Breaking Rules

  Four

  “Remember back at the diner when I defended Raddick?” I yelled, stomping through the front door that evening. I threw my purse in the corner and didn’t wait for a response. “Well, undo it! Call him whatever you’d like, Bailey. The guy’s a jerk. And not your everyday, pain-in-the-butt kind, either. He’s a full-fledged, colossal, jerk wad and the bane of my existence!” I kicked both of my shoes in the corner and muttered, “Should’ve just run the creep over when I had the chance.”

  “What’s that, Mandy?” Dad asked, poking his head out of the kitchen.

  “Oh,” I said, widening my stare. I looked down at my feet, trying to think of a way to take back what he’d just heard. “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “Who’s the full-fledged, colossal, jerk wad?” he asked, stepping out. He leaned in the door frame between the kitchen and the living room, and he folded his thick arms at his chest.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “The scowl on your face says otherwise,” he said, studying me with a keen eye. “Did something happen at school?”

  “Nope.” I tried to brush past him, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me. I dropped my shoulders. “What?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” I shook his hand off of my arm. “Let it go.”

  I knew he wouldn’t understand even if I tried to explain.

  Gabe and I had gotten off on the wrong foot, to say the least. Maybe if I hadn’t hit him with my car, threatened him off of school property, and treated him like complete dirt, things might go a little differently. But now, after only one day under my belt and six weeks to go until the end, I had a hard time believing things were going to get much better. If anything, the sharp pain in my gut had me feeling that things were only going to get much, much worse.

  Dad tilted his chiseled chin upward and slanted a look down at me. I’d seen him look at so many people that way in the past, and I knew what he was trying to pull; it was his look of forced compassion, the one that was supposed to make everyone feel like he was on their side. He’d been working on that one ever since he decided to run for local office.

  As much as I admired his enthusiasm, it was only fair to admit that Dad’s job as mayor was really something of a giant question mark. Bailey and I had always known that he was a bit of a fame whore and loved attention. He wasn’t the most political or decisive person, and he was just a little too aloof to be trusted with any kind of authority. That was only the tip of the iceberg. There were a dozen other reasons we questioned it, but none more bothersome than the fact that he’d never, ever showed any indication that he was headed for politics. In fact, he’d spent most of our childhood telling us elaborate (and probably exaggerated) stories of his days as a soap opera star, and there wasn’t a story he’d wrapped up without saying ‘and when I go back into television...’

  It’d been two years since he’d first taken office, and he was killing it; the town loved him, the camera loved him, and we… well, Bailey and I tolerated him most of the time. But neither of us trusted him as much as the credulous townspeople of Sugar Creek. We stopped putting our faith into him a long time ago.

  I moved down the hall, hoping to avoid another question about my first day at RI. I stopped off at Bailey’s door and knocked, but she didn’t answer.

  “She’s out with Jones,” Dad called behind me, so I just kept moving.

  “Perfect,” I muttered, and then I kept walking for my room. Once I closed the door, putting an extra barrier between me and my nosey father, I sat on my bed and pulled my laptop over from my desk.

  After a few minutes of messing around, I clicked over to my e-mail to find only one new message, one from my senior editor at the school newspaper. The subject read: new story, and I knew it must’ve been urgent. Georgia rarely bothered the writers outside of school, and when she took the time to write us on a weekend, you could almost always bet it was something of dire importance.

  Mandy, We’re running a piece on next Monday’s front page about the RI competition, and we want to include an interview with Gabriel Raddick. Since you’re working with the program, you’re the only writer on staff who’s got the inside scoop. I’ve got Santiago on pictures. A short article will suffice; it doesn’t have to be much, just enough to get some quotes. Try to get this back to me by Friday morning. -Georgia

  I groaned and shut the laptop, too frustrated to even mess with it for another second. As if working side-by-side with the man over the next six weeks wasn’t enough, now I had to interview him for the Sugar Creek High Herald? Perfect.

  Two knocks came from my door, and Dad poked his head in.

  “Mandy,” he said, stepping in, “why did Darrel Yochum just call and tell me that he saw you parked in the middle of Highway 6 this morning?”

  “Say what now?”

  “He said that one of my daughters was parked in the middle of a state highway, standing outside her car talking to a man. It couldn’t have been Bailey. She was here with me. That only leaves you, so what? What were you thinking? Don’t you know how dangerous that is? You could’ve gotten hit.”

  Yeah, my point exactly. Standing in the street could get you hit. Why was it that my dad understood that, but Gabe didn’t?

  “Oh,” I said, searching my brain for an excuse. Any excuse would do as long as it wasn’t the truth. I just had to think of something that wouldn’t lead to getting my phone, car, and driver’s license taken away.

  “It was just Gabe,” I said, clearing my throat. “He’s the president of the RI program, and he was stopped outside the park, and we just…well, we ran into each other.”

  “You ran into each other?” he asked, narrowing his gaze, but then his eyes widened and he stood straighter. “Wait a minute. Gabriel Raddick? You were talking to Gabriel Raddick?”

  “You know him?”

  “Know him?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to get a lunch scheduled with him for months! His team has been rebuilding the park since May, so he’s always in town, but I can’t seem to get him on the phone for the life of me. Do you think you can talk to him, put in a good word for me?”

  Oh, for crying out loud! Why did it seem like everyone in the world had not only heard of the guy, but fawned over his very existence? I didn’t get it; what was the big deal?

  “What do you want with Raddick, Dad?”

  “You’re kidding me, right? He’s a local celebrity, Mandy,” he said, and I scoffed at his answer. If that was true, why hadn’t I heard of him until a few days ago? “We’re like-minded individuals. People with our kind of power and influence need to stick together, you know? There’s only a few elite in these small towns, and it makes perfect sense for those few to stick together.”

  “You’re trying to buddy up with Gabe?”

  “You call him Gabe?” he asked, making a mental note. “He likes to be called Gabe.”

  “Dad, don’t be creepy, okay? You’re not missing out on much by not having Gabe as a friend.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s the full-fledged, colossal, jerk wad.”

  Dad’s lips rounded into a perfect “O.”

  “I would’ve never guessed. I’ve only heard great things about him.” He shook his head and looked down at his feet. Just when I thought I was in the clear, his head snapped up again. “So, if you two don’t get along, what were you doing in the middle of the street together this morning?”

  “I hit him with my car,” I said—like a band aid, quick and painless. Dad’s eyes widened for a moment. When I kept my face expressionless, he watched me a little closer, trying to read further into my tone. “And you know what? I’m not even sorry. I was, and I was truly concerned that I’d hurt him. But then I changed my mind.”

  A small chuckle slipped through his lips, and I watched him closely, trying to figure out which part of that he could’ve found remotely laughable.

  “I hit him with my car. You’re funny,” he mocked, pointing a f
inger at me. “You certainly didn’t get that morbid sense of humor from me.”

  And then he turned and walked out of my room, shutting the door behind him.