“Not hardly.” I was getting tired of people assuming I wanted to grab fifteen minutes of fame by letting Avaline van Tassel interview me for her show.
“Good,” he said, surprising me. “You wouldn’t like it. You’re much too real to fit in with the Hollywood crowd.”
“Thank you, I think.”
He laughed. “It was a compliment. You know I tried that scene and it wasn’t for me, either. It’s the capital of fakery. Fake boobs, fake friends, fake bling, fake emotion.” A hint of bitterness colored his voice. “More fake stuff than you’d find at a drag queen contest.”
The idea surprised a laugh out of me and his grin broadened. “Hop in,” he said, pushing open the passenger side door.
“What?”
“The St. Elizabeth Sabertooths’ volleyball team has a game in Kingsland tonight. I like to go to school sports events—wrestling, soccer, baseball, you name it—to support my students when I can. Since my other option for tonight is grading the pop quiz I gave today, I’m rarin’ to go to the volleyball game.”
“But aren’t you here to do an interview for The Spirit Whisperer?” I asked. As the words left my mouth, I realized I was making the same assumption about him that had annoyed me when he made it about me.
“Nope. I’m here to find you. Your mom told me you were here.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful and fun and I enjoy your company.”
“Oh.” His flattery and the look in his eyes took me aback.
“Coming?”
“My car—”
“I’ll drop you back here to pick it up when we get back from the game,” he promised.
Why not? I moved around the front of the Vette and climbed in.
THE CROWD IN THE CAMDEN COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL gym in Kingsland was sparse, maybe because of Horatio and maybe because women’s volleyball wasn’t on a par with men’s basketball when it came to filling the bleachers. The first game had already started when we arrived and cries of “Mine!” mingled with the thud of the ball, the ref’s whistle, and cheers and groans from parents and a handful of students. Glen and I found a spot halfway up on the right-most section of risers and sat. The ridged metal was cold and I shifted to get comfortable, accidentally bumping Glen’s thigh with my leg. Principal Kornhiser sat just behind the volleyball team’s bench, wearing a yellow shirt printed with purple palm trees. He caught my eye and waved.
“Now, he’d fit right in in Hollyweird,” Glen whispered into my ear, returning Kornhiser’s wave.
“Are you saying he’s a fake?” I asked.
“And how,” Glen said. “He’s all ‘good karma’ and ‘I’ve got your back’ to your face, but he’ll throw you to the wolves to preserve his and the school’s reputation.”
Protecting the school’s reputation didn’t sound so hideous to me, and I wondered if Glen was getting some backlash about the ghost-hunting fiasco.
I spotted Lindsay Tandy on the court immediately; she was half a head taller than all but one of her teammates. She waited for the serve, arms extended, knees bent, a look of fierce concentration on her face. The ball sailed over the net with terrific force and a blond girl got the dig, going down on her padded knees to do it. The ball popped up and another player moved into position to set it with her fingertips, floating it high and just a foot inside the net. Lindsay bounded up and smacked the ball down into the opponents’ court, palm rigid and feet four inches off the floor.
“Way to go, Linds!” The blonde high-fived her.
“She’s really good,” I said as play continued.
“The best we’ve ever had at St. Elizabeth, according to Coach Adkins,” Glen said. “And she’s a damn good student, too. Stanford recruited her, but she opted to sign with Maryland because Mark Crenshaw’s going to the Naval Academy.”
“I heard that,” I said. “It’s too bad.” I scanned the bleachers and found Mark seated alone at the far end, his eyes fixed on Lindsay as she caromed around the court.
Glen looked a question at me as the Wildcats coach waved a finger in the ref’s face over a line call.
“It’s too bad she’s letting the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing dictate her decisions,” I explained. “Chances are, their relationship will come to nothing, but she’ll be stuck with the results of the education choices she makes now for the rest of her life.” As I was. What choices would I have made differently if I hadn’t been set on marrying Hank? Ye gods. A BA would’ve done me a lot more good in the long run than my temporary MRS.