A Match Made in High School

by Kristin Walker

  “Oh, please,” I said, smearing the tears off my cheeks with my palms. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a girl cry before. You’re dating the queen of melodrama.”

  The mention of Amanda snapped Todd back. “What the hell is it with you and her, anyway?”

  I sniffled and wiped my drippy nose on my sweatshirt sleeve. “She’s always attacking me. I just defend myself.”

  “Oh, bullshit. You give as much as you get. Besides, don’t you ever think there might be a reason she feels compelled to attack you?”

  “Well, I have considered the possibility that she has rabies,” I said.

  Todd rolled his eyes. “Your sympathy is overwhelming.”

  “Your sarcasm is overrated.”

  “Come on. Forget Amanda. I need you to do this for me. Help out the squad. Please.”

  “Why should I?” I asked, totally milking my pouty state.

  “Because, Princess,” he said. “Because I’m asking you to.”

  And that was it. Here was Señor Shitslacks, the No-necked Neanderthal, standing in front of me asking me for a favor on no greater basis than the fact that we were united in fake marriage.

  And here I was saying yes.

  “Fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll do it. But you have to make Amanda be nice to me. Decent, anyway.”

  Todd closed his blue eyes and opened them again. “Done. Thank you.”

  I fished a half-used tissue out of my pocket and blew my nose. I said, “Let’s be clear that I’m not hauling around that damn orange water cooler anymore, either.”

  “No problem.”

  “And listen, I don’t want to just be standing there looking like some goon in a uniform. I want you to teach me the steps or moves or whatever it is you call them in cheerleaderese.”

  “Do you think you can handle it?”

  I flashed back to the five years of ballet lessons I’d had as a kid. I was no Anna Pavlova. I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Todd held open the swinging door into the gym. “Well, let’s go find out.”

  I shoved my soggy tissue back into my pocket. “What a day,” I said. “I didn’t think it could get much worse than this morning. God, I feel like such an ass for getting Johnny in trouble.”

  “Mercer’s a big boy,” Todd said. “He can handle himself.”

  “I still feel like a jerk.”

  “Well, get used to it,” he said, “because practice is about to start.”

  “Perfect,” I said.

  “And anyway, that announcement prank you pulled?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Nice one.”

  We walked back into the gym together.

  After practice, I barely made it home on my bike. Every muscle, ligament, and tendon in my body burned. As did my throat. As did my brain. Basic human decency and self-preservation prevent me from revealing any more details of that first cheer practice. The robot turkeys had made it look so easy. After all, cheerleading must be a no-brainer if they could do it.

  Well, it wasn’t. And that’s all I’m going to say about that day.

  CHAPTER 17

  A WEEK LATER, I WAS STILL SORE BEYOND BELIEF. I’D had no idea how out of shape I was. I knew I didn’t exercise beyond riding my bike. Still, I’d expected to have a little more resilience than, say, my arthritic Nana. The first thing I did every morning when I got to school was dig my bottle of ibuprofen out of the bottom of my locker and pop a few. It took a while for them to kick in, though. On Tuesday it wasn’t until my counseling session with Maggie Klein that I could actually sit in a chair without feeling like someone had punched me in the ass with a fistful of knives.

  “Welcome, Todd. Welcome, Fiona. Okay. How are things going?” Maggie Klein crossed her legs, tilted her head to the right, and clasped her hands in her lap. Classic counselor pose. Todd and I both shrugged. I didn’t bother with eye contact. Frankly, I was distracted by the empty candy wrappers scattered near the trash can. And the piles of papers everywhere, which looked to be photocopies of the same thing.

  “Are those the kind of shrugs that mean everything’s going fine? Or shrugs that mean things are too bad to even talk about?” Her head tilted even further. For a second I pictured it snapping off and rolling across the floor, picking up sticky candy wrappers on its way.

  I was pretty sure Maggie Klein expected us to say that things sucked, because when Todd said, “Everything’s fine,” her eyebrows shot up toward the ceiling. “Really?” she asked. I gave the single-shoulder shrug and nodded once.

