Blitzed

by Lauren Landish

  “I hope I don't fall,” I mutter, making my way over to the wall of flesh. One of the girls, maybe Janet or maybe Dasha, grumbles under her breath, telling me to hurry the fuck up.

  “Oh, you'll be all right.” Dani waves away my worry. “They won't let you fall.”

  “I'm sure.”

  “Hey, remember, Spirit Fingers!” she exclaims cheerily, quoting one of my favorite movies, Bring It On, while wiggling her fingers and doing a high split kick. She throws her arms out in a big V before tucking and doing a back round off, earning a few hoots and some applause from the stands. Dani's eating this shit up— she's always been a natural performer.

  “Oh, God,” I groan in exasperation. Didn't she get it? This isn't Bring It On. This is real life. And I can die a horrible death. Or does she not notice that this pyramid is just a sidewalk's width away from the student parking lot and a lot of very hard, very black asphalt?

  I know I'm being a little melodramatic, but I can't help myself. You get that way when your life is in the hands of a bunch of ditzy bitches who never gave you the time of day except that you are friends with one of the alpha girls on campus.

  Dani comes over and leans in, her smile disappearing. My friend that is buried inside pokes through. “You can do this, Whit. You know I love you.”

  “If you loved me, you wouldn't be putting me through this,” I say under my breath. Nonetheless, I do what she asks anyway. It's only after I get halfway up does my fear evaporate. The girls underneath me are all pros and are making it as easy as it can possibly be. There isn't a single wobble or tremble as I get on the back of the girl on top, ready for the last little bit. I reach the top and carefully climb to my feet. Taking my left foot in my hand, I do a quick gripped K-split, then lower my leg, trembling with excitement.

  “I did it!” I cry triumphantly, pumping my fist in the air. "Fuck yeah!"

  And then something awful happens. I slip. I start to go over to the left and I throw my arms out, trying something, but instead of regaining my balance or maybe having me tumble forward where Dani's there to act as safety, I feel my weight shift the wrong way, sending me backward and toward the black death of the asphalt. I hear the girls underneath me let out surprised gasps as I tumble. I'm sure I'll hit the ground and break my neck, but the very next second, I land right into strong, powerful arms.

  I look up into hard blue eyes and a chiseled face. Troy Wood. He's holding me, cradling me as if I'm a baby.

  “Careful there,” he says to me, starting to set me on my feet on the asphalt. How the hell did he get from the stands to down here so fast? Is this an episode of Heroes and he has some kind of superpower? His voice is deep and rich and sends a tingle down my spine. “You could've really hurt yourself.”

  My cheeks burn with fire, and a little voice in my head tells me that I'm supposed to say something. You know, it's polite to say something when a guy saves your life and then talks to you. I think even Miss Manners wrote about that one time.

  “Yeah. I'm clumsy. My bad. Thanks.” It's all I can manage. I sound stupid, and the cheerleaders are all staring at Troy as if he’s a piece of bacon and they're coming off a three-day juice fast, whispering amongst themselves. They don’t even care that I almost suffered a horrible accident.

  “He's so hot,” I hear one say, followed by a girly giggle. She composes herself a little and flashes him a thumbs-up and a fuck me, please set of eyes, speaking up again. “Nice job, Troy! I think it's my turn on top next time!”

  Troy completely ignores them, his eyes burning into my face. It's like it’s just the two of us as his eyes bore into mine, and I feel myself swimming in their blue depths.

  Dani is immediately at our side. “Are you okay?” She glances at Troy. “You can put her the rest of the way down now, Superman.”

  I look down and see that I actually hadn't been put all the way down, and that Troy still held me an inch or two off the ground, his hands at my waist and his arms barely straining holding me up. I expect him to go off on Dani for ordering him around. After all, he has a reputation of being an asshole who doesn't like to be told what to do by anyone except Coach Jackson, but he respectfully puts me down, then steps back, watching, as if waiting for me to say something.

