Sep 20, 2016 5 min read

The story so far: Robyn and her reporters are covering the neighborhood on Election Day. Robyn just heard Corinna scream out, “Ripe apple!”

I look at Mrs. Allen and Mr. Dexter. I can’t stay here and listen to them argue.

I have to go. And fast. A ripe apple is big. No, it’s bigger than big. It’s huge. Reporters at newspapers and TV stations call it breaking news. At The Robyn Report, we call it a ripe apple.

I made up the name. I think it sounds better than “breaking news.” When someone has a ripe apple, you must do three things – stop, drop, and report.

I run over to Corinna.

“What do you have?” I ask.

“It’s the Great Debate,” she says. “It’s about to start.”

I check the time on my cell.

“Let’s go!” I say. “This bird protest will have to wait.” We head for the library. J.P. and Logan who decided to take up his reporter’s duties once again) are close behind.

The Great Debate is a tradition on Election Day. It takes place half an hour before the polls open. It gives candidates one last chance to win some votes.

We get to the library. The crowd is already big. I wriggle in to the front row. I want to be close so I can ask questions.

Mrs. Duncan stands on the library steps.

“The Great Debate will start in two minutes,” she says. “Candidates, this is your two-minute warning.”

I see Andrew Marx and Sally Palooso just a few feet away. They are the two candidates in today’s election. Mr. Marx is retired. Mrs. Palooso works at a bank and has two kids. They are running for the president of the Neighborhood Association. It’s a big honor. The president leads the neighborhood for the next year and makes a lot of decisions.

When will trick-or-treating be held? How will our neighborhood fees be spent? When will the neighborhood block party be held?

The president decides all of these things – and more. That’s why Election Day is so important.

Mrs. Duncan explains the debate rules to the crowd.

“The debate will last 30 minutes,” she says. “Then the polls will open promptly at 9 a.m.”

The neighborhood gets to ask the questions. The candidates take turns answering. For each question, they have one minute to answer. Mrs. Duncan keeps track of the time. If a candidate goes over the time, she rings the buzzer.

“Let’s get started,” Mrs. Duncan says. “Who wants to ask the first question?”

I throw my hand up in the air. Mrs. Duncan smiles.

“Go ahead Robyn,” she says.

I stand up. I want to ask a question about the first issue.

“Please state your position on the proposed skate park,” I say.

I’ve been practicing my questions for weeks. My sister helped me get ready. The skate park is a hot topic in the neighborhood. Some want it. Others don’t.

Mrs. Palooso steps up to the microphone.

“As a mom with two children, I’m a big supporter of the skate park,” she says. “It’s a constructive outlet for the neighborhood youth.”

She goes on to give more reasons. The kids in the crowd cheer.

“I guess Mrs. Palooso is going to get a lot of those votes,” Corinna says.

Our neighborhood is unique because we let kids vote. Most elections, you have to be 18 to vote. Not in my neighborhood, though. On Election Day, you only have to be 5.

Voting has been this way for 30 years. From the very first Neighborhood Association Election Day, kids have been able to vote. My sister even remembers voting when she was a kid.

The buzzer dings, and Mrs. Palooso’s turn is over. Now it’s time to hear Mr. Marx.

He stands in front of the microphone and stares into the crowd.

“This skate park is nothing but trouble!” he says.

I hear a couple of people echo his enthusiasm.

“That’s right!”

“You got it, Marx!”

Corinna giggles. “It’s all the old people,” she says. “They are the ones who don’t want the skate park.”

I try not to laugh. After all, a reporter must be fair. This is one of the most important rules of reporting. Sometimes you don’t feel like being fair. The skate park is one example. I have rollerblades and would really like a place to skate. It doesn’t matter what I think, though. I have to report the facts.

Mr. Marx finishes his argument. As he turns to go back to his chair, someone in the crowd shrieks.

“We have a streaker!”

Corinna turns to me. “What’s a streaker?” she asks.

I laugh and point at the top steps of the library.

“That!” I say.

A skateboarder flies through the air in front of Mr. Marx. He gasps.

“Oh my!” Corinna says. “That skateboarder is wearing only…”

I laugh harder.

“Yep! He’s wearing only his underwear.”