  “Well!” Maggie Klein clapped her hands in front of her face and pulled her head upright, finally. My neck had been aching just watching her. She was clearly pleased by the thought that she had somehow brought peace to two warring factions. Of course, she had absolutely nothing to do with anything. “That is good news.” She waited for us to say something. Thank you, I guess. We didn’t.

  Maggie Klein reeled herself down from her counseling-induced high. “So. First, I want to congratulate you on winning the monthly prize for October. Here is your voucher for Steuben’s.” She held it out, but neither Todd nor I took it.

  Finally, Todd snatched the voucher, saying, “I may as well take this. I know Fiona doesn’t go for sausage.”

  I came right back with, “Todd, though—once he wraps his hands around a long, thick sausage, he can’t get it in his mouth fast enough.”

  “Okaylet’smoveon,” Maggie Klein said. As she pulled herself higher in her chair, she accidentally leaned on her pink scarf and semi-strangled herself. She grabbed the scarf, unwound it from her neck in a fury, and threw it on her desk. She took a cleansing breath, in and out. “Okay. Second item of business is to let you know that the real-world cash collected over the past two months totals $2,464. Remember, the winning couple would split half the amount, with the other half going to charity. So as of right now, each of you would get $616. Not too bad, huh?”

  Todd and I answered with shrugs again. But I couldn’t help thinking of all the ways I could spend that money. Poor Todd would probably have to turn the whole wad over to Amanda to cover her hair dye and fake tan.

  “Right, then. Since we didn’t get to complete all the trust games last week . . .” Maggie Klein’s voice faltered. She cleared her throat. “We’ll try to make up for it today with a visualization exercise. Just a little trick to help a couple build trust and bond subconsciously.”

  Todd said, “Sorry, Maggie, but I’m not into bondage. Even the subconscious kind.”

  I snort-laughed.

  Maggie Klein sighed. “Just close your eyes and picture a place the two of you could enjoy as a couple. Just do it.”

  We shut our eyes, but someone pounded on the door, so I opened mine. Todd’s eyes were still closed, and he was slumped down in his soft chair. I was pretty sure he planned to fall asleep.

  “Who is it?” Maggie Klein demanded of the door.

  It opened a crack, and a nose poked in. “Maggie, I need to talk to you! I don’t know what to do. Aaron told me he’s leaving me and he’s taking all the money and the twins. He can’t do that, can he, Maggie? There’s no divorcing, is there? Of course, he says he’s not divorcing me, we’re still married, he’s just leaving. He says I nag him too much and I’m a control freak. Is that true? I’m not, am I? Oh, I’m sorry, are you in the middle of something? I could come back. Or should I wait? How about I just wait?”

  “Sophia,” Maggie Klein said through her hands clasped over her face, “I appreciate your . . . enthusiasm . . . regarding this course, but as I said yesterday in counseling, it is not real. Please just fill out your budget, write in your journal, and live your life.”

  Sophia Sheridan stuck her whole head in the door. “But Aaron says—”

  Maggie Klein threw her head back. “Sophia.” Sophia stopped. Maggie Klein sighed. “Wait outside. We’ll be done here soon. Then you and I can . . . talk.”

  “Okay, thanks, Maggie. I’ll be out here.” Sophia slipped the door shut, and Maggi
e Klein dropped her forehead to her desk. I saw her shoulder blades rise and fall with her deep breathing. After three breaths, she sat up and said, “Okay. Where were we? Todd, are you sleeping?”

  I kicked Todd and he pretended to rouse from a deep slumber. “Oh, huh? I was so engrossed in my visualization I must have dozed off.”

  “You are a gross visualization,” I muttered.

  “Let’s not start that again, Fiona.”

  Jeez, couldn’t she tell I was kidding?

  “Todd,” she said, “why don’t you describe what you visualized?”

  “Well, Maggie, Fiona and I are on a white-sand beach on a tropical island,” Todd said.

  “And what are the two of you doing together?” Maggie Klein asked.

  “Fiona has just handed me a piña colada.”

  “Nonalcoholic, I assume. Good.”

  “And now she’s picking up an oyster shell.”

  “Okay. What’s she doing with the shell?”

  “She’s using it to scrape the dead skin off my feet. But it’s difficult, because she’s on all fours so her ass can be a table for my coconut cup.”

