A Match Made in High School

by Kristin Walker

  By then people were showing up for the bonfire. Before I headed into the gym with the squad to wait for our cue, I took a quick look for Gabe in the crowd. I didn’t see him, but I did see Marcie walking toward me. If she thought she was going to chew me out just before I performed, she was off her nut. I pretended not to see her and turned around.

  “Fiona!” she called.

  I ignored her.

  “Fiona, wait!”

  Didn’t hear that either.

  “Fee!” I heard her jog up. She tapped me on the shoulder. I put on my best I-don’t-give-a-crap face and turned around. “Yes?”

  She stopped a second to catch her breath. “Hi. Listen. I just wanted to say that I think it’s great that you’re doing this for the cheer squad. Helping them out like this—it says a lot.”

  I half shrugged. Stared at the lightbulb above the steel door. “Thanks.” I pulled the door open and walked into the gym. Mar followed me inside.

  “I mean it,” she said. I could tell from her expression that she did. She was my old Mar.

  “Thanks,” I said. And I meant it, too.

  Mar smiled. “Wow, you look bizarre in that uniform.”

  “Tell me about it.” I leaned in to whisper. “My only consolation is that maybe Gabe will think it’s hot. Is he out there? Did you see him? Who’s he with?”

  Mar took a step back and crossed her arms, “Fiona, that’s not why you joined the squad. Is it?”

  As I thought about my answer, I picked a chip of yellow paint off the cinder-block wall with my thumbnail. “No. I mean, it wasn’t my first thought when Todd asked me to join the squad. But it might have been my second. Maybe third. I mean, Mar? How could I not think about it? Cheerleading? Me? Especially with all the times Gabe stops by practice to talk to Amanda about some marriage ed thing or another.”

  “So you’re doing all this to impress Gabe Webber?”

  “No. Well, maybe. Not entirely. But I guess you could say it was a perk. A big perk. A huge perk. But seriously, can you blame me?”

  Marcie turned a complete 360 degrees as she shot this little laugh up to the gym rafters. “I can not believe you, Fiona. You are something. What a piece of work. I can’t believe you’re masquerading as a decent human being just to fulfill your own personal agenda.”

  “What?” Where had my Mar gone? Hello? “What the hell are you talking about, Marcie?”

  Someone opened the door and a rush of smoky air from the bonfire tumbled in. Marcie tossed her hair exactly like Amanda did. “I thought maybe you finally realized what a selfish jerk you’ve been, and you’d done something really generous and giving to make up for it. But no. You’re just as self-serving as ever.”

  Right. This time the gloves were off. No way was I taking this lying down. I leaned into Mar and said, “Who the hell do you think you are? So high and mighty. Passing judgment on all the poor NOCDs. What difference does it make to you if I’m doing something to look good in front of Gabe Webber, huh? How the hell does it have any impact on your life?”

  She blinked. “Impact on my life?”

  “Yes. Your life. How is it any of your goddamn business?”

  “My business?” she cried.

  “Yes. How does what I feel about Gabe Webber have any bearing whatsoever on you?”

  Her face went white. Tears pooled in her eyes. Every muscle in her face quivered. “It has bearing on me, Fiona,” she said, “because I am Gabe Webber’s girlfriend. Me. I’m the mystery girl you’ve been bitching about all semester. Gabe and I started going out at summer camp. He worked there too. I didn’t have the heart to tell you before, because I knew it would kill you. But now, I just don’t care. So there you go, Fiona. There it is.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and smeared her mascara across her cheekbone. “And to be honest, I can’t see how you missed it. It was obvious. Remember when Gabe said he liked a totally together woman? He meant me, not you. I’m the one he was winking and waving to at cheerleading tryouts, not you.” She batted another tear away and stepped toward me. “In fact, we were making out under the stands while you were talking to Todd. How about that? And we also snuck off to be together at the dance. I’m the one you overheard him talking to there. Gabe loves me, Fiona, not you. In fact, he pretty much hates you after everything I’ve told him about the way you’ve been acting lately. So you may as well just give him up, because it’s never going to happen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Gabe is waiting for me.”

  She spun on her shiny high-heeled boots and stormed away from me.

