Tracy Flick Can't Win (Tracy Flick #2) (54)

I thought you were my friend.

Two more minutes.

LARRY HOLLERAN??? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!

Larry may have been an excellent football coach, but he was a terrible Assistant Principal. I knew this firsthand, because I’d had to clean up his mess. He botched the schedule, made terrible hiring decisions, and was wildly inconsistent on disciplinary matters. His evaluations and reports were unreadable, completely useless, because he didn’t know what he was talking about and wasn’t smart enough to fake it.

This is amazing, Jack used to tell me when I first came on board. I can actually understand what you write.

But I also knew that it didn’t matter. Larry Holleran was a local legend, a charming loudmouth, the man who brought home the trophies.

And who was I? I was nobody. A woman. A lowly bureaucrat. A doctor in quotation marks. It didn’t matter that I was better than he was—smarter and more competent and harder working and more dedicated to the kids.

I couldn’t win.

They wouldn’t let me.





Kyle Dorfman


We had an after-party at my house, a casual rooftop gathering. There were six of us seated around the teak fire table, the blue flames flickering up through a bed of smooth gray river stones.

“I can’t wait to work with your son,” Larry Holleran told Charisse. “I’ve been hearing great things about him.”

To be honest, I was a little annoyed with Larry. We’d asked him to play it cool at the restaurant—it was a delicate situation with the job search, and there were still some procedural wrinkles to iron out—but he just walked in and dominated the room, acting like the job was already his. He was sending us a not-so-subtle signal, letting us know that he’d be calling his own shots from now on, and wouldn’t be interested in a lot of guidance or oversight. My colleagues didn’t seem to mind, though.

“Marcus is amazing,” Ricky said. “He can run and he can throw and he can see the whole field. He’s the real deal.”

Charisse smiled proudly. “He’s been recruited by so many private schools. Full scholarships, all kinds of perks. But he wants to stay right here in Green Meadow.”

“He’s a great student,” Buzz added. “A real scholar-athlete.”

Larry nodded judiciously. “Well, I’ll see what I can do with him. I’m sure he’s got some bad habits he needs to unlearn.” He yanked his thumb at Vito. “I know this one did. He showed up freshman year, thinking he was hot shit, that he had nothing to learn from anyone. But I disabused him of that notion pretty quickly, didn’t I, Vito?”

Vito didn’t answer. He was hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring into the fire.

“Didn’t I?” Larry repeated, a little louder.

Vito blinked a few times, like he was waking from a trance.

“Sorry,” he said. “Can you repeat the question?”





Tracy Flick


Kyle wasn’t answering his phone, so I drove to his house. And then I got there and saw all those cars and the lights on the roof and heard the voices wafting down. It hurt to be excluded like that. Schemed against. Disrespected.

It wasn’t right.

Marissa was surprised to see me at the door.

“Tracy.” Her face was full of concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m here for the party,” I told her.

She said something else, but I was already past her, on my way up to the roof.





Kyle Dorfman


She came charging out of the elevator, fists clenched, leading with her chin.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded. “What’s this all about?”

“Whoa, Tracy.” I stood up, raised my hands in a calming gesture. “Take it easy.”

She stopped near the Ping-Pong table. She was breathing hard through her nose, almost vibrating with rage.

“Do you think I’m a piece of garbage?” she asked. “You think you can just crumple me up and toss me in a trash can? Is that what you think?”

“What? No. What are you talking about?”

She smiled in a way that worried me.

“You’re a liar, Kyle. A liar and a cheater and a backstabber.”

“Dr. Flick.” Buzz’s voice was clipped and cautionary. “If I were you, I’d watch my mouth.”

“Watch my mouth?” she snapped. “Watch my mouth? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Buzz was shocked. We all were.

“I’m the Superintendent of Schools,” he replied. “I’m your boss, in case you forgot, or maybe you’re too drunk to care.”

“I’m not drunk,” she said, though she didn’t sound a hundred percent sober, either. “I see what you’re doing here. And I won’t allow it.”

“What?” I said. “What does that even mean?”

She stared at me for a long moment, clenching and unclenching her fists.

“You heard me,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”

And then she turned and stormed back to the elevator.





Tracy Flick


It was so lame, something a child would say.

I won’t allow it.