  “I'm okay,” I declare in embarrassment, smoothing my shirt. I have to avoid looking at Troy, and turn instead to look at Dani. He's almost too handsome to take in, and his burning gaze keeps making my heart flip in my chest. Not only that, but he cuts an imposing figure, towering over me, his chiseled biceps on display in the sleeveless undershirt that the football team wears under their shoulder pads and for practices. He has an incredible physique, and I can see why he’s the most prized athlete in the city. Confidence and power radiates from him like a burning star, and he looks like he could hold up the entire pyramid himself across those massive shoulders of his.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” Dani says to me. “I thought we were about to have a paraplegic on our hands.”

  Well gee, Dani, that wouldn't have happened had you not forced me to take part, I think, but I say nothing. I know that sometimes Dani's mouth runs away from her head, and that she's just letting loose a bunch of stress and fright. If we'd been alone, she'd probably be crying right now, but she has to be Dani the Alpha Girl, and that means she has to play it off with a wisecrack or a harsh tone. We'll sort it out later.

  “Then it's a good thing I came along when I did, huh?” asks Troy. His piercing blue eyes stay glued to my face, and I swear I'm going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. "Honestly, though, you girls should move the tryouts deeper into the grass. It's a lot softer than concrete."

  “It sure is, but the concrete's more stable,” Dani says before I can reply. “What are you doing over here anyway? Aren't you guys supposed to be getting ready for practice?”

  “No. Coach gave us just a tape session today, first day of school and all. In reality, I came over here to ask Whitney a question.” His eyes are still on me, and I’m floored. Me? He actually knows my name? I open my mouth to ask him what it is he wants, but I'm interrupted.

  “Really?” Dani says, not letting me get a word in. She's in full-on protective mode now, the Alpha Female squaring off with SLHS's Alpha Male. “And what would that be?”

  Dani trips me out. Troy just possibly saved my life and she’s interrogating him like he’s a criminal. It’s the main reason I know that Dani is really my friend. We look out for each other—I tutor her, and she buffers me in the social world. It's been that way for years now.

  Troy doesn't seem bothered by Dani's bitchiness though, and he gives her an even look that actually shuts Dani down. “I wanted to know if she'll go out with me.”

  I swear, I almost faint right then and there and Dani goes pale in the face. Troy Wood has just asked me out in front of the whole damn cheerleading squad. Is the whole world on drugs or something today, and I just didn't get the memo?

  After momentary shock, the cheerleaders go into a frenzy of gossipy chatter, sounding like a flock of crows all cawing at each other. I know what they are thinking. How can Troy want to go out with me over one of them?

  Troy stares at me, waiting for an answer, but I’m frozen like a Madame Tussauds wax statue. I can't move or speak. This has to be some sort of dream. Troy Wood wants to go out with me? As Dani sometimes says, wha-fa?

  Dani inches closes to me and whispers out of the side of her mouth. “What are you waiting for, fool? Accept, before I say my name is Whitney!”

  “Yes!” I cry, my voice coming out in a high-pitched squeal. Coughing like I have something stuck in my throat, I roll my neck and try one more time.

  “Yes,” I say again, more level this time. Better, much better. I don't sound like I'm still going through puberty. “I'll go out with you.”

  Troy cracks a grin and my heart soars. “How about after you get done with cheerleading tomorrow then? I'll pick you up at your place after I go home, change and grab a shower. We do have practic
e tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” I say, hoping I don't sound too desperate. We quickly exchange phone numbers and I give him my address, my body shaking nearly the whole time. I stare at the little slip of paper for a moment before Dani takes it, folds it in half, and tucks it into the waistband of my tights, only a tiny ear of it sticking out so I can know where it is.

  When we're done, Troy grabs my hand and gives it a soft kiss, and I swear I'm not going to wash it for a week. “See you at seven thirty, then, beautiful. Till then, though . . . gotta go.”

  With one last grin that melts my heart, he walks back over to his buddies, who are all shaking their heads, and they immediately swarm him like he's a king, asking him questions and pounding him on the back.

  I stare at his back as he walks away—even his walk is sexy and full of confident swagger—my mouth agape. He called me beautiful!