  No way.

  I had to be imagining this.

  I was in bed, asleep, and this was not really happening. My best friend had not just turned every great moment we’d shared this year into lies. My sweet Mar was not some backstabbing traitor. She’d never be that selfish.

  She wouldn’t do that.

  She hadn’t done that.

  But she had.

  Now she was walking away. Out into the night and into the arms I wanted to be held by. The body I wanted to lean on. The face I wanted to touch. He was hers. She was going to him. I never would. And I’d never have her either. I’d lost Marcie. I’d lost Gabe. My best friend. My love. My hearts. Gone.

  I felt a hand on the back of my shoulders propelling my body forward. My feet stumbled beneath me and I ran. The squad ran beside me. Our cue had come. It was time to perform.

  Only I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t feel my hands or feet. The bonfire raged behind us. The crowd cheered and I was swept up into the routine. One cheer after another. I went through the motions like a machine. Wordlessly. With no smile. No. Not when my face was glazed with tears. Not when my glasses were speckled and streaked. When my legs were nothing but sponge for Simone to stand on. My arms channels of lead. Unable to hold her. Unable to keep her up as she tilted and fell. And everyone fell around her. Arms and legs crooked in all directions. The sound of screams building, like volume turning up. Then an elbow sharp in my cheek, sending my glasses flying. Me flying after them. And I was laid out on the hard ground along with the rest of the squad.

  No one moved for a few seconds. Then everyone did. Two ink-black Doc Martens landed in the dirt in front of my face. Strong hands beneath my shoulders lifted me up. Gently wiped the muddle of tears and dust from my eyes. Eyes that could focus now and see the face of Johnny Mercer in front of me. With a worry-knit brow under his baseball cap, and quick hazel eyes that searched every inch of me for damage.

  He asked in his deep voice, “Are you okay, Fiona?”

  “I messed up,” I said.

  “Forget about it. Just be glad nothing’s broken.”

  I tried to piece the scene together in my brain. “Is everybody else okay?” I didn’t see any blood. I didn’t see any bones. Everyone was moving. Getting up. Limping off.

  Amanda charged up to me. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I touched my cheek. Felt my missing glasses. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I couldn’t hold her up.”

  “Couldn’t hold her up? You totally collapsed underneath her! You didn’t even try. Plus, you were late hitting every mark, your claps were off, your arms were bent, and I don’t think you even tried to yell the cheers at all! I don’t know why we ever thought you’d be any good at this. Letting you join the squad was a huge mistake!”

  Amanda’s yelling drew the attention of some students nearby. They clustered together to watch us in the frenzied light of the bonfire. I stared at Amanda, and all the emotions I had felt in the past half hour began spiraling inward. Turning in, and turning in on themselves until they formed a fine, highly pressurized point of focus on her.

  Then they released.

  “Letting me join?” I bellowed. “You think you let me join? Like being part of your goddamn freak show was something I wanted? Hell, no! You wanted me. The squad asked me to join. I didn’t want to! I said no. I told Todd there was no way in hell I was joining. But he begged me. He begged! He needed me. You needed m
e. I never wanted to be here in the first place, so don’t give me shit about bent arms and missed marks! I don’t give a fuck about the stupid marks. You think the world is going to end because I didn’t clap right? Get some fucking perspective, Amanda. Get your head out of your ass and look around you. The planet is not going to explode if your cheers aren’t perfect. Or your makeup isn’t perfect. Or your love life isn’t perfect. The fate of the world does not hinge on every little thing you do! You’re not the center of the goddamn universe!”

  Amanda stood dead-still through my whole tirade. When I finally finished, I waited for her response. Her retort. Her return-fire.

  There was none.

  Instead, Amanda started to cry. Softly at first, then with big, heaving sobs and surging tears. Her hands flew to her face, and her shoulders shook with each trembling breath. Todd was beside her in a second, having heard the whole exchange from a few feet away. He pulled her sodden face into his chest, circled her with his arms, and held her. After a few moments, he whispered in her ear, and she slipped from his arms and ran through the crowd to the gym door. Then Todd turned to me. “What the hell was that?”

