Sep 13, 2016 5 min read

The story so far: Robyn and her roving band of reporters are getting ready to cover Election Day for their newspaper, The Robyn Report. They have just gotten to the library, where they hear people chanting.

I walk closer to the crowd. The chanting gets louder.

“DOWN WITH ROBYN. FLY AWAY. DOWN WITH ROBYN. DO NOT STAY.”

Corinna grabs my arm.

“Is that who I think it is?” she asks.

I look where she is pointing. It is my third reporter, Logan, marching with the crowd. He is holding a sign. It reads, ROBIN STINKS.”

“At least he could have spelled your name right,” Corinna says.

I glance at the sign again. She’s right. He spelled Robin with an “i” instead of a “y.”

My reporters don’t misspell names. This is one of the biggest rules of reporting. I teach my reporters well. Something is up.

Logan sees us and runs over.

“This is not what it looks like,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” J.P. demands. “What is it?”

Logan glares at J.P.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he says. “You’re a W!”

“A what?” I ask.

“Don’t listen to the Es,” J.P. says. “You can’t trust them.”

I turn to Corinna, hoping she can explain.

“Ws. West Side. Es. East Side,” she says.

Suddenly, it all made sense. I should have noticed before. Whew! I’m really thrown off when I oversleep. It all goes back to the election. Our neighborhood gets weird on Election Day. People on the west sides of the streets call themselves Ws. People on the east sides are Es. The Ws don’t talk to the Es. The Es don’t talk to the Ws. It’s the strangest thing.

Even best friends like Logan and J.P. act weird.

Corinna and I are lucky. We live on the south side of our streets.

“I don’t care who’s a W or an E,” I say. “You have to be reporters today!” My sister taught me this. It doesn’t matter what you think. On Election Day, you just report the truth.

I turn to Logan. “Now what is going on here?” I ask as the chanting continues.

“DOWN WITH ROBIN. FLY AWAY.”

“They are protesting,” Logan says.

“I can see that,” I say. “But why are they protesting about me?”

“It’s not you,” Logan says. “It’s the bird.”

“Bird?”

“Come on!” Logan says. “The great bird debate!”

I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I am really off my game. The great bird debate has been going on for months.

There is a giant American robin statue in the park. Some people like it. Some people don’t. The people who don’t like it want it gone. They want a water fountain there instead. Today, the neighborhood will vote. Bird? No bird? Fountain? No fountain?

The neighborhood will decide.

“Okay,” I tell my reporters. “Spread out and talk to the people.”

This is important in reporting. You always have to talk to the people. Lots of reporters can write a story. But not everyone talks to the people.

We take out our notebooks. This is exciting! It’s my first protest! I walk up to Mrs. Allen. She is carrying a big sign. It reads, “BIRD IS THE WORD. SAVE OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS.” I don’t waste any time approaching her.

“Why do you want to keep the bird in the park?” I ask.

Mrs. Allen puts down her sign.

“I’ll tell you why,” she says. “Are you ready?” She clears her throat and takes a deep breath.

“This neighborhood was built on love for nature,” she says. “American robins are the foundation of our streets. Without them, we couldn’t do anything.”

I think Mrs. Allen might be exaggerating a bit. I don’t stop her, though.

“Furthermore,” she says. “I don’t know why anyone would want to disrespect this beautiful creature. This statue is a staple in our neighborhood. If we lose it, then we lose the birds.”

Now’s my chance.

“Do you really think the birds will leave if the statue comes down?” I ask.

“You betcha!” Mrs. Allen screeches. “Besides, what harm is it doing? It’s a beauty.”

Mr. Dexter comes up behind her.

“I’ll tell you what harm,” he says. “This so-called beauty is rusting. It’s making a mess of the entire park!”

Mrs. Allen and Mr. Dexter continue to argue. I write as fast as I can. This is a good story.

Suddenly, Corinna shouts across the crowd. I immediately stop writing in my notebook. I feel my heart beating in my chest. There’s only one thing that could make me stop like this. I look at Corinna to make sure I heard her. She shouts again.

“Ripe apple!!!”