Revenge of the Titan

by Zoe Evans

  Lanie and I shoved our way to the front—or at least, attempted to. Lanes was doing that thing where she pushes me forward through the crowd so I’m helpless, like, “Hey, it’s not me pushing! It’s the people behind me!” We’re a good team like that. Just as we got to the front, I saw Katie finish writing her booth idea on the list. Suddenly, Clem was standing in front of the list, her hands cupped around her mouth like she was yelling out a cheer.

  “Everyone!” she shouted. “Get in a straight and orderly line, or NO ONE will be allowed to sign up.” Then she pointed at me and said, “You, back in line.”

  “Um, Clementine?” I said. “I was at the front of the line.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “What part of ‘get into a line’ do you not understand? You’re SUPPOSEDLY a cheerleader. You should know what a line is.”

  “I WAS in line and I was at the front of it,” I said angrily. Technically, there hadn’t been any line to begin with, so I hadn’t exactly been at the front of anything but a crowd. But still. I fought my way there.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “All I see is an unruly crowd. And if you’re not in a line, then you won’t get to sign up.”

  Katie stepped forward and put her hand on Clementine’s shoulder. “Can’t you just let her sign up? What’s the big deal?”

  Clem turned sharply toward her friend. “Did Principal G appoint YOU Head Fair Leader? I think not. These are the rules. Everyone’s gotta follow ’em.”

  Katie looked at me and shrugged. “Sorry,” she mouthed. Then, as soon as Clem stomped off to yell at someone else, she rushed up to me. “Afternoon? Our usual meeting spot?” she asked.

  I nodded yes.

  “Awesome. Cuz I have something to tell you but just not here.” She quickly looked back at Clem, who I swear frowned in our direction for a second but then looked back at the poor kid she was yelling at.

  Lanes was already waiting back in the line, looking like a vein in her head was about to burst.

  We waited as patiently as we could for an extra ten minutes more than we would have had to if Clementine had just let us sign up when we were right by the sheet before. Like most people, we’d chosen to sign up at the end of lunch period. By the time we got to the sign-up sheet, we had less than two minutes to get to our next class! I was dying to know what Katie had to tell me that was so important we’d have to meet in our secret classroom (I know it is so dorky that I still call it that).

  Later, when I walked into our meeting spot, she was sitting on one of the desks, furiously texting away. “Oh, good,” she said, when she saw me in the doorway. “You’re here!”

  “Duh, of course! I’ve been on pins and needles, wondering what you had to tell me.”

  “Oh, sorry! I just didn’t want, you know, Clem to hear us talking. . . .”

  “Yeah, she’s been giving me dirty looks whenever the two of us talk.”

  “I know, I saw,” said Katie. “I think that that’s just Clem being Clem. Maybe she’s still pretty angry about your not joining the Titans after you got in and wouldn’t understand why I would still talk to you.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. So? What’s the goss?”

  Katie giggled. “Okay, so you will never believe who e-mailed me the other day.”

  “Um . . . I don’t even have a clue.” Katie and I were friendly, but we certainly didn’t share any of the same friends at Port Angeles. We might as well have been on two different continents, that’s how different her group of friends was from mine.

  “C’mon! Guess!”

  “Well, it wasn’t Lanie. And I don’t think you’d be this excited if Evan e-mailed you,” I joked. Yeah, the two of them had gone to the dance together, but there obvs wasn’t anything between them. (T.G!) That would be awful.

  “Fine. Spoilsport. Remember that kid Luc from New York?”

  Suddenly, my face felt hot. Ding-ding-ding! I remembered Luc—from the night we all hung out with Katie’s ballet friends. He was totally adorable and really funny. And unless I’d completely hallucinated it (which wouldn’t really surprise me), he was definitely flirting with me that night. Especially when he cornered me in the kitchen when everyone else was still in the den watching some movie.

  “Yeah,” I said, willing the redness to disappear from my face. “I remember. He was, um, nice.”

  “So anyway, he and his whole family are coming to Port Angeles to see his cousin’s new baby or something, and he said he’d have some downtime. He asked if we could all hang out. The three of us.”

