Never Gonna Tell by Sarah M. Ross Read Free Book Online Page B

pocket to inspect another time.
    I don’t waste any more time and quickly head back to the living room, where Hunter is taking out the trash and straightening up.
    “Thanks.” I wipe my hands on my pants as if I’m drying them.
    “No problem.”
    “Are you ready to continue?” I ask. He nods, and I take out my phone again and press record. “Let’s talk about this past season. You’re All-American, and your record was flawless for a long time. Then you had a bit of a bad streak. What happened?”
    I mean, the direct approach can’t hurt, right?
    “Those were some tough games. We played some great teams, and things just didn’t go the way Coach planned, ya know?”
    “Uh-huh. But the teams you played were poorly ranked, and they were all teams that you’ve not just beaten but demolished in previous games.”
    Hunter huffs. “I’m aware.”
    “So what do you think led to the…” I flip my notebook back to get the stats. “Nine sacks, four interceptions, and six fumbles in two games?” He grinds his teeth so hard I can hear it across the room. I push a little further. “And none before or since.”
    He shoots out of his seat, his face red. “You think I wanted that? Wanted to get forcefully knocked to the ground nine times? Have the wind taken out of me? Get a cracked rib? You think I didn’t try another way? Try everything in my power?” He throws his hands up and stomps to the door. “You need to leave.”
    “I only have a few more questions. About your possible future with the Volunteers.” I try to recover.
    “Now. I mean it. Get out.” He throws the door open. I have no choice at this point but to comply. I push stop on my phone and place it back in my bag.
    “Thank you for your time.”
    He doesn’t reply, only slamming the door in my face. Once in the car, I bang my head against the steering wheel. I can’t believe how much I screwed that up. It was my one shot with him, and I blew it. He didn’t give up anything useful, and I only managed to piss him off. I take out the newspaper that I shoved into my pocket, hoping it can salvage that disaster.
    I turn the key, revving my engine before gliding into drive and heading toward the library. I’d better have more luck there, or my story is dead on arrival.
     

     
    THE LIBRARY IS practically empty, just a few old men checking out today’s headlines from the major newspapers and a couple of middle school kids playing on the computers. I ignore them and head to the archives, which are ironically located in the basement of the building.
    I start by pulling out the piece of newspaper I stole from Hunter’s bathroom. With any luck, whatever is scrawled in the margins can point me in the direction of finding out why he threw those games. The newspaper itself is from last Monday, and it’s the national news section. I scan the article that is circled but it doesn’t seem relevant in any way. It talks about which polling stations will be open in a special election following the death of a councilman in a small town called Woodstock just outside of Atlanta.
    The chicken scratch in the margin is almost illegible, as if someone was drunk when he wrote it. I can make out a few letters, but I can only guess as to whole words. I flip the paper ninety degrees, bringing it closer to my face. “Is that cook or crook? Is that even a K? Cool? Cruel? I am so confused.”
    “Need any help down here, dear?”
    My head whips up as I stifle my yelp. “You scared me to death!”
    The librarian chuckles. “My husband always said I had little cat feet.”
    She leans in, trying to see what I’m doing. I quickly turn over the paper. That nosy old bat is trying to eavesdrop on me. “I’m fine. I was just about to start using the microfilm machine. Could you tell me where they’re kept?”
    She purses her lips. “Everything is stored by year in those cabinets over there starting in 1887 when the town was founded.”
    I shove the scrap newspaper back in my