“Gooooo!!!” I shout.
Gabriel pushes me past the Future Farmers of America kids, a group of freshmen, and Skipper O’Rourke, who is hanging off his chair. We zip past the computer science geeks. I duck low in the chair, hoping to cut wind resistance as we round the lunch tables at the end. We certainly don’t have to worry about hair from either of us slowing us down. In the home stretch now, Gabriel avoids an overturned lunch tray of splattered yogurt. The FFA kids aren’t as fortunate, and they slide out of play. Lora and Lauren run beside us as we’re racing for the finish line, cheering us on. We cross the toilet paper string before anyone else and are declared the winners.
Gabriel spins my chair around and around until I think I’ll be sick from laughter.
Honestly, school shouldn’t be this fun.
The lunch bell rings and we disperse back to our afternoon classes. I settle into my desk in journalism class, but I know we won’t be talking about press releases, media ethics, or the power of the press just yet.
It’s time to vote for homecoming court.
My journalism teacher, Mr. Wannstedt, places a lock box on his desk at the front of the room and then hands the ballots off to Amanda Leftkowitz to pass around. Once I have mine, I flip over the paper and read the names. Tamping down the desire to feel sorry for myself for not being on the list, I let out a sigh and decide who’ll get my vote. Freshman attendant is a no-brainer for me, and I check the square next to Madison Hutchinson’s name. Lauren Compton gets my vote for sophomore attendant, Tara Edwards is my pick for junior attendant, and, in the section for the seniors, I find myself staring for a moment at the names.
I swallow hard to dispel the lump in my throat at seeing the proof in writing that I’m the only cheerleader missing from the list. For one nanosecond, I’m half-tempted to write my name in. I squash that idea immediately as I have nothing to prove. If my classmates left me out because I’m bald... well, the hell with them. If they left me out because they’d rather have me on the field cheering... well, that’s easier to live with.
I know who I’m going to vote for.
I also know who I’m not going to vote for.
Each PHS student gets two votes in the seniors section. The one with the most votes will be the homecoming queen and the second-most vote-getter will be the attendant. I check mark my friend, Ashlee Grimes, and, of course, my partner, Lora Russell, and then limp up to the front of the room to add my ballot to the lock box.
When sixth period starts, I head to the gym and don my workout clothes. The football players are practicing in the gym on drills and strengthening. I try to catch Daniel’s eye, but he looks right past me. One of his teammates smacks him on the arm and then points at me. I wave and smile. He nods back.
Ohhh-kaaaay.
“He’s thinking about the game,” Gabriel insists, obviously seeing the exchange.
“Yeah. We haven’t talked a lot all week. Mostly texts and IMing at night.”
Gabriel scrubs his hand through his growing, thick hair. “It’s a big game tomorrow night. Then you guys can celebrate at the dance, right?”
I hiss a quick intake of air. While it’s been assumed that Daniel and I would be homecoming dates, we haven’t exactly formalized it. It’s not like we can sit with each other at the game and hold hands or anything. I don’t even need to buy a special, fancy outfit because I’ll be in uniform. There is a school dance afterward, and nothing would thrill me more than being in Daniel’s arms and letting him move us around the parquet to whatever the DJ is spinning.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, and then move away to attack the leg press.
For thirty minutes, I concentrate on giving the heave-ho to the weights and extending my left leg as far as it will go. Under Gabriel’s tutelage, I try something new. I bounce the apparatus up and down in small beats with just the balls of my feet. The muscle burn runs all the way up my body.
“You’ll really feel it in the back of your legs,” Gabriel instructs.
“I do... I do... but it doesn’t hurt as bad as it usually does.”
“It’s because your muscles are strengthening, Hayley. You’re getting there.” Gabriel’s face grows all serious for a moment. “I’m really proud of you,” he says with a soft smile. “You’re handling all of this like a champ.”
I smile back. “What choice do I have?”
“You could be a royal bitch like some people. Or, you could be like Bridgette Sandusky.”
“Who in the world is Bridgette Sandusky?”
