Free Don't Scream (9780307823526) by Joan Lowery Nixon

to smile. “Don’t rub it in,” I said. “I understand.”
    Lori asked Mark how much work he had to make up in history and government. As he went into a long explanation, I ate what I could of my lunch. After the bell rang, I carried my tray overto the tray window connected to the kitchen. Scott suddenly appeared beside me.
    Leaning close, he spoke in a low voice. “Did you tell Lori
everything
you saw last night?”
    I jumped as if I’d been stuck with a fork, and stammered, “W-What do you mean?”
    â€œIf the animal you saw had been Peaches, she must have run to someone.”
    â€œSh-She smelled the tuna.”
    Scott shook his head. “You said the trash bag hadn’t been torn open.” His eyes searched mine. “Why are you nervous, Jess? What else did you see?”
    I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Why would Scott be so sure I’d seen something else, unless he
knew
someone had been hiding behind the tree? And the only way he’d know would be if he had been there. “Nothing,” I answered, hoping my voice wasn’t quavering. “If I saw someone trying to snatch Peaches, don’t you think I’d yell or run outside and try to stop him?”
    He thought a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yes,” he said. “I guess you would.”
    â€œWhat’s keeping you?” Lori said as she and Mark joined us. “You’re going to be late for class.”
    As I hurried toward my journalism class, Mark strode up beside me. “You could have told me about the cat and what Mr. Chamberlin said about us this morning, and you didn’t,” he complained, and the irritation in his voice was unmistakable. “Don’t you trust me, Jess?”
    â€œTrust has nothing to do with it,” I told him. “Why should I pass along stupid insults? Mr.Chamberlin was raving. He didn’t know what he was saying.”
    Mark didn’t answer. We had reached the door of my classroom, and I stopped to face him. His eyes were cold, blank mirrors that frightened me a little, but I was determined to end this problem, which wasn’t my fault. “Can’t you see?” I asked. “The way you’re behaving is exactly why I didn’t tell you what he said. Both you and Scott came unglued because Mr. Chamberlin called one of you evil. What does it matter to you what he thinks? I’ve told you he’s a sour old man who thinks the whole world is evil.”
    Mark took a deep breath. “Take it easy, Jess,” he said. “I just asked you a simple question. I don’t need a lecture.”
    â€œOkay. Maybe I overreacted,” I answered. “But first Scott bugged me, then you.”
    â€œWhat did Scott say?” Mark asked.
    The bell clanged noisily over our heads. I shouted, “I’m late for class!” and threw open the door. I was feeling a little angry, too. For the moment I’d had enough of Mark.
    I SLID INTO the nearest seat just as Mr. Clark finished taking the roll. Mr. Clark wasn’t the kind of teacher who gave demerits. He just threw me a scalding, disapproving stare that made me want to repent not only of being late but of every rule I’d ever broken during my entire life.
    â€œBefore we get to work on our first issue of thepaper, I’m going to take a couple of days discussing a topic of vital importance to a journalist,” Mr. Clark said. He sent one last zap my way before he turned to the board and printed in large letters: A GOOD REPORTER IS PRIMARILY AN INVESTIGATOR.
    â€œNow,” he asked, looking especially pleased with himself as he turned to us, “exactly what does that statement mean?”
    I was eager to get back into his good graces. My hand shot up. I repeated what he’d taught us the first week of the semester: “Don’t just take someone’s word for what happened. Check out primary sources. Check