  “Oh my God!” Dani exclaims when he's gone. “Troy Wood just asked you out! How do you feel?”

  She comes forward and links her arm with mine, leading me away from the asphalt as I still feel like I'm about to pass out face first onto the ground. When the other girls start to approach, Dani waves them off. She leads me over to the fence that borders the little area where we're practicing and lets me lean on the fence for a bit to get my bearings. She lowers her voice again, concerned. "Seriously, Whit, how do you feel? You look like you just got kicked in the gut."

  “I can't believe it,” I mutter, shaking my head. For a moment, I wonder if I've made a mistake. Troy Wood is a popular athlete and an all-around manwhore, according to the rumors. The only place he scored more than on the football field was between the sheets, if you believed the rumors. I’m sure a lot of it was inflated by all the guys to make themselves feel better, but still. Why should I go out with him? After all, he’s probably just after one thing, and once he gets it, he'll be gone like the wind. "Did I really just say yes?"

  But then I push those thoughts away. It's not like I have to have sex with him, even if that is what he’s after. I figure I can just play hard to get and have a little fun. I may not be experienced at that game, but I know the basic rules. Hell, Dani schooled me on those even more than she'd schooled me on cheerleading, and I did pretty good with that for my first time.

  It’ll be just like playing football, I think to myself. I'll show him I can have a mean defense when he tries something with me. What's that they say sometimes—stuff the ball carrier?

  “You did, and if you don't believe it yet, well you'd better, and you’d better start thinking about what you're going to wear tomorrow night. I won't have you dressing in those ugly mom jeans you like to put on,” Dani says with a grin and a soft squeeze of my arm. She seems genuinely happy for me, which surprises me, because Troy is one of the most desirable guys at Silver Lake. I thought for sure she'd be pissed off that he hadn't asked her out. "You're gonna look hot enough to melt those steely muscles of his and make him silly putty in your hands."

  She seems to be the only one happy for me, though. All the other girls seem pissed, and several of them have walked off to the side and are standing in a group, talking to each other and casting glances my way.

  Dani waves away my concern, noticing me looking at them. “Don't worry about those jealous bitches. They get mad over the littlest thing, like whose butt looks bigger on a given day or who gave the best head to the latest jock. So don't let a few glares bother you—let the haters hate.”

  “That's easy for you to say. You're friends with most of them. In case you haven't noticed, I've been the perpetual third wheel in your group of friends since . . . well, forever. It's easy for you.”

  “You're right. It is.” Dani gives me a devilish grin and I know she's planning something. “But you still shouldn't worry about any of them. Besides, they're about to be madder anyway.”

  I stare at her suspiciously. “Why's that?”

  “Because I'm looking at Silver Lake's newest cheerleader. Congrats.”

  “You're kidding me!”

  Dani shakes her head. “You earned it. Besides that little tumble, you did great. Shit, I even got a little jealous. I was never that good when I first started.”

  I pull Dani into a tight embrace.

  “Jesus, Whit, break my ribs, why don't you! You get superpowers along with those new tits?”

  I quickly let her go. “Sorry.”

  I can't believe my luck. A hot guy has just asked me out, and I've earned a spot on the cheerleading squad. Not bad for the first day of my senior year. And I have a feeling there will be more good things to come.

  They always say the last year is the best year, I think with giddy excitement. I know it isn't always true . . . but damn if I ain't getting off to a great start!

  “Don't be,” Dani says, nodding at the petulant cheerleaders who are still gossiping about me. She claps her hands and raises her voice, back in cheer captain mode. “All right, let's try that pyramid one more time before calling it a day . . . but try not to fall this time.”

  Chapter 4

  Troy

  Those hips. That ass. That smile. Most of all, the way she felt in my arms.

  I shake my head, getting my shit together. I may have a date with an uber-hot girl at seven thirty, but at four thirty, I have the scout team defense all staring at me, ready to prove to Coach Jackson that they deserve playing time with the varsity instead of dressing Thursday night with the JV squad.

  "All right, boys," I say, looking around the huddle. "Split left, motion 37 option flip boogie on two. Ready? BREAK!"