  I swung out and smacked Todd in the shoulder. “All fours? Listen, if I had a shell that could cut skin, you’d better believe it wouldn’t be your feet I’d slice.”

  “Fiona!” Maggie Klein snapped.

  I ignored her. “Let’s just say that your drink wouldn’t be the only nut I’d hand you.”

  “Fiona,” Maggie Klein bellowed. “Please!” It wasn’t a request. She took a deep breath and let it out in little bursts. Then did it again. She took a third breath and closed her eyes. As she exhaled slowly, she made a downward motion with her hands as though pushing the bad vibes out of her body. She opened her eyes and fake-smiled. “Fiona, your hostility is severely impeding any hope of progress here.”

  “My hostility? I’m not the one who—”

  “I’m afraid our time is up.” She bolted to open the door before I could even finish. Totally unfair. She was so biased toward Todd. Plus, it was obvious now she blamed me for my mother’s activism against this course, but whatever. As long as it got us out of counseling early, I didn’t care. “Keep up the good work on your budget and journals,” she said. As we left, Sophia Sheridan slid past us into the office.

  “Catch you at practice, Princess,” Todd said, and swaggered off.

  “Sí, Señor. Adios,” I called after him.

  On my way to class, I turned a corner and found myself on a direct collision course with Johnny Mercer. (Impact in about T minus fifteen seconds.) I didn’t want to have another awkward conversation. (Make that twelve seconds.) Why did seeing him agitate me so much? (Make that nine seconds.) He was just trying to be a nice person. (Six seconds.) So why did I want to avoid him? (Three seconds!) I couldn’t take it. I ducked my head and veered into the bathroom. Bad choice.

  Not only was Marcie in there, she was casually talking to Amanda. Naturally, they both turned to see who had opened the door. For one agonizing second, we stood frozen, staring at each other. Then, thankfully, millions of years of evolution came to my rescue. Fight-or-flight kicked in and I dove into one of the stalls.

  Of course, I didn’t actually have to pee. I’d only come in the bathroom to escape Johnny Mercer. So I felt ridiculous just standing there by the toilet. I couldn’t help remembering Marcie’s mantra: Dignity, Fiona. But what choice did I have? And by the way, were they freaking kidding? Marcie and Amanda were friends now? That seemed to fit with the way my life was going, so really, it shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it was.

  Mercifully, they didn’t seem to want to continue their conversation while I was half an aluminum door away. They said, “See ya,” and I heard the bathroom door creak open and shut. I peered under the stall and didn’t see any feet, so I figured it was safe to come out.

  Have I mentioned yet that I’ve never been lucky?

  Amanda was still there. “A word of advice?” she said. As if I had any choice in whether or not I wanted to hear it. I braced myself for some bullshit tips on what to do if your best friend suddenly hates you, which Amanda no doubt had experience in. “You might want to consider getting contact lenses,” she said. “In stunts and stuff, glasses can be . . . dangerous or whatever.”

  “Oh,” I said, dumbfounded.

  “It takes a while to get used to them, so you should get them soon.” She stuck her boobs out, pulled the door open, and disappeared.

  This time I was the one standing in the bathroom with my mental gears grinding together. My poor brain couldn’t deal with Amanda not only being civil, but showing an apparent concern for another human being’s welfare. Had Todd actually gotten her to be nice to me? And why was she suddenly all buddy-buddy with Marcie? My mind swirled in the absurdity of it all. I snapped back to reality when the bell rang. Crap, I was late. Typical bad luck. But at least that meant I was still me.

  Wednesday, November 13

  Not only should I get all the money collected from this marriage ed course, I should also get a freaking Congressional Medal of Honor. If part of marriage is sacrificing all of your dignity and self-respect for your partner, then I’m there. For over a week now, I’ve humiliated myself, brutalized my body, and strained my brain merely because my fake spouse asked me to. I must’ve gone loco for a second when I agreed to be a cheerleader. I forgot that I was supposed to hate Todd. All right, I guess I don’t hate him anymore.

