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trade.” One of the football players in the back row whooped in approval. “Um,” Serena continued, “they’re remodeling the library. The drought restrictions are going to be lifted. The city council is voting on selling half of Lincoln Park to a developer, and—”
    “Wait.” Mac lifted a hand. “What was that last one?”
    “The park,” Serena said, her eyebrows pulling together as she read the computer screen. “It says, ‘Troubling news for fans of the wooded area east of the park pavilion. The two-acre greenbelt, popular with hikers and picnickers, is under the microscope as Franklin city council members move to vote. Half want to sell the strip of land to the interested developer, while the other is fighting to keep the park intact.’”
    The more Serena read, the more interested Mac was becoming—and the more emotional. She grew up a few blocks from Lincoln Park. That’s where her family picnics used to be before her parents split up, and where her friends had mud fights on rainy days. When she was fifteen, behind the cluster of trees, Jeff Snow had taught her how to kiss. As she listened to Serena read the end of the article, she swallowed hard. Losing that bit of the park would be like losing a piece of her childhood.
    “What do you guys think about this?” Mac asked, back in her teacher mode.
    There were a few quiet mummers. Mac knew her mistake was asking such an open-ended question. So she tried again.
    “Who has been to Lincoln Park?”
    A few hands went up.
    “Do you know which part of the park they’re talking about?”
    The hands went down.
    “ I do.”
    Mac tilted her head to see who had said that. It was Kenny, a blond kid who usually kept to himself. “Kenny, what do you know about that side of the park?”
    “I take my dogs there all the time,” he said. “Almost every day. They like to run through the trees and chase squirrels. It’s pretty far from the street, so I know it’s safe for them.”
    “I take my dog there, too,” another student chimed in.
    “I take my dates there,” said the whooping football player.
    The class laughed.
    “Okay,” Mac said after her own chuckle. “So I’m assuming you all know this park and probably have some kind of memory of going there.”
    The class nodded and murmured their agreement.
    “Kenny, if the city decides to turn the park into a hotel, where will you take your dog?”
    “I…” But the seventeen-year-old boy didn’t have an answer.
    “This might be an interesting story to follow, don’t you think?” Mac asked. The kids nodded. “What I want us to do is divide into groups. Each group will visit the park, research its history, decide why it’s in danger, and we’ll follow the story as a class. The city council meets each week. According to the article, they’re not voting on the issue until two weeks from Thursday.” Mac waited for Serena to confirm. “Every morning, each group will give a five-minute oral presentation about their findings.”
    The class groaned good-naturedly, as expected.
    Mac chuckled. “Hey. This is a speech class.”
    Even though, as a rule, students loathed any new assignment, Mac could tell her class was interested in this project. So was she. In fact, she had a vested interest in saving every inch of Lincoln Park. Only a few years ago, part of a park on the other side of town was turned into a parking lot. If this kept up, there would be no green left in all of Franklin.
    “These types of stories are usually reported on in the paper every few days,” Mac continued. “Serena, one last thing. Will you check to see who wrote the article?”
    “Umm.” The girl squinted at the screen. “Someone named Rick Duffy.”
    …
    By the time Rick was back at his hotel room and got around to checking his e-mails after a long day of interviewing farmers, he was surprised to find a message from Mac. Well, receiving an e-mail from Mac wasn’t uncommon, but the fact that there were five was