Revenge of the Titan

by Zoe Evans

  “Sorry, Ian,” said Jacqui, who couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “You’re right. You did seem to enjoy that.”

  “Probably a little too much,” said Matt, jabbing his friend in the chest.

  Just then, Jared cleared his throat and inched into the middle of our circle so he could address the group. He sighed dramatically and then made a point to stare each teammate in the face.

  “Guys, I think we went a little off topic, hmm? Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been so hyped up about this thing with Diane. I’ll try to take it down a notch.”

  Matt leaned over to give Jared an encouraging pat on the back. “That’s the spirit, bro.”

  “Well, at least until after the competition,” Jared said with a sly smile.

  “Tomorrow we’ll work on more of the dance parts of the routine,” said Jacqui.

  “Yeah, if we can remember who is doing what move,” quipped Ian.

  “Ian, you should stop with the negative being,” chided Katarina.

  “Katarina’s right. We’ll be great,” I said with as much enthusiasm as possible. I didn’t want the team to feel like they were up against giant odds. “We’re almost there. We just need to work out some kinks, right, guys?”

  “Right,” echoed the team, with as much energy as a group of elderly people in a nursing home.

  “Um, with a little more pep, people?” said Jacqui.

  “Right!” said the Grizzlies, with more gusto.

  Well, at least that was a start.

  Mom and I picked up a pizza on the way home because she wanted to “celebrate” the two of us finally getting to be together after my long week with Dabeth. I was famished. You work up quite an appetite doing all this cheer stuff.

  After dinner I logged onto my v-chat, hoping maybe Evan would be around. I saw his screen name was active, but I wasn’t about to be the one to call him first. Before all this weirdness we talked 24/7. Now, not so much. Ugh.

  Okay, so I just gave in and sent him a quick message:

  “Hey E, it’s M. U therrrreee?”

  Waiting. Waiting. Still no answer.

  Well, it has been a SPECIAL morning (NOT) so far. Principal Gershon likes to call all unplanned assemblies “special,” but I think that’s exaggerating a little. I always get my hopes up when Principal G comes over the loudspeaker in class and announces a “special assembly,” even though I know there’s nothing all that special about it except the fact that it wasn’t on the schedule in the first place. I know I’m not the only one who secretly prays that maybe this will be the assembly where Principal G says that there’s no school for the rest of the day, or that the school is handing out gift certificates for the mall because we’ve been so good all year.

  At least it’s a chance for me and Lanes to catch up on the morning’s gossip in between classes without having to worry about being late to the next one. Lanie and I always wait by the same picture in the hall outside assembly so we can score seats next to each other. It’s this oil painting of a big boat coming into a dock, where fishermen are waiting to unload it.

  But anyway, Lanes was already waiting under our painting impatiently by the time I got there with the rest of my classroom. The teachers always make us walk over as a class so no one sneaks away to go to the vending machines, or worse (dun-dun-duuuun!), walk into town.

  “Girlfriend! How slow can you be?” Her arms were across her chest, and she was tapping her Doc Martens impatiently (as if she could REALLY convince me she was mad). I noticed that she seemed to have on extra eyeliner today. And that’s really saying something!

  “Sorry. Mr. Hobart made us get into single file, but the girls kept on clustering together to chat, so he made us go back to class and start all over. He said he didn’t realize he had to teach us what straight lines were, considering we were learning geometry already.”

  Lanie uncrossed her arms and hooked one through my elbow. “Blah, blah, blah. Ms. Burger totally knows I ditched our group. I asked her if I could go to the bathroom, like, ten minutes ago, and I never came back.”

  “I’m sure she won’t even notice,” I said encouragingly. “BTW, what’s with all the eyeliner?”

  Lanie batted her lashes at me dramatically. “Just trying out a new style.” She shrugged. “Marc said he always likes the way I do my eye makeup, so I thought I’d add a dash of something different to see if he notices the effort.”

  We found two seats toward the back of the auditorium, where we could whisper through the usual announcements and hopefully not get in trouble.