  More people crowded around. I said, “She laid into me first about what a crap cheerleader I am and how it was a mistake to have me on the squad!” A gust of wind drove the bonfire flames up and blew off a hail of embers.

  Todd yelled, “Whatever she said, she didn’t deserve to be screamed at in front of the whole school. Take it out on me—that’s fine! Do it to me—I can take it! But leave her alone. She can’t take it. She’s extremely sensitive.”

  “Sensitive?” I cried. “Please, Amanda is about as sensitive as a toilet seat.” A couple of guys in ECHS sweatshirts started snickering. Assholes.

  “She’s a hell of a lot more sensitive than you are!” Todd said. “You are totally insensitive.”

  I reared back. “What? I am not insensitive!”

  “Oh, please, Fiona. You are the least sensitive person I know.”

  “How can you say that?” The wind shifted, and smoke blew into my face and stung my eyes. I squinted and blinked against it.

  “Because it’s true, Fiona. You slap on your I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, then sit back and pass judgment on everyone else.”

  Pass judgment on everyone. That was exactly what I’d said to Marcie. I hoped it had stung her as much as it did me.

  Todd kept rolling. “You think you know everything about people, but you don’t. If you stopped for one second—just for one second—and considered how things might be for someone other than yourself, you might not be such a snob.”

  “Snob? I’m insensitive and a snob? Why the hell are you being so mean? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Todd gave a sarcastic laugh. “See? There you go again. It has to be something wrong with me. It couldn’t possibly be something wrong with you.”

  He might as well have slapped me across the face. “Fuck you, Harding,” I cried. I spun and walked. After about ten paces, Johnny was on my tail. I swiveled around and said, “What do you want, Johnny?” I meant it as an insult, not a question.

  “You forgot these,” he huffed. He held out my glasses.

  I’d been so angry and crying so hard, I hadn’t even noticed I couldn’t see right. I snatched them from his hand. “Thanks.” I turned to leave.

  “He’s wrong, you know,” Johnny said. I halted.

  He said, “Todd? He’s wrong.”

  I said over my shoulder, “Nice of you to say, Johnny. Thanks. See ya.”

  “Fiona!”

  God, what did this guy want? I sighed and turned to face him for the last time. “What?”

  He stepped closer to me. “You’re not insensitive. I hope you know that. You’re not a snob, either. Don’t listen to him. You’re . . .” He pulled on the corners of his black leather jacket and rolled them between his fingers. “Terrific. You’re a terrific person, Fiona. And I just thought you might need to hear that, after what Todd said. You’re not what he said. I think you’re great. Really great. I like you a lot, Fiona. A lot.”

  Holy shit. Was he for real? Had Johnny Mercer seriously picked this choice moment to declare his affection for me? Could this night get any worse?

  All I wanted to do was get home, get in bed, and crawl down under my covers as soon as possible. I was willing to employ any means to hasten that. I placed my palm in the air between us. “I appreciate it and all, Johnny, but you know what? I’m good. And really”—I shook my head so he wouldn’t miss the message—“I’m not interested.”

  I walked away from him as fast as I could. Then I broke into a run. I had to get out of there. Away from Johnny Mercer. Away from the bonfire. Away from cheerleading. Todd and Amanda. Marcie and Gabe. Away from school. Screw school. Screw marriage ed. Screw graduating. Screw life. I just wanted to be home.

  So I ran toward it through the cold night.

  CHAPTER 19

  I DIDN’T ROLL OUT OF BED UNTIL NEARLY ELEVEN the next morning. My eyes were crusty from crying and I had a wicked headache. I’d spent half the night thinking about Marcie, and how one, she’d been dating Gabe, and two, she had lied to me about it for months. The more I let those two things knock together in my brain, the more I realized that Marcie had chosen Gabe over me. Absolute betrayal.

  I slumped downstairs and popped a couple of ibuprofen. I grabbed a cup of coffee and hunched over it at the table while Dad read a book across from me.

  I heard the front door slam. Mom ran in waving a newspaper. “It’s in here!” she chirped.

  I groaned, and mumbled, “What’s in where?”

  Mom unfolded the paper in front of me, saying, “Cybil Hutton, the PTA president, called in a favor with someone she knows downtown at the Tribune, and they did a story on us. And look—front page!”