“A girl I knew in Ohio.”
“At your last school?”
He nods and makes a pained face. I wonder if she was his girlfriend. He answers me immediately. “She was a cheerleader. She went in for a physical and had an... um... abnormal... you know... thingy that girls have . . .” His blush is endearing and completely adorable. Come to think about it, Gabriel’s kind of cute, too. He’s really grown up since the gangly boy I used to know. He’s all filled out and muscular and he’s got a sweet smile. I’m surprised he hasn’t hooked up with someone since coming back to Maxwell.
I shake away from my assessment of him and get back into the story he’s telling me.
“Oh, you mean an abnormal Pap smear?”
He shudders. “Yeah, one of those. She was told to come back in a few days to run more tests to see if it was cancerous or what have you.”
“Poor thing.”
“Not really. She was a chicken shit, Hayley.”
My mouth falls open, yet words don’t come out. I’ve never heard Gabriel be so rude. “How can you—”
“She went home, wrote a long e-mail to her parents about how she didn’t want to have cancer and get chemo and lose her hair and this, that, or the other, and then she chowed down her mother’s bottle of prescription valium. They found her a few hours later when her parents got home from work.
My eyes pop. “She killed herself?”
Gabriel bobs his head. “All because of a test... and needing to get more tests. She was too vain and concerned about her appearance and what people would think that she just checked out like that.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis.
I put my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry, but there is nothing so bad in this world that you have to take your own life.” I think for a second. “Okay, if you’re like a prisoner of war and are getting tortured for American security secrets, then I could see—”
“It was all for nothing,” Gabriel interrupts. “Her autopsy showed no sign of cancer. The abnormal test was just that—an abnormal test.”
My hands fly to my mouth. What a waste of a young life. Ended by her own ignorant, prideful hand. I glare at my workout coach. “Don’t you have any happy stories?”
He smiles a toothy grin at me. “You’re a happy story, Hayley.”
Now it’s my turn to blush.
All I can say is “Thanks.”
***
“That’s going to be one hell of a fire,” a man says behind me. I turn to see Lora and her Uncle Ross. She’s almost late for the pep rally and bonfire.
“I’m sorry! My car ran out of gas and I had to call my uncle.”
Ross smiles. “To the rescue.” He nods my way. “You’re looking good, Hayley. Working out? Taking those protein bars and shakes?”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “They’re really a huge help. Thank you so much.”
“Anything to help out. Let me know if you need anything else,” he says with a wink. “Before you know it, I’ll have you signed up at Game On to go on the hike to the rainforest in Costa Rica with us in the summer.”
As cool as that sounds, I certainly don’t see that happening. “Thanks, Ross!”
He waves us off to join the squad. “I’ll just hang back until this is over, okay Lora?”
“Sure thing.” She grabs onto me, and we hustle—as much as I can—over to where everyone else is gathered.
“You’re late, Lora,” Chloe says flatly.
“She’s here now,” I say in m
y partner’s defense, which surprisingly shuts up the captain.
At precisely nine p.m. on Thursday night, with Ladder Forty-Two and Engine Eleven of the Maxwell fire department standing by, the cheerleaders lead the students, fans, and football players out onto the baseball field where a fifteen-foot bonfire structure has been erected by the Pep Club.
Team captains Marquis Richardson and Skipper O’Rourke carry a large pole with a fake Jeff Davis Prep School football player strapped to it. The two of them dip it into the awaiting lighter fluid bucket, and one of the firemen steps forward to ignite it.
Fffffffoooooooof!
In the blink of an eye, the dummy is engulfed in flames, as is the wooden structure.
The crowd goes wild and the band plays the fight song as the players take their seats behind the fire. We cheerleaders slip into position in front of the blaze and begin leading the chants.
“Gimme a P! Gimme an H! Gimme an S! Whattaya got? PHS! Louder! PHS!”
My thin white turtleneck underneath my dark blue crisscrossed top is nearly choking me, and I’m sweating from the scorching inferno. I’m about to suggest that we’re too close to the fire, when everyone else on the back row starts moving forward toward the gathered crowd and away from the fire.