  “Um, Marc notices your eye makeup?” I whispered.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Oh, nothing. But Evan wouldn’t notice that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah, but that’s Evan. You guys have been friends since the sandbox. You could probably get a Mohawk and he’d think it was the same Maddy.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I’d be happy if Evan ignored all my bad hair days, but I’d like to think that he does notice when I look cute. What, just because we’re old friends, we supposedly become invisible to one another?

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, he probably is used to the Maddy he knows. It’s not a bad thing.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  I searched for Evan’s mop-haired head in the sea of students in front of us. I knew he had English around this time of the day on Fridays (no, I am not a stalker). I found Mr. Cooper standing in one of the aisles and scanned left and right before I found Evan. I hadn’t seen him yet today, and couldn’t help but wonder what adorable outfit he must be wearing. Of course, if you asked me last year what I thought about Evan’s dress style, I would have responded with, “What style? You mean hand-me-down chic?” and then declared how he was in need of a major makeover. But now all that’s changed. Now I think that the tiny flannel he wears with a mismatched T-shirt underneath are the cutest, and that his dirty old sneakers have that eighties throwback look (even though it is completely unintentional on his part).

  “Hey, Mads. You need a napkin?” said Lanie.

  “What? Why?”

  “You’re drooling.”

  If it wasn’t Lanie who’d caught me staring, I would have blushed. But what’s a BFF for if you can’t just be yourself?

  Principal Gershon tapped the mic at the podium to calm everyone down. No one really pays attention at the beginning of assemblies, because it’s usually just announcements about food drives and upcoming holidays. But when Principal G does her “tap, tap” thing, we know we have to shut our traps or the assembly monitors will be on us like sharks.

  “Quiet down, students, please,” she said in her strangely baritone voice. “I have a very special announcement.”

  “Ooh, special,” Lanie whispered.

  “Spring is in the air, and you know what that means,” she continued. “That’s right! It’s time for the annual Spring Fair!”

  A couple of teachers clapped, and the kiss-up-y students followed their example. A couple of people hollered their appreciation. I don’t get what the big deal is. The fair happens every year, but because Principal G likes to “surprise” us with the date of the fair, it becomes this big exciting thing (for some people).

  The Spring Fair may sound like fun, but I think it really isn’t. Why?

  Reason Numero Uno: It takes place on a Saturday, which means we don’t get a day off from school out of it.

  Reason Numero Dos: Everyone has to participate in some aspect of the fair. Which means we’re “working” on a Saturday instead of enjoying our freedom.

  (Okay, I’m out of reasons, but I like making lists. )

  Some of us like to call it the Spring Un-Fair, because full participation means that unless you’re running a really fun booth, you could end up with a lame job like manning the Ferris wheel. Usually if you belong to a sports team or club, you can get something fun to do, but you have to submit it to the Fair Committee for approval.

  Principal G gave her audience a stern look. “I hope
you can muster a little more enthusiasm than that, folks. And when I say full participation, I mean FULL PARTICIPATION.” She cleared her throat. “Now last year, some of you, and you know who you are, signed up for things and didn’t show up on the day of the fair.”

  A series of mock “boos” rang up from all around the auditorium.

  “This year, we will be taking attendance at the fair. You are required to be there. If you’re not, there will be repercussions.”

  If Principal G had a sound effects machine, you’d definitely hear “Dun-dun-duuun” for danger.

  Everyone started talking at once, trying to claim partners for their booth ideas, or trying to get the attention of teammates so they could get their idea in for their team’s booth. I knew I’d have to help with the Grizzly booth—whatever it would be—but I also wanted to do something different with just Lanie.

  As if she’d read my mind, Lanie tapped me on the shoulder and said sweetly, “Madison Hays, would you be my fair partner?”

  “Hmm, let me think . . .,” I joked. “As long as we can do something fashion related.”

  “Your wish is my command,” said Lanie.

  Principal G tapped the mic once more. “Remember, those students who wish to be on the Fair Committee need to sign up by end of day today in my office. We’ll announce the committee members tomorrow.”

