Page 20 of Cross Check Christmas
"But... but..." I sputter. My voice rises an octave. "He can't stay. He's got a team to get back to."
"Not necessarily. Ginger Maddox's grandson is a mascot for the Titans' farm team. She says Hendrix's agent is playing hardball with the contract. They're talking millions."
"Since when are you such a hockey expert?"
"I'm not. But Mrs. Wingert - you know, the one who orders the milk rolls every Tuesday? Her bridge partner's son’s brother-in-law works in sports management, and he says these negotiations could drag on for months."
"Months?" The word comes out as a squeak.
"At least through January. Maybe February. Or March." Daisy's eyes gleam.
"These are just rumors. Mrs. Wingert also swore she saw Bigfoot in her garden last spring."
"That was Mr. Wingert in a trapper hat." Daisy waves dismissively. “His bushy beard didn’t help either.”
“He is a rather tall man,” I say.
"Face it, honey. Your nemesis isn't going anywhere."
"No. No, no, no." I slump forward, forehead hitting the table. "He can't stay that long. He'll ruin everything! The winter showcase. The spring musical... “
"On the bright side," Daisy says, patting my head, "at least you'll have something pretty to look at during staff meetings."
I lift my head just enough to glare at her. "Not helping."
“What do you want me to say? That he'll probably steal the auditorium for hockey visualization exercises or whatever ridiculous thing he comes up with next?"
"This is a nightmare. I'm having a nightmare. Maybe Mrs. Bellinger's wrong. Maybe she confused Hendrix with someone else. Maybe she…”
My eyes glaze over. This can’t be happening.
"So?" Daisy waves a hand in my face. "Are you in?"
“In? In on what?”
"Get him to leave town by Christmas Eve."
"What? No. Absolutely not."
"Come on.” Daisy boops my nose. "Where's your sense of adventure? I dare you."
"We're not in high school anymore, Daisy. Dares don't work on?—"
"Double dare."
"That's not going to?—"
"Triple dog dare with Christmas sprinkles on top."
"This is childish."
"Says the woman who's been window-stalking him for the past hour."
"I have not been—" I catch my reflection in the window and realize I've left nose prints on the glass.
"Think about it. No more disrupted rehearsals, no more stolen students, no more..." She waves her hand toward Tucker's Coffee. "Whatever that is over there."
I glance across the street where Hendrix sits, looking irritatingly perfect. "What's in it for you?"