  “Really? He wants to hang?” I hadn’t talked to him or thought about him really since the New York trip, so it was strange to think he’d go to all this effort to see us. I couldn’t help but be a little excited to see him. But why is part of me also annoyed that he e-mailed Katie and not me? I don’t really remember the two of them talking much that night. I know it is silly to care, because it’s not like I’m crushing on Luc in the least (there’s only so many crushes this girl can take). Gah! I’m just crazy.

  “Yeah. So, what do you think? Should we plan something cool?”

  I nodded. “Sounds fun. But ‘cool’ is the key word. We have to choose something a little out of the ordinary, I guess, to take him to.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “He’s a New Yorker. He probably doesn’t want to hang at the Jumpin’ Java. And also, we want to go somewhere where no one from school would see us.”

  I told her I’d brainstorm later that night and send her any ideas as soon as I had ’em.

  And I definitely understood her point about needing to go somewhere where other kids from school wouldn’t see us, but I couldn’t help but feel that this whole secret friendship routine was starting to get a little old.

  (MUCH LATER) THAT DAY, HIDING OUT IN MY ROOM

  Ew. Just came home to find Mom and Mr. D (oh, excuse me, “Ed”) hanging on the couch with a stack of DVDs in front of them, and Mr. D’s arm was around Mom’s shoulder. I had to will myself not to run over and remove it. Like, ahem, there’s a DAUGHTER on the premises, guys. I mean, I’m slowly getting over the fact that my gym teacher and my mom are an “item,” but if I can avoid witnessing them together, I am a much happier Madison. Better yet, I’d be cool if they made fewer public appearances together at my school. Having the two of them at the Sunshine Dance was SO EMBARRASSING. Everyone was asking me about it at school afterward, and luckily, I was quick on my feet and explained that they were just chaperoning together. And besides, who ELSE were they going to dance with? The cafeteria ladies?

  But if they keep hanging out together at school and stuff, I’m going to start running out of excuses.

  Mom turned toward where I stood in the hallway and flashed me her happy-as-a-clam smile. “Oh hi, Madington! We were just about to order a thin-crust pizza. What toppings are you in the mood for?”

  I wanted to say, “Veggie pizza, hold the PDA!” but again, held back. “Veggie, extra sauce, please,” I said, because I like my veggies. I’m like Popeye with pom-poms.

  “Coming right up,” said Mom, punching the numbers into her cell.

  “Late practice, Madison?” asked Mr. Datner, while keeping his eyes on whatever movie they were watching. Probably another eighties movie, because Mom practically doesn’t watch anything else. (She calls it being “nostalgic.” I call it living in the Stone Age.) And BTW, wasn’t it obvious we didn’t have practice? Hadn’t he been hanging with Mom all afternoon (i.e., our coach)? Talk about trying to grasp at straws for small talk.

  “Nah,” I said. “No practice today.” I shrugged. “Just went out with a friend.”

  “Good, good,” said Mr. D with a sniff. I don’t think he would have noticed if I’d said, “Went to coffee with a lion tamer.”

  Speaking of coffee, Evan had asked me earlier to go with him to Jumpin’ Java after school. To make up for the sweaty mess I resembled on our last get-together, I decided to put in a little extra effort before meeting him on the steps outside of school. I borro
wed some eyeliner from Lanes and fished out the handy-dandy face-blotting tissues Mom had given me from a trip to the mall a few weeks ago. Voilà! A fresh-faced, date-ready Madison.

  Not that it ended up being a DEFINITE date or anything (for example, he didn’t say it was a date). There was some flirting, but also lots of our usual weirdness. Like, I ordered my iced chai latte and Evan ordered his hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. And the barista was like, “Are you guys together?”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  “Yes,” he said at the same time.

  Then Evan blushed and said, “I mean no.”

  The barista looked at us like, “Whoa. Not getting involved.”

