Millie nearly sprinted to Mr. Jameson’s office. Evan had cornered her into going through with his dare, and at first, she was fuming. But the longer she stewed over it, the more the anger fizzled. And, annoyingly, she found herself smiling despite it all. Somehow, staying mad at Evan was harder than it should’ve been.
Her mind drifted to Sheila’s face when she passed along the message. She had tried to read into it, searching for a clue—good news or bad—but Sheila had given her nothing. Her poker face was impenetrable.
Now, with every step closer, Millie felt like she was walking into a firing squad. Her palms were damp, her breath shallow.
Don’t panic. Don’t say anything stupid, she told herself.
She inhaled deeply, then tapped on the partially open office door. “Sir?”
She pushed it