  I go up to the line, making sure my mouthpiece is in. I may be Superman on the football field, but even Superman's gotta have some receivers, and ours are . . . well, they suck. There's a reason that Coach Jackson decided to go with a single-wing option offense since I took over as starting QB back in my sophomore year. Silver Lake may produce track teams that go to region and state on a yearly basis, but that doesn't mean they can catch a football. In fact, the only time they can catch anything is on play-action passes like this, where I can use the running backs to sucker in the defensive backs and either take it myself or flip it to Charlie Watkins, who is playing that left side split end.

  "Ready! Down . . . Red fifty-eight, red fifty-eight . . .” I lift my right leg, expecting the wing back who lined up on the right side to come behind me on his motion, "HUT! Hut-hut!"

  Pete Barkovich, my center, snaps me the ball, and I pivot to my right, too late realizing that not only had I not given the wing back enough time to get across the line, but I'd turned the wrong direction to boot. I run straight into the him, stumbling and getting smacked by some freshman try-hard nose tackle who gets lucky, driving me into the ground. Shit.

  Coach Jackson's whistle pierces the afternoon, and the freshman realizes he just signed his own death warrant. Even if we run a single-wing, and even if I’m the fucking starting strong side inside linebacker, you don't tackle the QB in practice. The freshman's face goes pasty, pimply white, and he gets off me, looking like he's waiting for someone to lop off his head.

  Instead, it’s me who earns the wrath of Coach Jackson. "What in the name of Franklin Delano Roosevelt were you doing, Troy?"

  Coach always starts yelling out famous dead men’s names when he's ticked off. Part of it is because the school district passed a zero tolerance policy on teachers using supposedly abusive or demeaning language toward students two years ago, putting old school coaches like him who grew up on Mike Ditka and Bill Parcells in a bind. The other part of it is that Coach is a history teacher during school hours, and the man knows more about old dead guys than I think is really healthy for him.

  Coming closer, Coach waits for me to get off the ground and leans in, where just he and I can hear each other. "Seriously, Troy, what the hell are you doing?"

  I shake my head, owning it. If Coach has taught me anything, it's to man up and take responsibility for my actions on the field. "You know what happened, Coach. I fucked up the play. I didn't mean t
o. I'll get it right."

  He gets in my face, his face turning a little red. "Dammit, boy, you tell me you want to run these plays but then you do piss-poor execution. In case you didn't realize, that little love tap from what's his name over there is nothing compared to what's gonna hit you Friday night if you don't unscrew your head from your ass."

  Damn, Coach is pretty pissed. Even with me—and he'd taken me under his wing for the past three years—he rarely cursed, even though he knew I'd never complain to the school about it. I feel like I've been slapped across the face, and I take a deep breath. "Sorry, Coach. I'll get it right."

  "Son," Coach says, sighing before putting his hand on my shoulder pads and leading me away. "Troy, you're one hell of a football player, maybe the best I've seen in fifteen years of being the head coach at this school. But you're not God. And despite the act you put on for the other boys, you're not Jesus Christ either. You need to put your head in the game and focus, or else those scouts from State that I hear might be coming by are going to cross you off their prospect list by the end of the first quarter. Tell me what's going on."

  I pull my helmet off, looking over his shoulder at the guys. Coach reads my eyes and turns around. "Coach Reed, take over. Roberts, run the first team offense for a few plays. You might as well get some reps in."

  We walk to the edge of the practice field behind the school, and I take a knee, picking up the hose that serves as our water fountain and take a gulp. "I don't know, Coach. Really. I was fine Sunday drawing them up at home, and walking through them in my mind, I was good, but now . . . all I can think about is this girl . . .”

  "A girl?" Coach Jackson says, surprised. "Troy, are you telling me that the past forty-five minutes of near-constant screw-ups I'm seeing today is because your mind is on a girl? What the hell?"

  "I know, I know," I reply, standing up. "You should’ve seen me in Spanish class. Mrs. Days tore into me. Like I said, I'm sorry."