After a couple more cheers, Chloe takes the mike and introduces Coach Gaither, who gives a quick, inspirational speech.
“We’ve come a long way this season, and we still have a tough road ahead of us. But we’ve pulled together like no other unit I’ve coached. We’ve got the best fans in the conference and the most spirited cheerleaders—no one could ask for better ones. So, let’s go out there tomorrow night and show the Lemurs we mean business.”
The fire pops and sparks, hissing out a victory cry for us.
I spy Daniel through the orangy glow. I wave, and he smiles back at me halfheartedly. Damn, he really is distracted if he can’t just chill out and enjoy the festivities. We move into our pompom dance routine with the marching band playing along, and, I swear, Daniel and his friends are talking about me. Two guys point at me, laugh, and then elbow Daniel. He shoves them off and crosses his hands over his chest. They’re probably commenting on my lack of hair. I could care less. The skin on my entire body has grown rhinoceros thick over the past few weeks. I finish up the routine, bouncing on my right leg, but not executing the Rockette-like kick at the end. No one notices... except Daniel—or so it seems when I make eye contact with him. It’s like he’s embarrassed by me, as though I’m not a whole cheerleader.
To prove him—and anyone else with doubts—wrong, I shift into the pyramid formation. First, Melanie Otto climbs onto my shoulders, and I lift her higher up onto Ashlee’s shoulders. Then, I take Lora and put her up top, as well. My heavy lifting is over, so I hobble around front and dip down into a split. The fans go crazy, cheering as the fire swooshes behind us. A red-hot ember sizzles out of the wooden structure and lands one millimeter from my left leg. I scream and freak, so afraid of anything happening to my weaker limb. I roll out of the way as Nick McDugall, one of the drummers, runs up and stamps it out with his booted foot. I glance back over my shoulder to see if Daniel has any concern, but he has his head in his hands and his two teammates are cracking up.
When more sparks and cinders begin falling into the crowd—it wasn’t just me—the Maxwell fire department steps in and says it’s time to snuff the bonfire out. It was magical and brilliant while it lasted.
Lora grabs her poms and calls out, “Everyone’s headed to the Burger Barn. Uncle Ross is dropping me off. You coming?”
Daniel’s striding toward me.
“I’ve got Mom’s car. I’ll meet you there.”
The remnants of the fire reflect in the white eleven on Daniel’s jersey as he approaches.
“Bitchin’ bonfire, huh?”
He tugs my arm and pulls me along with him. “You could have been frickin’ maimed by that chunk of wood that fell near you.”
So, he did notice. “But I wasn’t. I handled it.”
“Yeah, by screaming out like an idiot.”
“Ex-cuuuuuuse me? Who are you calling an idiot?”
“Hayley, look—”
“No, you look. I screamed because I’m human and it scared the shit out of me. The only people who heard me above the roar of the crowd were the few around me... and apparently you.”
If he’d just say he was worried about me and he cared, that would be one thing. But to be reprimanded by him like I’m some little kid—uh-uh, that ain’t happening.
He shoves his hands into his thicker-than-most hair. “I can’t be there every second to protect you. My mom said you fell at a game a few weeks ago.”
“It happens, Daniel.” A long sigh escapes him as people file past us.
“That’s embarrassing,” he says quietly.
“To me or to you?” We’re standing in the subdued hue of the quenched fire, yet I’m burning mad. “Spit it out. You have something to say. You’ve barely talked to me all week. It’s like you’re avoiding me. What’s your glitch?” I ask bravely.
Silence sizzles on the night air as Daniel glances about to see who might be watching. God forbid I cause a scene or give the Pops something to gossip about on the PHS message boards or text messages.
He stares at his sneakered feet. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Hayley.”
“Do what?”
He spreads his hands wide. “This. Us. See, I’m just not... I’m not good with being around sick people.”
I can’t help but chortle. “I’m not sick, Daniel.” Not anymore. Not that I ever really felt sick. My body was ill; I was fine.
