature,” she says. “American robins are the foundation of our streets. Without them, we couldn’t do anything.”
I think Mrs. Allen might be exaggerating a bit. I don’t stop her, though.
“Furthermore,” she says. “I don’t know why anyone would want to disrespect this beautiful creature. This statue is a staple in our neighborhood. If we lose it, then we lose the birds.”
Now’s my chance.
“Do you really think the birds will leave if the statue comes down?” I ask.
“You betcha!” Mrs. Allen screeches. “Besides, what harm is it doing? It’s a beauty.”
Mr. Dexter comes up behind her.
“I’ll tell you what harm,” he says. “This so-called beauty is rusting. It’s making a mess of the entire park!”
Mrs. Allen and Mr. Dexter continue to argue. I write as fast as I can. This is a good story.
Suddenly, Corinna shouts across the crowd. I immediately stop writing in my notebook. I feel my heart beating in my chest. There’s only one thing that could make me stop like this. I look at Corinna to make sure I heard her. She shouts again.
“Ripe apple!!!”
Robyn Reports the Election – Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Wake-up call
“Is she awake?”
“I don’t know. Tickle her feet or something.”
“No way. You do it!”
“You’re her best friend.”
I slowly open my eyes. Through the slits, I see two blurry people. They are standing at the foot of my bed. Suddenly, one of them touches my toes. I try not to laugh, but I have really ticklish feet. I reach for my glasses. When I put them on, I see two of my reporters – J.P. and Corinna.
I am Robyn Zimmerman. I run my neighborhood newspaper, The Robyn Report. I have three reporters in all. The neighbors look forward to our weekly report.
I stretch and groan.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“You’re the problem,” J.P. says. “It’s Election Day. You were supposed to meet us at the library 45 minutes ago.”
I look at my clock. 8:15.
I jump out of bed. “How could you let me oversleep?” I ask. “This is horrible.”
Corinna grins. “And everyone says I’m the one who is grumpy in the mornings.”
I scrunch my nose. I am not in the mood for cute.
This is the biggest day of the year for a reporter. How could I oversleep? I guess I shouldn’t have stayed up until 2 a.m. I couldn’t help it, though. I was plotting my plan for Election Day.
I run into my closet and close the door. I grab the first thing I can find and throw it on.
When I come out of my closet, J.P. and Corinna laugh.
“What?” I ask. “This is not funny.”
“Take a look at yourself,” J.P. says.
I look in the mirror. I put my clothes on top of my pajamas. I go back into my closet and change. Then I throw on my favorite shoes.
Back in my room, I grab a notebook from the stack on my dresser.
“Do you have the camera?” I ask J.P.
He points to the strap around his neck.
“Corinna, do you have your tape recorder?”
She holds up her backpack. “It’s in here.”
Everyone is ready except me. Great. I’m supposed to be the leader.
“Okay. I’m ready,” I say.
“Um, Robyn,” Corinna says. “I think you might want to rethink your hair.”
I look in the mirror. My bright red hair looks like a bird’s nest. I sigh and quickly pick up my brush. Leave it to Corinna to notice my hair.
As I look into the mirror, I think of my grandpa. He was a reporter, too. He always says redheads have a sixth sense for reporting. My mom is also a reporter, and so is my sister. We’re all reporters, and we all have red hair. My grandpa is retired. He still gives me all his best tips, though. I put down my brush.
“Does this meet your approval?” I ask Corinna.
She grins. “You want to look good on Election Day, right?”
I giggle. “Sure Corinna. Whatever you say. Let’s go!” I say. “We’re already late.”
We take off for the library.
I started The Robyn Report when I was 7. Some kids learn how to read and write in first grade. Me? I learned how to type. Every weekend, I type The Robyn Report into my computer. Then on Sunday, we deliver it to the neighborhood. I charge 25 cents for each issue. This covers the cost of printing.
This week’s issue is a really big one. It’s so big that I’m going to do some of my reporting on my blog. All of the reporters are doing it these days. It lets people know what’s happening right away. Subscribers just go online and read.
I remember the assignment list in my notebook. I need all of my reporters today.
Wait a minute, I think to myself. Where are all of my reporters?
“Where is Logan?” I ask Corinna and J.P. I was so excited about Election Day that I didn’t notice earlier that he was missing.
“Who cares?” J.P. says.
I look back at J.P. That’s a weird thing for him to say. He and Logan are best friends.
I glance at Corinna for an answer.
She rolls her eyes. “You’ll see,” she whispers.
As we pass the park, I hear people yelling.
“We better check this out,” I say.
“What about the election?” Corinna says.
“We’ll be quick,” I say. “A reporter must investigate everything.” My grandpa taught me that. We walk closer to the voices. Soon, I see a big crowd. Many of the people are holding signs.
“What are they chanting?” Corinna asks.
I stop and listen.
“Down with Robyn! Fly away! Down with Robyn! Do not stay!”
I gasp. “What did I ever do to them?”