Buzz Kill Read Free Page B

Viv and I will part ways forever. I’d say the odds of my accidentally shining again at her expense are pretty slim.”
    I looked once more at Chase.
Good thing I really don’t have designs on him. Viv would
destroy
me if I ever “stole” a guy she liked!
    Laura was also watching the mysterious Mr. Albright—of course. But she didn’t think I should keep my distance. On the contrary, she suggested, “Hey, maybe you could do an exposé on Chase and win another one of those Peacemakers. He is a total—gorgeous—puzzle.”
    I reached for the door to the locker room. “I’m pretty sure what I’d uncover would earn the headline ‘Self-Absorbed Rich Kid Too Snooty for Small Town.’ Which is not exactly a man-bites-dog story.” I kind of snorted. “Let’s face it. Nobody from Honeywell, Pennsylvania, will ever win the investigative reporting prize. What the heck would you look into?”
    Laura and I both laughed, then, because nothing significant—not counting football championships—ever happened in our sleepy town.
    It never occurred to either one of us that a question on our class’s collective mind, that morning, might actually turn out to be a
huge
story. No, it wasn’t until we’d had a substitute phys ed teacher for over a week, and my dad had slid into the role of de facto head coach of the Stingers, that I, at least, realized somebody might want to make a sincere effort to answer . . .
    What the heck really happened to Coach Killdare?

Chapter 3
    â€œMillicent, what is that stain on your uniform?” my father inquired, shooting me a quick glance as he drove me back to school, where I had an after-hours interview—and he had football practice—to conduct. He wrinkled his nose. “And why do you smell like rancid butter?”
    â€œI had a little accident with the dispenser,” I admitted, wiping ineffectually at the oil slick on the hideous gold-buttoned, red polyester shirt I was required to wear at the theater, where I was scheduled to work that night. The uniform was supposed to resemble an usher’s getup from the Lassiter Bijou’s silent-movie heyday, but I was pretty sure I looked more like an organ grinder’s monkey in a fright wig. “Can we
please
go back home so I can get a jacket,” I begged yet again. “I’ll just run in quick—”
    â€œI asked you, twice, if you had everything you needed before we left.” Dad cut me off. “This is a lesson in responsibility.”
    Actually, it was going to be a lesson in
humiliation,
because all the football players and cheerleaders would be at school, too.
    â€œWeren’t you supposed to do this story days ago?” Dad added, turning on to the winding road to the high school, which was located just outside the quaint little town he ruled with an iron fist. “I remember you mentioning a ‘lame article’ about stadium repairs quite a while back.”
    â€œActually, it was due eons ago,” I informed him. In fact, I’d deliberately delayed another six days after Viv had given me her two-day warning in the gym. “But I can’t give my editor the satisfaction of thinking she’s really my boss.”
    Dad gave me another look. “Millie—she
is
your boss.”
    â€œWell, in that case, I’m supposed to get a quote from you,” I said, without bothering to retrieve my notebook. Ever since the “cancer cluster” debacle, my father had distanced himself from anything school related except football. He could
never
wean himself off that addiction, and I strongly suspected that he wished he’d had a boy who could’ve played. Actually, I sometimes thought he secretly wished he’d just remained childless. “So, any comment on the bleachers?”
    As I’d expected, he didn’t answer. After pulling into the school lot, he parked his sensible