  I don’t blame her. Talk about confusing! How do you tell the difference between two people getting sugary drinks at the same time and two people going out on a date? Is it a date just because the other person asks you to go somewhere with them? Or is it a date when someone offers to pay for you? That time we went to Just Desserts was definitely a date, but that was more obvious because it was a special place that we’d never gone to before, and we both got dressed up. But Jumpin’ Java was just a hangout spot. We’ve gone there a million times. Why isn’t there a how-to manual on this stuff?

  I quickly fished my cashola out of my purse so he wouldn’t feel like he had to pay for me. The barista must have gotten the hint (T.G.) because she took it from me and rang up just my chai.

  Drinks in hand, we found a spot at a smaller table toward the back.

  “So for the fair, I was thinking about doing a SuperBoy booth. What do you think?”

  “Did you sign up already? Because if not, I’m sure Clementine will have some reason why late signer-uppers won’t get the booths they want.”

  Evan shook his head. “I’m better than that. I signed up the other day.”

  “Cool.” I took a big gulp of my chai. DELISH!

  Evan cupped his mug between his hands and took a tentative lick of whipped cream from the top. A tiny bit of whipped cream clung to his upper lip, but I didn’t have the heart to say anything. So cute!

  “So as I was saying,” he continued, “I could sell all the issues I have so far, and then I can offer to draw original SuperBoy sketches for all the fans.”

  “The fans?” I joked. “Do you have a secret fan club that I don’t know about?”

  Evan smiled. “Oh yeah. Groupies. Lots of ’em.”

  “Yeah, I’m so sure,” I joked. “More like maybe me and your mom.”

  “Hey, that’s harsh. But at least you’re one of them.” He looked at me for just a beat too long, and we both looked away and stared into our cups.

  To change the subject, I told him about my booth idea with Lanie, and he said he thought it was cool too.

  “So what are the Grizzlies and the Titans doing?”

  “Actually, I have no idea what those Titans are up to,” I said, the realization hitting me as I said it. “I was talking to Katie about it the other day, but at that point she had no clue. I’m sure it won’t be as fun as the Grizzly booth, though,” I added with a laugh. “We’re dunking the jocks.”

  Evan looked at me like I had two heads, so I explained how that all came about, and he was laughing so hard some hot chocolate came out of his nose.

  But the subject of Katie almost made me mention Luc’s visit. I was this close to telling Evan about how we had this friend coming to town and asking him if he knew of any “cool but not near school” places for us to all meet. Then I remembered that this whole thing is a secret and that I can’t even tell one of my best friends about it. Because if I mentioned Luc, I’d have to mention how I met him, which would lead to me revealing Katie’s trip to New York and the reason she was there, which were all out of the question (wow, that’s a long explanation). So unfair! I don’t like keeping things from Evan. But a part of me also wondered if Evan would be mad that I hadn’t ever mentioned this Luc guy before and here he was all of a sudden, visiting me. (Again, the reason being that SOMEONE has a secret I have sworn to keep.) So maybe it’s a good thing I can’t tell him about my plans with Luc and Katie? I don’t know . . . .

  Before we knew it, Evan’s dad was calling to say he was outside the coffee shop (he was picking us up on his way home from work). I felt like we’d been there for, like, ten minutes, but then I looked at my watch and it said it was seven thirty! Time flies when you’re having fun. Or when you’re on a date that’s not necessarily a date.

  So anyway, I’ve been looking up events and places (until the pizza delivery gets here) where we can take Luc. Here are some of the “best of” in and around Port Angeles. Don’t get too excited:

  Farmer’s market. (Uh, baby carrots, anyone?)

  Sardine tasting in the square. (Blech!)

  Best of Bach Concert on the Grass. (Giant snore.)

  Yeah. None of these would really work. I realized I’d have to get a little more creative. I decided to check out what’s going on in the city, and found a really cool art gallery that’s displaying the works of local street artists.

  That sounds way more like Luc. And the best part? The gallery is also known for their ridiculously decadent desserts. Some of the reviews of the place said that the Death by Chocolate cake is an absolute must when you go there. I don’t need much convincing when it comes to chocolate cake (hold the death, though).

