Free Scarlett Fever by Maureen Johnson Page A

is the new baddie on the street.”
    Over five hundred dedicated fans had an impromptu candlelight vigil on the steps of the New York Supreme Court, where the death scene was shot.
    “I can’t stop crying,” said Felicia Wills of Brooklyn, as she placed a bouquet of flowers on the steps where Lavinski fell. “It’s never going to be the same without Sonny.”
    Andrew Walsh of Manhattan said he was riding by on his bike when he saw the gathering and asked what happened.
    “I was recording the show,” he said. “I was about to go home and watch it. I never thought they’d kill Sonny Lavinski. That’s like…killing television. I’m in shock. I’m honestly in shock.”
    A larger, more organized event in Central Park is to follow on Saturday.

THE LOVE OF THE MASSES
    The next morning, when Scarlett emerged from her room, she was struck by the sight of Spencer coming out of the bathroom wearing white pants and a white shirt. It was the whitest outfit she had ever seen, broken only by a sliver of dark silver tie.
    “Is it Dress Like a Kentucky Colonel Day?” she asked. “I always forget to mark it on my calendar.”
    Spencer straightened his tie.
    “I kind of wanted to get dressed up today, but my only dress pants are my work ones and these. And my good suit, but I didn’t feel like wearing that. They’re nice, right? They’re really nice pants. I should wear them more often.”
    “They’re nice,” Scarlett conceded, taking a good look at them as they walked down the hall. “But they do look a little…musical-ish.”
    “That’s because they are musical-ish,” he said, pushing the elevator button, which stuck and clacked back out again. “They were part of my costume for The Music Man. I swiped them from the costume room when the show was over. I have the jacket, too, but it doesn’t fit right. The arms are too short. Here, read this.”
    He pulled a copy of the New York Bulletin out of his messenger bag and passed it to Scarlett. It was already folded open to a page, and he tapped on an article.
    “They’re already lying about it,” he said. “I am already spinning in the spin machine.”
    “Why are they saying it was planned?” she asked, scanning the article. “I don’t get it. You said he walked off.”
    “Because it sounds better than, ‘Bitter, greedy, slightly drunk guy leaves set with no warning after fifteen years.’ Did you see the part about ‘cast newcomer Spencer Martin’? That’s my favorite part. That’s the part where the article really shines. I’m the new baddie on the street!”
    The arrow above the elevator pointed to five, and the doors creaked open. Spencer reached over and opened the gate for Scarlett.
    “I’m feeling generous this morning,” he said. “I feel like treating my favorite sister to an iced coffee.”
    “You still killed Sonny,” Scarlett said. “You can’t just buy me off with cold caffeine.”
    “Did I mention that I’d also treat you to a cab ride to school?”
    “It’s important to forgive,” Scarlett said. “Are you always going to be like this? I like this new you. The old one was okay, but this one is better.”
    “As long as I’m a fancy, rich television star.”
    Spencer yanked the gate shut, and the inner doors squawked closed.
    “You seem calmer today,” she observed.
    He shrugged, dismissing the panic of the day before.
    “You know,” he said, “the more I think about it, the more I’m glad I killed that guy. I’d do it again.”
    Scarlett smacked him playfully. Rather than reply, he threw himself back against the sunburst and slid down to the elevator floor. The door opened at that moment and the German couple staying in the Sterling Suite looked at him in bafflement. His eyes were closed, so he didn’t immediately notice. Scarlett kicked his foot, and he looked up.
    “Sorry,” he said, getting up and stumbling slightly as he exited the elevator. “I have this inner ear thing and I lose my balance…”
    He swayed