  Amanda, on the other hand, is a different story. No matter how hard I try (which, let’s be honest, isn’t very hard), I just can’t dredge up any love for her. Even when she was actually semidecent to me yesterday in the bathroom. (Another reason I should get the money from this course—to replace what I have to shell out for contact lenses.) The more I get to know Todd, the less I understand why those two are together. But I’ll tell you one thing: if I was Todd’s wife in real life, I’d have to kill myself. Because if being his “type” means being anything like Amanda, then I’d rather be dead.

  Okay, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic. I wouldn’t kill myself. But I’d definitely turn lesbian, at the very least.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE DAYS LEADING UP TO THE PEP RALLY FLEW BY way too fast. I didn’t get fitted for a uniform until the day before. I felt like a freak in that red-and-white polyester miniskirt and V-neck sweater vest. Like a hooker clown. I should also mention that the fabric and knit of cheerleading uniforms prohibit the evaporation of any perspiration whatsoever. By the time I got to school Friday evening, I was dripping with sweat, even though it was only about forty degrees. Every time I thought about getting up in front of all those people, I felt all googly, and the sweat just poured out of me.

  The pep rally was scheduled for six-thirty—just before the homecoming game against our archrivals, Lincoln. We were supposed to do a whole routine of cheers—ending with Catch the Fever—in front of a bonfire while everyone else got wasted so they could act like imbeciles during the game. At halftime, Hannah Fortis and Zack Braden were going to be crowned homecoming queen and king while the marching band played “Bohemian Rhapsody.” So really, our big performance was at the bonfire.

  Just after six, I got to the field where they were going to light the bonfire. Principal Miller and Mr. Evans were powwowing with the local fire marshal over by the giant pile of wood. Mrs. O’Toole was parked in a lawn chair beside the school. Todd, Amanda, and the rest of the squad were warming up. I wasn’t sure whether I needed to warm up or not, because I was hot and shivering at the same time. My glasses kept slipping down, because even my nose was sweating. I’d gone to Zinnman’s Ophthalmology at the Prairie View Mall the day before to get examined and fitted for contact lenses. Turned out I had some kind of freaky prescription, so the contacts weren’t going to be ready for a couple of weeks.

  “You’re late, Princess,” Todd said.

  “Five minutes,” I said. “What, are you going to make me do push-ups or run laps or something?”

  “T
he squad’s waiting,” he said. “Line up.”

  We got into formation and ran through Steam, Success, and Eagle Pride, all of which had small partner stunts and a lot of tumbling. I pretty much just lunged and did jazz hands. Sparkle!

  Then it was time to run through Catch the Fever. I was off a bit because my glasses slipped down during a turn, and I pushed them up just as I was supposed to be clapping. Then I clapped late and Amanda stopped us. “Fiona, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but the idea of cheerleading is to do everything at the same time.”

  I responded to her by hiking up one leg, reaching back, and pulling the giant wedgie out of my ass from the briefs-slash-diaper-pants we had to wear under the skirts.

  Amanda scrunched up her nose. “Oh, very ladylike. You really represent the best in cheerleading.”

  I pretended to stick my finger up my nose and dig around. “Whassat you say?”

  The robot turkeys said, “Ew!” Amanda said, “You’re disgusting.”

  I snorted loudly through my nose and hawked up a fake loogie. The robot turkeys shrieked. I leaned over like I was about to spit, and Todd said, “Fiona!” I looked at him and pantomimed gulping. He said, “Let’s just try it again.”

  We lined up again and this time we made it through the routine and even managed the pyramid stunt. My all-important job was to kneel on one knee while Simone stood with one foot on my other leg and one foot on Takisha’s back as Takisha bent over. Other, more complicated stuff happened, but all I had to do was stay still and hold onto Simone’s leg. But I got another wedgie, so I let go for a second to pull it out. When I reached behind me, I guess I kind of lost my balance, because my knee wobbled a bit. And Simone wobbled a bit. And everyone else wobbled a bit. I grabbed Simone’s leg again. She gave a little cry and caught her balance. So did everyone else. So it was okay. But I made a note to self to ignore all wedgies. We dismounted and practiced the phony clapping and wooting and fist-pumps in the air. Gobble, gobble.