  Can someone spell Y-U-M?

  Hopefully Katie will like the idea. Fingers crossed! Okay, pizza’s here, gotta go chow down!

  Today was THE DAY when everyone would find out whether their booths got the green light from the Fair Committee. Lanes and I decided to meet as soon as the lists were supposed to be posted. Last night we’d talked until I was practically falling asleep midsentence, thinking of cool designs for our T-shirts, so we were more than ready to see if our booth made the list.

  When we got to Principal Gershon’s office, she was just finishing taping the sign to the door.

  “Girls, right on time,” she said. She raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t leave any of your classes early.”

  We both shook our heads. “Nope, we have study hall now,” said Lanie. Which was the truth. Luckily, Principal G failed to point out that study hall meant we were supposed to actually be studying in the library. Oops!

  “Well, all right,” she said, scanning the list. She pointed to a line on the second page. “Madison, the Grizzly booth is right here. Right under the swim team’s wedding booth.”

  “Thanks, Principal Gershon,” I said, walking up to the list to inspect it myself. I knew the team would be psyched that their dunking booth was a go. I was going to ask her if she saw Lanie’s and my booth listed, but she’d already gone into her office and picked up the phone.

  “So?” said Lanie. “What about us?”

  I kept looking. There were the Titans with their Fashion Faux Pas booth (whatever that means). I searched page three, then four, but still we weren’t listed. Finally I got to the end:

  “Earth Lovers Club: Adopt a Tree.”

  And that was it. No “Design a T” booth was listed at all. I couldn’t believe we didn’t make the cut!

  “I am so doomed,” said Lanie. “If I get stuck running the bumper cars rides, I’m going to have to kill someone.”

  Lanie was right. Anyone who wasn’t running a booth would have to do some other fair-related task, like working at the babysitting center or directing cars at the school parking lot. Totally not fun jobs. Kids from out of town were known to throw things at people who had the really bad jobs, like cleanup (as if that couldn’t be any worse), and of course there were the toddler meltdowns.

  At least I had something to fall back on. Since I was part of the Grizzly booth, technically I’d be helping run that.

  “But wait,” I said. “What’s the Daily Angeles doing?”

  Lanie shook her head sadly. “Nothing. Everyone decided they’d rather have people reporting and gathering stories about the fair than have them waste time sitting at a booth. We�
�re reporters—we like to be ‘out in the field’ as they say.” She used air quotes so I’d know she thought that the school paper not having a booth was kind of stuck-up.

  “This is a serious bummer,” I said.

  Lanes took a look at the list for herself. “I mean come ON,” she said, banging her fist against a locker in frustration. “Even Kris Peckar got his ‘Rare Insect Specimens’ booth approved. What’s the deal here?”

  As if the universe was trying to give me a big HELLO, just then Clementine appeared from around the corner. I don’t know why but I just have a feeling she had something to do with our idea not making the list. (Maybe that’s why she signed up for Head Fair Leader.) She pretended not to see us and continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

  “Hey, Clementine!” I shouted after her.

  But she just kept going as if I didn’t exist.

  “Clementine!” I shouted a little louder this time, thinking maybe she just hadn’t heard me the first time. I saw her flinch just a tiny bit, so I know she must have heard me, but she STILL kept on walking!!!

  “Typical,” said Lanie, shaking her head.

  We stopped at the vending machines to get chocolate milk and orange soda. I needed a little pick-me-up.

  Lanie took a giant gulp of milk. “So what do you think the Fashion Faux Pas thing that the Titans are doing is all about?”

  “Good question,” I said, stifling a burp from all the carbonation (because that would be mucho unladylike). “I can’t exactly picture any of the Titans calling something that they’re wearing a ‘fashion faux pas.’”

  It’s practically a rule that every Titan dresses her best. And not surprisingly, that pretty much means they all dress the same when they’re not in cheer uniform (which I guess kind of puts them in a uniform anyway, but one of a different kind). A Titan girl usually wears tight jeans, a trendy shirt, expensive shoes, or a short girly dress or skirt.