  Lanie and I shared a look. “Ugh, Fair Committee? No thanks,” I said. The kind of people who signed up for Fair Committee were the same kinds of kids who volunteered to be on school juries when a student did something wrong. Lanie and I call those kinds of kids “the Kiss-Up Crew.”

  Finally, Principal G left the podium, and we were dismissed. Lanes and I did our usual, and stayed in our seats until the last person in our row cleared.

  “Speaking of kisses,” said Lanie, “how are the two lovebirds these days? Any flirt-fests I’ve missed out on?”

  “Lanes, first of all, you know I wouldn’t act like that in front of you. And second, I wish! There’s been absolutely zero flirting since the hand-holding event. Zilch. In fact, we’ve hardly even hung out. Unless you count lunch in the caf. So I totally wouldn’t call us lovebirds.”

  “Bummer,” said Lanie. “What do you think the problem is?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. But I have to keep reminding myself that I’m the one who’s been super busy lately. So unless he got all romantic on me in the halls—which, let’s face it, is so not Evan Andrews—there really have been no flirting opportunities.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I get a slight gag reflex when I picture Evan being romantic. Please tell me you’ll never call each other stupid names like Mookie and Pookie.”

  “Lanes!”

  “I’m just kidding. I’m only slightly weirded out by you guys having a mutual crush on each other. I’d probably be more bothered by it if I didn’t have my own thing with Marc going on.”

  We waited for a couple of students to empty out of the auditorium before we followed the crowd.

  “Yeah, back to Marc Derris, what’s the latest with that?”

  Lanie got a really dreamy look on her face. Definitely not her usual “don’t even think of messing with me” look.

  “Well, we’re not official or anything yet. Obvs, you’d know if we were. But I know he totally is into me. Like, the other day, we had to do some research for these articles we’re each working on. And we just sat side by side with our laptops, reading the interesting facts we’d each found, and at one point he squeezed my knee. It was so cute!”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Lanie that the only “cute” part of the story she’d just told me was the knee squeezing. Um, yeah. In my book, a cute date does not include the words “research” or “facts.” But to each her own, right? It was so Lanie.

  Before we parted ways, we quickly talked about what our booth idea would be. Lanie thought it would be cool to have a make-your-own-headband booth—like the kind that people wear like a crown in an ironic, “going to an outdoor concert” kind of way. I thought that was a good idea, but it would take a while for people to braid the bands, and then decorate them. I suggested we do a design-your-own-T-shirt booth, where we’d buy the T-shirts and have a couple of suggested designs they could pick. Like different ways to chop them up and tie them—which wouldn’t be too hard, and we wouldn’t need as many supplies. Everyone would get to walk away with his or her own Lanie-Maddy creation!

  “We could charge for the T-shirts, but the styling tips would be free. What do you think?” I asked.

  “Sounds cool to me. As long as one of the designs includes safety pins and patches.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  I realized that maybe this Un-Fair might not be so bad after all. I love having new crafty projects to work on. And this one counts for school. Sweet!

  When we looked at our watches, we realized that assembly had run for thirty minutes! That meant thirty minutes less of science to go to. Woot! (Doin’ little victory dance.)

  LATER THAT NIGHT, SITTING ON MY FRONT STEPS

  My science class was done early because we’d been working on group projects, and since my partner and I are geniuses (ha-ha), we were done before everyone, so Mrs. Manheim let us out. Freedom! Okay, fine, so maybe it was my partner who was the expert on the earth’s water cycle and not me, but still, I helped.

  I decided to get to the gym early to practice some jumps. Since Titan tryouts were over, I haven’t been busting my butt as much over the basic stuff that I tend to be a little wobbly on. The thing about being a good cheerleader is, you can never stop practicing the “easy stuff.” You can always make a move go higher and look cleaner. I was walking over to the Grizzly mat, when I heard footsteps behind me. I knew who it was before I turned around, because the scent of coconuts and strawberries gave it away—the unmistakable aroma of Katie Parker.

