in the long run - that was what sold papers.
Well okay, they were the bosses and if that�s
what they wanted that�s exactly what they would
get. I decided it couldn�t hurt to try. You see I�d
wanted to be a reporter ever since I could pick up a
pencil and scratch marks onto paper. Now, at the
ripe old age of fourteen, I was getting my first big
break and I wasn�t going to let this minor detail
stand in my way.
There was one catch� we had a one-month
probation period. If we �as a team� couldn�t �cut the
mustard� as Mr. and Mrs. Travine put it, they would
have to replace us with a real reporter.
�You�d better get started,� Scott nudged me
with his elbow.
�Why did it have to be a funeral?� I mumbled
and pulled out my pen and notepad. I mingled with
the funeral guests, jotting down names and asking
questions about the deceased (such a morbid word).
Scott and I rode our bikes back to town. It took
me five hours to peck out four small paragraphs on
the office computer, but I was determined to get
through that probation period with flying colors. All
in all I�d say it was a good article, and the hardest
thing I�d ever written in my life.
Mr. and Mrs. Travine were pleased with our
work and our probation period passed quickly. In
fact it flew. The next thing we knew, summer was
behind us, and we were ready to begin our first year
in high school.
My writing had improved. Each time I went to
a wedding I tried a new angle. Each time I attended
a funeral I tried to add something special about the
person.
The graveyard didn�t seem to scare me as much
anymore. Whenever I was at a funeral Scott and I
would try to find unusual looking headstones. We�d
choose really old ones. Ones that were tall and
creepy looking, even headstones that seemed
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