Free Buzz Kill by Beth Fantaskey

game that he’d either coached or played in.
    Then, just when I was about to give up, a truncated, choppy blurb caught my attention.
    Hank Killdare . . . Volunteer of the Year . . . Mason Treadwell Military Academy . . . Football . . .
    I recognized the reference to the award I’d seen back in Mr. Killdare’s den and clicked on the link, curious about Hollerin’ Hank’s connection to a school for hardcore delinquents, about fifty miles from Honeywell. I knew all about Mason Treadwell, because my dad used to threaten to send me there when I started skipping classes in favor of lurking in the public library. The prospect had genuinely worried me—until I’d learned that Treadwell accepted only boys.
    Even after that, though, I’d taken note of the academy when it earned mention in the news, which happened a lot. There was always some kid defecting—and about two years before, one boy had
stabbed
a “classmate.”
    â€œCome on,” I muttered, getting impatient with a little hourglass draining digital sand on my screen. “This might be big.”
    What if Hollerin’ Hank hollered at the wrong kid when he was volunteer coaching? Namely, a DELINQUENT, STABBING KILLER who got out of Treadwell and came after him for revenge?
    I wasn’t going to learn anything this evening, though, because the link was obviously dead, and after a few minutes, I returned to Google and typed in “Chase Albright” just to see what might come up.
    And what I found definitely intrigued me even more. Because if Coach Killdare was a prominent presence in cyberspace, it was as if the Chase Albright who went to my school didn’t exist
at all.

Chapter 19
    â€œWhat do you mean there was nothing about Chase on the
entire Internet?
” Laura whispered, as French class was starting—and the subject of our discussion was sitting less than ten feet behind us. “Everyone’s somewhere in cyberspace!”
    â€œWell, there are stories about him playing football here,” I conceded, glancing over my shoulder to see that Chase had his nose buried in his textbook.
Studious suck-up! Teacher’s pet!
I turned back to Laura. “But it’s like he didn’t exist before he came to Honeywell. All the other Chase Albrights are, like, accountants, doctors—and a preschool soccer prodigy in England.”
    Laura smiled archly. “Why’d you Google him, anyway?”
    I knew what she was thinking—that just like every other girl at Honeywell, I was attracted to Chase. However, before I could remind her that I had legitimate reasons to check him out—
suspicions
about him and his key to Coach Killdare’s house—Mademoiselle Beamish snapped at both of us in her overblown fake French accent,
“Mee-leh-CENT! Loh-RA! Taisez-vous!”
    I was terrible at French, and for a second I thought our somewhat burly instructor—she was an assistant wrestling coach, for crying out loud—was going to
tase us
for talking during class. Honestly, the way Laura—who could actually speak the language—jumped, it seemed possible. Then I realized she was reacting—or overreacting—the way she always did when I got her in trouble.
    I must’ve looked pretty alarmed, too, though. Both Viv and Mike were cracking up at me, even though I doubted Mike had understood our teacher, either.
    I started to stick out my tongue at them, then judged that to be too childish even for me, who was wearing a Snoopy T-shirt that day, and faced forward as Ms. Beamish said,
“Choisissez un partenaire et discuter de ce que vous voulez.”
    Needless to say, I didn’t understand
that
long diatribe until Laura suggested, “I guess we’ll partner up to talk, huh?”
    I wanted to do our semiweekly “free form” dialogue with my best friend, but all at once, I had an idea and turned slowly in my seat, thinking,
If I want