Cheat by Kristen Butcher Page B

basketball player. Everybody likes him, including just about every girl in school.
    So it is my duty to razz him whenever I can. Otherwise, he’d have such a swelled head, he’d have to find T-shirts with zippers.
    At that moment, though, I was the one with the swelled head. I’d written an article that actually mattered, and people were reading it. That was pretty cool, considering the only reason I joined the newspaper was to do something Jack hadn’t.
    It’s tough carving out a corner for yourself when you’re related to a school legend. Almost anything I thought about trying, Jack had already done—in champion style. But now, after months of meaningless articles about nothing, I’d made a breakthrough. I was so pumped, my feet weren’t touching the ground. I floated through the afternoon.
    Mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway when I got home, but the front door was unlocked. That could mean only one thing—Jack had beat me home. I should say Jack and Sean had beat me home. Sean Leger doesn’t actually live with us, but he and Jack have been best buds forever. If they’re not playing basketball, they’re sprawled in front of the television in our family room. I swear Sean spends more time at our house than he does at his own.
    The two of them were all wrapped up in an air-hockey game, so they didn’t see me come in. I could have walked off with the furniture, and they wouldn’t have noticed.
    â€œWhere’s Mom?” I shouted over their hooting and hollering.
    â€œDrugstore,” Jack yelled back as he made a shot. “He shoots, he scores!”
    He threw up his arms and did a victory dance.
    Sean shook his head in disgust.
    â€œYou got horseshoes up your butt, man.”
    Jack laughed as he flopped on the couch. “It’s skills, pal. Skills. Eat your heart out.”
    Sean scratched his stomach. “Speaking of eating, whatcha got to chow on?” He headed for the fridge, messing my hair on the way by.
    â€œBug off,” I said, giving him a hip check.
    He grinned. “Is that any way for a big reporter to talk?”
    â€œYeah, right,” I mumbled, trying not to smile.
    â€œNo, seriously. That was a good article,” he said. “I liked it.”
    â€œNext stop, The Globe and Mail ,” Jack teased. “I almost forgot—there’s a message for you. Not The Globe and Mail , but some guy from the Islander .”
    â€œNice try,” I retorted. I know my brother. There was no way I was going to let him suck me in.
    â€œReally. I’m not kidding,” Jack insisted, picking up the phone and punching in the message code. He held it out to me. “Listen for yourself.”
    I still didn’t believe him, but I took the phone. I was all set to hear a dial tone, but there really was a message from someone at the Islander . The editor. He said his daughter was a Barton High student and had brought the paper home at lunch. He’d read my story and wanted to talk to me about it.
    I quickly jotted down the phone number and took off to my room to return the call.
    As I hung up the phone, I was numb. The Islander wanted to print my story about the squatter! It was going to run in Friday’s paper. I was even going to get money for it. Just $25, but that still made me a paid reporter. Even better, the editor said he’d be interested in seeing future articles too.
    I was so excited. I wanted to get writing that very second. The only problem was I had nothing to write about.

Chapter Three
    By Monday morning, I was a celebrity. Everybody had seen the article in the Islander . Mr. Wiens even mentioned it during the morning announcements. It was embarrassing and thrilling at the same time. I didn’t know how to look or what to say.
    So I was actually grateful to have a math test after lunch. It took my mind off all the attention I was suddenly getting. I hadn’t studied, so I should have