Page 26 of Kiss the Girl
“Ding, ding, ding.”
“I’m in charge of the Lincoln booth.”
I blinked again. “What about Bob?”
His mouth twitched. “Good movie.”
“What?”
“That’s a movie.What About Bob. You’ve seen it? Tell me you’ve seen it.”
I could not tell him I’d seen it.
“You know. ‘Baby steps out the front door. Baby steps down the hall’?”
“You can keep quoting it, but I still won’t have gone back in time to see it before having this conversation.”
“Guess I know what I’m picking for the first movie night. Anyway, Bob Ritzau is refusing to do the Christmas Town booth this year on account of some drama with the ASB kids last year. I didn’t ask too many questions because it looked like he might cry.”
I sucked in a breath. “That’s not good. I heard something about a food fight between the ASB treasurer and the junior class president. I remember the cider donuts ran out early. Maybe that had something to do with it?”
“Apparently, they ruined so many donuts that the booth made negative money and they had to skip the DJ for the midwinter formal.”
“Tragic.”
“Like I said, he looked like he was going to cry.”
“How’d you get stuck with the job?”
A slightly sheepish look crossed his face. “I volunteered.”
I leaned over and patted his arm. “It’s okay. You’re still new. Tell them you take it back. They’ll understand. You didn’t know what you were signing up for.”
“The thing is, I did.”
I dropped my hand. “Uh.”
“That’s pretty much what Brooke said. But I had to.”
“Why?”
“The football coach is retiring. I talked to Dr. Boone about applying for the job, but she doesn’t think I have the experience to do it. I’m sucking up to her by taking on the booth while also proving that I can wrangle a complicated project.”
I tried to find a diplomatic response. I couldn’t honestly say, “You’ll do great!” because it was nearly impossible for anyone to do a good job. Exhibit A: weepy Mr. Ritzau, who’d tried for five years during which he’d barely kept it together before flaming out in a hail of cider donuts.
I cleared my throat, “Well, that is…something.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“I don’t know if anyone has adequately explained to you the minefield of Christmas Town politics.”
“The word ‘fascists’ came up,” he conceded.
“That’s only scratching the surface.”
“Great.” He glanced around the store. “Is your dad here? I was told he’s the guy who always helps with the high school booth.”
“He is, usually. But I did it last year, and you’re stuck with me this year.”
