Page 121 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Daisy is already moving. “Principal Whitcomb, welcome to our humble vineyard. Coffee? Cider donut? Something that implies warmth without requiring us to discuss seating charts immediately?”

The principal laughs.

Daisy can make people laugh before they realize they’ve been redirected.

“This is Coach Harris,” Principal Whitcomb continues, “and this is Evan Miller. He’s on our student athletic committee.”

Evan nods without looking up.

“Hi, Evan,” Daisy says, warm without making it too much. “I’m Daisy. This is Forrest.”

“I know,” Evan mutters.

His eyes lift to me for half a second, then drop again.

I keep my voice even. “Nice to meet you.”

He nods again.

Coach Harris claps his hands once. “We thought Evan could give us a student perspective on the dinner. Hockey family. Plays JV.”

“Defense,” Evan says.

I nod.

Principal Whitcomb starts talking about flow, donor seating, school board attendance, and how they want the event to feel “welcoming, community-centered, and confidence-building.”

Daisy writes that down, then immediately crosses out confidence-building.

I lean close enough to murmur, “You can’t edit the principal in front of her.”

“She said confidence-building.”

“She can probably see you.”

“Then she’ll know I care.”

I almost smile.

Evan watches us.

So does Principal Whitcomb.

The booster boardman starts discussing equipment funding. Annual need. Used gear drive. Participation barriers. Limited scholarship capacity.

Daisy’s pen slows.

I see it happen.

Her attention locks.

“Wait,” she says. “How many kids don’t play because of equipment costs?”

It seems like Daisy Thorn, nonprofit office manager, has found a hole in the system, and it pisses her off.

Coach Harris shifts. “Hard to say.”

“That usually means too many.”