Free B006K5TA1E EBOK by Yvonne Collins, Sandy Rideout

decide to make a quick pit stop at Mr. Sparling’s office on my way back to the field. He offered me some petty cash to cover my costs at events. I doubt he’ll foot the entire bill for a dream date with Tyler, but he said a good journalist dives into the action, so maybe he’ll give me a top-up.
    I hear Mr. Sparling’s voice before I reach the door. “This is not the kind of writing I expect from you,” he lectures. “I’m very disappointed.”
    “Oh, come on,” a familiar voice says. “It’s funny.”
    I place the voice: it belongs to Mac Landis. Taking another step, I peer through the crack in the door. Sure enough, there’s a blond mop of hair in the chair opposite Mr. Sparling’s.
    “It’s juvenile,” Mr. Sparling replies. “You’re capable of so much more. That’s why I gave you this opportunity.”
    “But you gave us free rein to share our opinions. That’s the purpose.”
    “No, the purpose is to stretch your mind and your writing skills.”
    Mac murmurs something I can’t quite catch, but it’s obviously not apologetic enough for Mr. Sparling, because he says, “Whether you aim low or aim high, you’ll reach your target, Mac. Do you want to settle for low?”
    The blond head droops. “Okay, I’ll rewrite it. Sorry, sir.”
    “Just do your best. That’s all I ask.”
    I back away before Mac leaves the office. As soon as I turn the corner, I start to run. If I hurry, I can still make it to the ATM.
    Back in the field, Mariah is already on the stage, warming up the crowd with some dance moves as loud music thunders out over the field. I fill Rachel and Izzy in on the details of my scouting mission, ending with Mr. Sparling’s conversation. “It looks like you guys were right about Mac being Scoop,” I tell Rachel. “Mr. Sparling sounded really disappointed. I’m surprised he expected more of Mac. He must see something we don’t.”
    Finally, the auction begins. Eighty students parade around the stage before lining up. The cheers are almost loud enough to drown out the music.
    Griffin Gonzalez has volunteered as auctioneer. He’ll be working from his fellow seniors down to the sole freshman who had the nerve to put himself on the block.
    Determined to take the plunge, Izzy bids on the very first guy. And the fourth. And the seventh. Each time, she is defeated by girls with deeper pockets. Number seven, who offers a limo ride and theater tickets, pulls in a whopping sixty-eight dollars.
    Izzy is down but not out. When number fifteen steps up, she tries again. He’s tall and cute but more rugged than her usual type.
    Rachel says, “In case you didn’t notice, he wearing hiking boots, Izzy.”
    I consult the auction guide. “This guy’s dream date is rock climbing. You’re afraid of heights, Iz. And you only wear heels.”
    “But I like seniors,” Izzy says. “And sometimes you have to compromise.”
    Only one other girl is willing to compromise, and Izzy lands number fifteen for a bargain: twenty-two dollars.
    When Mariah’s turn comes, she struts to center stage and does a pirouette before settling into a contrived pose. Before the auctioneer even opens the bidding, hands soar. There are a few hoarse shouts—the sound of desperate men with money to blow.
    “Opening at thirty dollars for a night of dancing at an all-ages club,” the auctioneer says. “Do I hear forty?”
    With each new bid, Mariah strikes a new pose. When it crosses the hundred-dollar mark, she does a high kick, which in that short skirt nets another flurry of bids.
    A football player bellows, “One twenty. Final offer.”
    There’s laughter followed by a long silence. Finally Griffin says, “I have one twenty. Can anyone do better? Going… going… ”
    “One twenty-three,” Curtis the tech geek calls. “And sixty-one cents.”
    Mariah is still smiling as she scans the crowd for the voice. Her eyes land on Curtis, and the smile vanishes. She rushes toward the auctioneer, calling,