Buzz Kill Read Free Page A

should never even have uttered the word “cancer” around me, after what my family had been through.
    â€œYou’ll get your story when I feel like writing it,” I growled, feeling Laura’s fingers twine around my arm, like she was ready to hold me back. “And if you bug me again, you’ll have cracks in
your
head.
”
    Viv and I had a long history of pushing each other’s buttons, but she seemed to realize she’d gone too far. I could see it in her cold, sharky blue eyes. She didn’t back down, though—and certainly didn’t apologize. “I’ll give you two more days,” she advised me. She summoned her minion. “Come on, Mike. Let’s get out of here.”
    I’d almost forgotten Mike was there, and he was equally oblivious to me. Following his gaze, I realized that his dull eyes were trained on Chase, who was still shooting hoops.
    Mike’s a mean kid who’s still pissed about Chase getting his quarterback spot—and killing any shot he had at a college scholarship. And he
really
blames Mr. Killdare—
    â€œMike,” Viv snapped again, so her lackey surfaced from his trance. “Let’s go.”
    I watched them walk across the gym, Viv’s heels clicking, until Laura ventured, “Hey, sorry about what she just said,”
    Bending, I grabbed my mat since class was almost over. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not the soulless psychopath.”
    Laura began to roll up her mat, too. “You know she’s really just jealous of you.”
    â€œYes,” I agreed. “I inspire envy in every Ivy-League-bound cheerleader with long, blond hair and what I swear is a surgically altered nose.”
    â€œYou are prettier than Vivienne,” Laura insisted. Before I could protest, she added, “You know she envies how easily stuff comes to you, and your red hair was the first thing she ever got jealous about. Remember how you won that costume contest in third grade, just by wearing a trash bag and making a ponytail on top of your head?”
    I grinned. “Yeah, I was a volcano. While Viv’s family spent, like, a thousand dollars to dress her up as Snow White.”
    I could still picture Viv stamping her crystal-encrusted shoes as I’d accepted a plastic pumpkin full of candy and marched down Market Street, leading Honeywell’s Halloween parade.
    â€œAnd then there was the time you saved that kid at camp when he almost drowned in the lake,” Laura reminded me. “That was
huge.
”
    â€œI was actually begging Kenny Kaluka to stop pulling on me,” I admitted. “I kept trying to pry his fingers off my arm the whole time I was dragging him to shore.”
    â€œWell, you came off like a hero—and got Camper of the Year, even though Viv had dominated pretty much everything all summer, from archery to canoe racing.” Laura frowned. “And then you won that Peacemaker thing last year . . . That was probably the last straw.”
    She was talking about the National
Pacemaker
Awards, which were the equivalent of Pulitzer Prizes for student journalists. And she was right about Viv having a conniption when I’d won for feature writing, for a sappy story about our school’s blind crossing guard. I hadn’t even technically entered—the
Gazette
’s eager new advisor, Mr. Sokowski, had filled out the paperwork—but I’d come home with the honors.
    â€œThat did tick her off pretty badly,” I agreed. “She didn’t even get honorable mention for her piece on bulimic cheerleaders.” I shrugged. “Too clichéd, I think.”
    â€œAnd she’s obviously still mad about your father beating hers for mayor, too,” Laura noted as we walked toward the equipment storage closet. “She’s got it in for you
and
your dad.”
    â€œWell . . .” I tossed my mat into a bin. “In less than a year,