He continues to shake his head. “I can’t handle the responsibility of being there for you. Not with football season and trying to get a college scholarship. It’s too much stress.”
I shove my poms into my purse and rest my weight on the crutches. If I were a dragon from some mythical story, I would be snorting fire at him, chasing him through the forest, because that’s what’s churning inside me. Trying to calm my resentment, I say, “You said you’d be there for me. You promised.”
“That was before . . .”
“Before what?”
He takes a deep breath. I hope he chokes on it. “Before all of the side effects of your surgery and treatment and stuff... just all of it, Hayley. I thought everything was over when you got out of the hospital.”
“Yeah, well, cancer sort of takes time to get over,” I say sternly. He’s totally flaking. Just like a guy. Just like a stupid, selfish, immature high school guy who thinks only of himself. “Is it because I don’t have any hair?”
He shrugs. “Sort of. Maybe. Or not really. I don’t know.”
“What do you know?” I snap.
“I don’t know!” he growls back, and then stops himself.
I am on him like white on rice. “Well you know what, Mr. Football Star? Cancer creeps in uninvited and totally fucks with your life. I can’t help that I lost my hair. I sort of had what they call ‘radical’ chemotherapy and massive doses of radiation. And now, I’m trying to train my boneless and nerveless leg how to walk again. Not just for tomorrow, but for the rest of my life. So, I’m sorry if my ‘illness’ doesn’t fit into your ideal image of what someone’s senior year should be like. It’s not like I went online and ordered this for myself.”
My chest heaves up and down as I’m gasping for breath. Never in my life have I ever had it out with someone like this. A little part of me is secretly dying—that part of me that allowed Daniel Delafield to be more than a crush. I suppose it’s because my heart was really falling for him and he just dropped back five yards and punted it away.
Finally, he speaks, not meeting my stare. “I just can’t deal with it. It’s such a... downer.”
As if I didn’t lose my shit before, it takes all the strength in my body not to wind up my fist and smack him right in his smug nose. My wrath gets the best of me, and I scream at him as if he’s just scored the winn
ing touchdown for the Patriots in the state championship game.
“Yeah? Well screw you, Daniel! It’s not about you! It’s about me! It’s about getting on with my life the best I can and not letting this kind of bullshit get me down or get the best of me. I’m lucky to even have a leg. I’m lucky the cancer didn’t spread. Do you know I’ll have to get checked for cancer regularly now? For the rest of my life? What do you have to do?”
He reaches for me, but I pull away. “It’s just so hard for me to handle, Hayley.”
“You egomaniac! It didn’t happen to you. It happened to me. And if you can’t be there for me... then the hell with you! Go play football and hang out with your buddies who laugh at the bald cheerleader behind her back. Go wait for your precious college scholarship. I don’t need you!”
“Hayley, don’t be—”
“Go Away!”
I tromp off, letting my crutches carry me away as fast as I can. I make it to Mom’s car in a surprising flash and stash my stuff in the back seat. I slam the door, crank the ignition, and speed away from PHS before Daniel can catch up with me... if he was even trying.
At the bottom of the hill, there’s a red light where Patriots Drive meets the highway. This is where the flood gates open, the ones I’ve held closed so long from this emotional tsunami. I pound my fists against the steering wheel repeatedly, like it’s going to make a difference. As if it’s going to change anything—make my scar disappear, make my nerve regenerate, make my hair grow faster. Make Daniel understand and want to be there for me.
“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit to hell!” I scream at the top of my lungs, knowing no one but God can hear me. “Why? Why? Why?” I don’t understand. Why is all of this stupid shit happening? This should be the best year ever, and instead it’s just totally fucked.
“Oh, Hayley’s so strong,” I say, mocking what people have said to my parents.
It’s all a disguise, a mask I’ve worn to fit in and be normal. I’m not, though. I’m completely different, and everyone knows it. I might as well be doomed to wear a big red C on my clothing forever to remind me and everyone else about the disease that has mucked up my life.
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