Killing Britney by Sean Olin Page A

tonight,” Erin said as she munched on a stale nacho coated in liquid cheese.
    The other girls nodded sagely.
    Erin could turn on people so quickly, and since she was without question the leader, if she decided Britney was no longer worthy, the other girls would all follow suit.
    She’d have to go back to sitting at the games with her father and Melissa. She loved them both, and sitting with them wouldn’t be that horrible, except now all Melissa wanted to do was talk to Adam, and Britney didn’t think she could tolerate that. Earlier in the game, when it still looked like the Raccoons had a chance, she’d popped up to say hi, and Melissa—who was making herself more attractive by the day, styling her hair and wearing more and more fashionable clothes—had been so engrossed in Adam’s inane chatter about “the best album ever” that she barely acknowledged Britney’s presence.
    “Hey, everybody,” she said, trying to pull the hockey wives into a huddle. “Don’t you think we should make some noise? Let the guys know we’re still behind them?” The shrugs and signs that greeted this idea were just about what she’d expected. “Well, if nobody else will, I’ll do it.”
    “You can do what you want,” said Daphney, “but it’s not going to help. I just hope this game doesn’t ruin the party.”
    “Oh, it’ll ruin the party,” said Erin. “You can count on that.”
    Britney was sick of this. She was sick of everything.
    Jumping to her feet, she began to shout. “Come on, Raccoons, show us what you’re made of.” Her voice was strong and when she raised it, it climbed up the register. It pierced the silence of the stands. She could feel people turning to look at her, but nobody was joining in yet.
    The wives all had their heads in their hands. Well, if they’re too embarrassed to support their boyfriends, thought Britney, that’s their problem. I’m going to make sure the guys know I appreciate them.
    “Do it for Ricky!” she shouted. She liked the sound of that. She liked the idea that anyone who looked would see her, in Ricky’s oversized letter jacket, shouting his name. She said it again.
    “Do it for Ricky.”
    Digger, who was on the team bench just across the glass from Britney, craned his thick neck to look back at her. Everything about him was big, but still, he had an especially large mouth, which naturally turned down at the corners. When he’d been younger, the upperclassmen called him Fish Face, but now there was no one left who could beat him up. When he did grin, his face was all teeth. He was grinning now. He raised a clenched fist in Britney’s direction, a show of unity and strength. Then he started chanting with her.
    “Do it for Ricky.”
    Seeing Digger chant, Cindy joined in. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t care. She was a big girl, tall and wide-hipped, and though most people saw her as one of the cutest girls in school, she’d confided in Britney once that she believed Digger, with his beefy thuggish looks, was the best she’d ever be able to do for herself. She was jumpy when he was around, always trying to do whatever she thought he might think she should be doing.
    “Do it for Ricky.”
    A few more people joined in with each recitation.
    “Do it for Ricky.”
    And the team began to play with more vigor. They got meaner. They bodychecked. They looked for one another on the pass and set up for face-offs like they actually cared. Within a minute, they’d scored their first goal.
    The stands erupted. Everyone was chanting now. Clapping. Hooting and hollering.
    As the chant made its way around the rink, it gradually morphed. Britney almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
    “Do it for Britney. Do it for Britney.”
    They stomped their feet in rhythm with the chant, and so many people had joined in that the stands vibrated like they were going to collapse.
    When Digger was put back into the game, he immediately elbowed one of the Possums’