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“Thanks, Jake. You’re really my best friend.”
    Jake made a weird sound, and said, “Anything for you, Allie.”
    I blinked in surprise at my childhood nickname, but before I could comment, Jake had hung up. Then came the waiting. After three minutes, I dialed the number he had given me.
    â€œAllison Jones?”
    â€œYes, sir, Mr. Norman?”
    â€œI understand from my grandson that I’ll be on the air with Bonnie Cooper.” For someone being held hostage, Mr. Norman sounded remarkably calm.
    â€œI’ll give you to our executive producer in one minute.” I walked into the control room, my ears buzzing from the enormity of what I was about to do. “Esther?”
    Esther turned. “What do you want, Agnes? I’m a little busy here right now.”
    I swallowed. “I have Archibald Norman, First National Bank’s president on the phone. He’s willing to talk on air with Bonnie. He’s still inside.”

Chapter Three

    I was a celebrity during fourth hour journalism.
    No one else in the class had an internship. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Emma Waters had one at the dippy local newspaper, but mine was by far the cooler of the two.
    Everyone in town had heard about the stand-off/robbery/hostage situation, and Channel Fifteen news had really gotten a coup with the Archibald Norman interview. After Esther had picked herself up off the floor, she had practically hugged me. I bet she’d know my name from now on, and who knew what kind of responsibilities they would give me now?
    Mr. Fisher, our journalism teacher, sat on his desk like he always did at the beginning of class. I knew he wanted to stay cool or whatever was in his head, but he was approaching forty, had a receding hairline, and wore suspenders and bowties. Not in an ironic fashion sort of way, either. The only thing missing from his ensemble was one of those fedora-like hats with a little piece of paper stuck in the brim.
    â€œA little bird informed me that our very own Allison Jones might have had something to do with Channel Fifteen’s amazing coverage of the hostage situation yesterday. Miss Jones, would you like to tell us about it?” He grinned at me, and I knew Marika had called him. That was one thing about my internship that I hated. The two of them talked on a weekly basis, and I was pretty sure Marika had the hots for him.
    I flushed, the warm heat creeping around my ears, which were fully exposed by my ponytail. Ducking my head, I felt a rush of pleasure at the attention as everyone turned to look at me. Despite my inclination to blush every time anyone singled me out for praise, I really did love being in the limelight.
    â€œIt was nothing. Just a lucky break.” I shrugged, even though I fully took the praise.
    â€œThat may be, but a good source is a good source. And what do we know about a good source?”
    â€œA good source makes a good story great,” we all chorused. Mr. Fisher had been drilling that little fact into our heads since the first day of the school year. Even when we were just working on stories for the school paper, he insisted that we get the best source possible. So, for example, if I was doing a story on why the cafeteria food stank, I had to ask not only the students and the cafeteria workers, but also try to get the opinion of the school district’s nutritionist. Everything we did was fully fleshed out.
    â€œWhat was it like?” A guy named Nicolai asked. “I mean, being part of the action?”
    â€œI was hardly part of the action. The folks at the news station did all the work. I just stood by, really.” I laughed, but only partly because it really had been incredible. The only part that had dragged me down was Mom’s fretting when I got home. “It was really wild, though. We could see all the helicopters and emergency vehicles. One guy I work with even swore he saw the sharpshooter who—“My