“EXTRA! EXTRA!” MIN SHOUTED as we scootered through Bear Creek. She stopped at each house to stick a rolled-up paper in the mailbox. “The Cub Report is a real newspaper! Read all about it!”

“Min!” I shouted from across the street, where I was also distributing the paper. “You don’t have to say that it’s a real paper. People will think that it’s not real if you’re constantly saying it’s real.”

“Extra! Extra!” Min shouted louder.

We both paused outside of the ice cream shop. Last night, after I showed her the first copy of The Cub Report, Mom had taken me to the creamery to celebrate. Miss Juliet was so excited about her profile that she taped the whole paper in the shop’s window. At some point that morning, Miss Juliet had moved the photo beside the register to hang in the window next to the newspaper. Min and I waved at Miss Juliet through the window before continuing toward Wells Diner.

The whole staff had planned out our routes so we could meet at Wells for lunch. Chef Wells had a stack of The Cub Report on the counter; the servers slipped one onto each person’s tray.

In the corner of the diner was Mrs. Austin, eating soup and bread. Nearly everyone stopped by her table to say how glad they were to see her back at the park. The hardware store owner said he’d make sure there was always a bag of birdseed for her behind the register. She winked at me as I walked by.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket while I waited in line for a turkey sandwich. I almost ignored it but then heard a ping at the same time coming from Gordon’s phone as he stood in front of me in line. I remembered the email we had set up for The Cub Report and how each staff member had access to it.

Quickly, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. The message was from Mr. Tran, the ornithologist. Hey kid! it began. How rude. But I let that go as I continued reading. Great job with your article. Saw it online. Glad to hear the murder was trying to tell you something.

“Nellie!” came a gruff voice behind me, followed by a slurp. Chief Rodgers. I turned to see him sitting with a copy of The Cub Report in one hand. His soup spoon was in the other. “You done good, kid.”

“Thank you,” I said in my grout voice. “Just doing my job.”

“Almost sorry to hear this is all wrapped up. I was getting used to seeing you around,” Chief Rodgers said.

“Oh, we’ll still be around. We’re publishing monthly,” I said before remembering to use my official voice. Much lower, I added, “I have an associate”—that would be Mom—“who has provided us with a police scanner. The Cub Report will be ready and on the scene for any Bear Creek breaking news.”

Gordon turned toward me as Chief Rodgers grumbled into his napkin.

“What are we going to cover in the next issue?” Gordon asked.

Thom pushed his bag of smells into his back pocket. I noticed it now had a corner from The Cub Report tucked inside. “Well, Mom says Annabelle keeps going on rampages, destroying gardens in town.”

“Annabelle?” I asked, already taking notes.

“The potbelly pig,” Gordon finished.

I stopped taking notes. “Well, hopefully something more exciting than an escaped pig will happen in the next couple weeks.”

Just then Chief Rodgers’s walkie-talkie buzzed. “All units, all units! Possible burglary on Olson Avenue. Who can report?”

“Me!” I yelled as Chief Rodgers responded that he was on his way.

“Not now, Nellie,” Chief Rodgers growled as he threw money on the table and gathered up his things.

“You can’t stop the press!” I told him. He sighed and didn’t even offer me a lift. That’s okay. I can make my scooter go nearly as fast as I can swing.

But by the time I got out to the curb, Gordon was sailing down the sidewalk on his skateboard, following the police cars. Already his camera was snapping pictures.

The Cub Report was ready for its next assignment.