  Not only was it front page, it was headline: SUBURBAN WOMAN PROTESTS MARRIAGE EDUCATION: PTA AND 300 AGREE. And this was no small-town paper, either. No lame-ass Daily Ledger. This was the Tribune. The Chicago city paper. And there on the front page was my mother’s face along with a two-column article describing her efforts to kill the course. This development either was terrific, because hey, maybe she’d succeed; or was terrible, because let’s face it: my mother was on the front page of the Trib. Tongues were going to wag.

  “You got three hundred names on your petition?” I asked. “But there aren’t even that many seniors.”

  Mom gathered up the paper in her arms. “I didn’t just target parents of seniors; I targeted all the parents in the school. First the petition. Then the letter-writing campaign, which has been a huge success so far. Now this.” She gazed at the article again, and then held it up for Dad. “What do you think, Ethan?”

  Dad closed his book and skimmed the paper. He got this goofy, sappy grin on his face like a wallflower who’d just been asked to dance. He leaned up and kissed Mom. “Elizabeth Cady Stanton would be proud.”

  Mom’s eyes saucered. Then she bounced up and down. “Oh! What a great idea!” She kissed Dad hard on the mouth again and said, “Thanks, babe. I have to call Cybil. I’ll go upstairs.”

  Thank God she left. If I’d had to watch them suck face any more, I would’ve suffered severe brain damage.

  As bad as it was to hang out with my parents, I would’ve preferred it to going to school on Monday. When I got there, I kept my head down and avoided human contact as much as possible. Homeroom was a mess. I sat by myself in the back corner, keeping as much distance as I could from Marcie and Todd. I had one class with Johnny—calculus. It was easy enough to ignore him there. Of course, I bailed on cheer practice. Amanda had been pretty clear concerning how she felt about having me on the squad. And I figured I’d already clocked enough time to fulfill the marriage ed requirement. Each day, I just went to school and went home. On my freaking bike. In the icy November rain.

  Then came calculus on Thursday. Now, normally, I find math fascinating. I love the universality of it. How mathematics transcends language and
politics and religion. How the laws governing mathematics are absolute. I’m awed by how mathematicians must think. How they open their minds to possibilities within these rigid laws and ask, What if? And suddenly a whole new system of conjuring lays itself out before them like a labyrinth. And they puzzle their way toward some brand-new truth lying at the center of the maze. It’s like magic.

  But I couldn’t concentrate on Thursday. So, as my calc teacher explained functions, I doodled on the cover of my notebook. I was just putting a set of voluminous boobs on my poorly rendered drawing of Mr. Tambor when I felt something slip under my arm. It was a note folded into a triangular football with my name on one side. I glanced around to see who’d passed it, but nobody owned up, so I unfolded it.

  Dear Fiona,

  I’m really sorry about what happened at the pep rally. Forget everything I said to you. I didn’t mean it. Pretend I never said anything. And whatever’s going on with you and Marcie, I hope you work it out.

  —Johnny Mercer

  Well, aside from the fact that I’d just been passed my first note since seventh grade, I was pretty shocked. He hadn’t meant what he said? So in other words, he thought I was an insensitive snob? Or wait—did he want me to forget that he’d said he liked me . . . a lot? I hoped that was what the note meant. That was the preferable choice, right? I didn’t want him to “like me” like me. But I also didn’t want him to think of me as an insensitive snob. Then again, the note did say to forget everything he said, so maybe it meant both. Maybe he thought I was an insensitive snob and he didn’t like me. Wow. What a bummer note.

  I crumpled it up and shoved it into my backpack. When the bell rang, I got out of there as fast as I could. The thought of having a conversation with Johnny Mercer right then made all these emotions flare up in me: anger, excitement, relief, fear—you name it. I figured I must have some raging PMS.

  For whatever reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about Johnny all week. What had that note meant? What did he think of me? And why did I care? At one point, I almost broke down and called him. Because I also wanted to know if Mar was upset. She’d better not have been feeling fine and dandy about stabbing me in the back after years of best-friendship. But then again, how could I ask Johnny about it? He had no idea about my lifelong crush on Gabe.