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what to think of that.  Either he’d had enough, having bombed his last attempt at a joke, or he didn’t know he had one more person to auction off and was bailing before being accosted by fans again.
    Erin tried not to feel hurt.  It wasn’t personal.  So much for standing next to one of her rock star crushes, though.  So when John Corbin, a senior who’d never been in any of her classes, called her name (“Last but not least, Miss Lancaster!”) , she stood up and walked toward the stage.  Her smile wasn’t real, because part of her felt like she was in shock, but at least the nerves had dissipated.
    So she kept the frozen smile on her face and walked off the bleachers toward the stage.  Part of her struggled with feeling embarrassed.  Ah…not good enough to be announced by the famous guy.  Personal or not, she comforted herself with the idea that the guy was a dick.  That’s what a lot of media had said about Riley Schultz anyway…that he was arrogant, conceited, and a bit of a control freak.  She let her mind wander through its archives.  She remembered that was at the heart of the Spawn breakup.  Sure, part of it was the drugs.  But she remembered there being some major conflict between Riley and his best friend from high school, J. C. Gibson, the lead guitarist.  They both battled for ultimate artistic control of the band.  J. C. wanted to go one way, Riley the other, and they wound up disbanding.  They disagreed about the direction the band should go in.  If Erin recalled correctly, Riley wanted to continue to cross over, drawing larger crowds, while still maintaining what he’d called “musical integrity.”  J. C. had called Riley a sellout and said he refused to pander to anyone.  Erin thought they were both being stubborn, because the bottom line was they both loved the music.  Surely, they could’ve found some common ground.  Maybe there was more to the story than she knew— hell, maybe it was just the drugs.  Today, J. C. had already recovered and was in a new band that was already working on a second CD but Riley was only now getting back on his feet .
    Maybe that’s what he deserved for being such a dick.
    All right, her mental rant was over now and she finally made it up to the podium beside the two football players.  The other player had been in her Sophomore Honors English class, and he held out his arm as if displaying merchandise.  “Ms. Lancaster,” he said, grinning.
    She smiled, thinking she was glad she had these young men auctioning her off.  She wouldn’t have liked having a sarcastic asshole pimping her out anyway.  John, the more vocal of the duo, spoke into the microphone.  “Okay, I’m afraid we’re not the showmen Riley Schultz was, but we’ll take one for the team.”  At the mention of team , Erin heard and then saw a large chunk of football players in the audience practically roaring their support.  “All right, can I get a bid of twenty-five dollars for Winchester High’s English maven Erin Lancaster?”
    Erin started laughing, afraid she was becoming hysterical, giggling just like the cheerleaders had moments earlier.   She knew it was because everything was heightened, what with being on display and all, but it seemed like forever before anyone made a bid.  Shit .  That would be the ultimate humiliation.  Not even a twenty-five dollar bid.  But finally Ron Gill’s hand went in the air.  And she wasn’t sure what to think about that.  Ron was nice enough but they’d butted heads quite a few times during faculty meetings.  They had d ifferent ideas.  They were supposed to agree on a Shakespeare play every year.  Ron was supposed to have his students study it in Drama II and she had to dissect it with her seniors in Honors English, but it was almost as if Ron just wanted to pick a fight.  If she said Julius Caesar , he’d insist upon Macbeth .  If one of the history teachers jumped in and asked about Henry V , he’d dig in