Free Long May She Reign by Ellen Emerson White Page B

secondary.” Which was such a whopper, that she half-expected lightning to come searing through the gymnasium roof. “I just like to see both teams enjoy themselves.” And, in addition, red, white and blue were her favorite colors.
    Ms. Goldman nodded, clearly not buying a word of it. “Right.” She stood up. “It was nice talking with you, Miss Powers.”
    Unh-hunh. “Yes, you, too,” Meg said.
    When the reporter was gone, tentatively making her way down the bleachers on her high heels, Meg looked at Kyle, who had a wide smile on his face.
    â€œIf you don’t mind my saying so,” he said, “you can sling it with the best of them.”
    Meg laughed. “Thanks. I think.”
    While Steven was on the bench, his team fell ten points behind again, and by the time he got back in, the game was pretty well lost. The final score was forty-three to thirty-eight, the Hoppers losing, and the two teams lined up to exchange handshakes. Or, anyway, hand slaps .
    Preston stood up, stretching. “Well, that was relaxing,” he said.
    Meg looked over at the reporters, who were gathering their coats and other paraphernalia. “Think you stepped on it in time?”
    He shook his head.
    Oh.
    Steven bounded up the bleachers, his face flushed, his hair damp and rumpled.
    â€œStupid game, hunh?” he said, and gave Neal and Ahmed smacks on the head. “Hey, you little twits.”
    Neal hit him back; Ahmed adjusted his glasses and punched Neal, who pushed him, and then, all three of them laughed.
    Little boys. Christ. Meg reached for her Kevlar jacket, and then put on her sunglasses to prepare to go outside. Face the world again.
    Steven shook his head. “Yo, Meg, it’s dark out there.” Then, he looked at Preston, slightly quelled. “You know, he started it, not me.”
    â€œWell, you could do some work on the old temper, maybe,” Preston said. Pointedly.
    Steven shrugged. “I always fight with that guy. It wasn’t any big deal.”
    â€œWell, someday it might be,” Preston said.
    â€œI hear ya, I hear ya.” He grinned at Meg. “Glad you came, ugly.” He smacked Neal on the head again, then jumped down the bleachers to join his team. “Later!” he called back, then grabbed one of his teammates, and they went scuffling to the floor.
    Meg laughed. “What a jerk.”
    Preston was smiling, too. “That’s for sure.”
    Once they were in the car—Neal and his agents were giving Ahmed a ride home, and Steven was “hanging out to mess around with the guys”—Meg was so exhausted that she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to stay awake. And her knee hurt. Her hand hurt even more.
    The most logical route home would go right past her old high school—but her agents didn’t drive in that direction, and they hadn’t on the way over, either.
    Thank God.
    â€œEnjoy your sojourn with Ms. Goldman?” Preston asked, after taking and making several brief calls on his cell phone.
    Meg opened her eyes. “She was really fishing.”
    â€œJust doing her job,” Preston said. “Any problems with her?”
    Meg shook her head. Unless lying was a problem.
    â€œGood.” Preston pulled some papers out of his briefcase to study, squinting in the very dim light. “I always forget how much you like reporters.”
    Meg frowned at him. “I hate reporters.”
    â€œYou hate the concept,” Preston said, glancing at the top sheet. “But you’ve always seemed to enjoy dealing with them in person.”
    Meg took her sunglasses off. “What, is that bad?”
    He fumbled inside the briefcase for a penlight and his reading glasses. “Makes my life easier.”
    Meg kept frowning, still not sure if she should be flattered or insulted.
    â€œIt was just nice to see you having fun,” he said.
    Okay. She guessed . Then she leaned over to