  People seem to always smile after Katie walks by, and I think it has something to do with the fresh and fruity scent she carries with her. I guess people get pretty jazzed over fruit bowls? I’m starting to wonder if I should find my own signature scent—something people would always associate with me (in a positive way, of course). Do they make a scent that screams “cutest fashion-designer-slash-cheerleader ever”?

  “Oh, hey!” I said. “What are you doing here so early?”

  Katie went to pick up one of the mats from the nearby pile. I bent down to help her drag it over to the Titan area.

  “I’m making the Titans do some pretty advanced stuff later, so I’m setting up some extra cushioning. Also, I want to practice it myself, so I don’t look like a loser.”

  “Um, yeah. Somehow I highly doubt that will happen,” I said, plopping the mat down.

  “What about you? You’re here early too.”

  I sat down and started stretching my quads. “Just trying to keep up the good work ethic you encouraged in me when you were helping me train for Titan tryouts.”

  “Right on, Miss Hays,” she said. “So, do you have any idea what you’ll be doing for the fair?”

  I sighed. “For the Grizzly booth? Not sure yet. I haven’t spoken to the rest of the team about it. But I think Lanes and I are also gonna do our own thing. Something fashion related, I think.”

  Katie shook her head. “Well, I am all out of ideas. Which really stinks, because it usually falls on the captain to come up with the best ideas. Anyway, Clementine said she’d swing by to help brainstorm.”

  I couldn’t help but grimace at the mention of Clementine Prescott’s name. Ever since I decided not to join the Titans after all, she’s been acting like more of a Mean Girl than ever. The other day, she and Hilary were in the girls’ room when I was fixing my lip gloss, and Clem was all waving her hands in front of her face and saying, “Ew. Gross. Did someone eat the burrito bowl at lunch?” Then she made gagging noises, as Hilary laughed.

  Of course, the bathroom smelled like it always did—like lemon disinfectant and, for some reason, dirty shoes.

  “Whatever,
Clem. I just came in to put lip gloss on,” I’d said. I don’t know why I felt I needed to defend myself to her, but she has a way of getting to me. Besides, I could just imagine her running out of the bathroom and spreading a rumor that I had awful gas or something.

  “GROSS lip gloss,” Hilary had said.

  “Yeah, poop flavored,” Clem had cackled as she walked out the door. And just when the door was open so that anyone outside in the hall could hear, she yelled, “Smell ya later, Madison!”

  Seriously, what are we? Third graders?

  Katie must have noticed the look on my face just then because she said, “You look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

  “Oh, it’s just . . .” I always felt badly about saying anything about Katie’s BFF, but Katie and I are friendly enough (I hope) that I could tell her what was on my mind. “Clementine’s been acting particularly, um, ‘special’ toward me, if you know what I mean.”

  Katie rolled her eyes like she wasn’t surprised. “Oh, yeah. Clem gets in her moods sometimes. You just have to ignore whatever she says when she’s like that.”

  Yeah right, like it’s easy to ignore someone trying to spread rumors that you smell, I thought.

  “I guess,” I said.

  Just then, Clementine sauntered into the gym.

  “Hey, girly,” Clem said to Katie. Then she looked at me and didn’t say anything. It was like I wasn’t even there. Katie seemed to get the hint that we were now in Awkwardville, so she walked with Clem toward their side of the gym. I gave Katie a quick salute good-bye and could hear Clem say as they walked away, “Please tell me you were only talking to Madison about her massive BO problem.”

  I was glad when I heard Katie change the convo to the subject of the fair instead of agreeing with Clementine. That girl makes me so mad!!! I just wanted to say SOMETHING mean back to her, but Good Maddy made me take the high road, and I just continued stretching.

  Also, Katie is STILL being mega secretive about her New York trip and her audition and seems to remind me, like, every five seconds just how on the DL that trip has to stay. She’s told me a million times that no one can see us hanging together, or else they’d wonder how we became friends. Everywhere I turn it seems we have to “watch out” for someone (mainly Clementine) seeing us talking together.