A Match Made in High School

by Kristin Walker

  “Nah,” I lied.

  “I am,” she said. “Hey, could you do me a favor?”

  “Depends,” I said.

  Simone’s face sparkled. “Would you let me give you a makeover?”

  “A what?” I asked, although I knew exactly what she meant.

  “You know. Do your makeup. It takes my mind off stuff. Calms me down.”

  Well, far be it from me to let poor Simone vex away beside me. “I guess,” I said. So there I sat as Simone opened something that looked like a purple fishing-tackle box full of makeup and proceeded to paint my face. It made me think of Sam’s makeovers. I really wanted to see Sam again. Find out how she was doing. I wished she was here to see me, because she’d understand the ridiculous hilarity of this situation like no one else. Except maybe Marcie. Even so, I prayed Mar wouldn’t show up.

  “Relax your face,” Simone cooed.

  I closed my eyes and let the brushstrokes on my cheeks sweep away the tension. I tried a little meditation. Zen and the art of makeup application.

  I heard a voice say, “Good luck, Fee!” and I opened one eye. Then my stomach clenched again. There was Mar. And standing next to her was Johnny Mercer.

  I tried to talk as Simone coated my lips with opalescent pink goo. “Oh God, why did you guys come to submit yourselves to this torture?”

  “If you think I’d miss it, you’re crazy,” Mar said. “Johnny and I did our marriage ed job this morning, so I asked if he wanted to come with me to the competition after. Right?”

  “Yup,” Johnny said. He ran his fingers through his hair and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. He bounced his knees in and out one at a time. But when I caught his eye, he stopped and winked at me. I grinned, and Simone poked me in the tooth with the lip gloss wand.

  Mar tapped me on the elbow. “Johnny even brought his video camera. We’re going to post the whole thing online.”

  I tensed up like someone had just given me a surprise rectal exam.

  “She’s kidding!” Johnny blurted.

  “Just do me one favor?” I pleaded. “Sit where I can’t see you.”

  Mar guffawed in the most undignified manner. “Fat chance,” she said. I tried to kick at her sideways.

  “How many schools are here?” Johnny asked. “When do you guys go on?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I looked at Simone for an answer. “Do you know?”

  “There are ten squads,” she said, “and each does a five minute routine featuring their best cheers. The first slots are rough, because the judges keep scores low, in case better squads come next. The middle slots are best because the crowd is enthused and the energy is good. The worst slot is the last one, because everyone is tired, and usually the squad has been psyched out by the competition.”

  “Which are we?” I whispered haltingly.

  “Mrs. O’Toole drew us as last.”

  My stomach rose up at least halfway into my esophagus. I gagged and tried to swallow, but ended up semiconvuls-ing. Marcie and Johnny backed away.

  “Uh, we’re going to get some seats,” Mar said way too nicely. “You just . . . try to relax and . . . have fun. Come on, hubby.”

  “Good luck,” Johnny said. The two of them slunk away.

  Good luck? Have fun? Wasn’t that what the freaking marriage ed packet had said? Goddamn marriage ed. If it hadn’t been for that stupid-ass course, I wouldn’t have been here poised on the brink of eternal disgrace. And why did Johnny Mercer have to come? Why did Mar have to bring him? I knew she wanted me to “get to know” Johnny better, but why here? I needed to focus on the cheers, but all I could think about was Johnny Mercer out there somewhere, about to watch me make a frenzied monkey’s ass out of myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of looking idiotic in front of him. I wrapped my arms tight around my aching belly, tipped over, and laid my head in Simone’s lap. She started petting my hair. “It’s okay, Fiona. You’ll do fine.”

  I didn’t think even sunny-faced Simone herself believed it.

  CHAPTER 31

  AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, WE WERE ON DECK. The second-to-last squad—the one from Stonemount, actually—was racing out onto the floor. And I was crapping my briefs. Almost literally. I’d been to the bathroom three times so far. Apparently, my body was involved in a last-ditch effort to relieve me of my doom. As well as the entire contents of my lower GI tract.

  But now we were five minutes out. The competition had been stiffer than the muscles in my neck. The squad from Lincoln had clearly set the bar. They’d gotten the prime fifth slot, of course. They’d nailed all their jumps and tumbling sequences and done this stunt that looked like a flower blooming, or fireworks exploding, or something. Even so, I figured we stood a chance. If it had been Judith instead of me, I was sure ECHS would run away with the title. I glanced over at Todd. He was looking at me. He came over and whispered, “Something looks different.”

  The squad from Stonemount was halfway through their second routine.

  “Simone put makeup on me,” I whispered back.

  He pursed his lips. Turned his head back and forth to get a look from every angle. “It looks good.”

  I sighed. “Spare me.”

  “What’s that? Oh, I thought you said, ‘Spear me.’”

  What the hell was he talking about? “Spear me?”

  Todd stretched his arms up, laced his fingers behind his head, and got this shit-eating grin on his face. “Yeah. I figured you wanted me to bone you.”

  My mouth fell open. I could not believe he was saying this, minutes before we had to go out. “You are a disgusting, depraved caveman, Señor Shitslacks, and I would rather get beaten to death with a stick full of nails than get”—I did the quote thingy with my chewed-nail fingers—“‘boned’ by you.”

  “See?” he said with a smirk on his face.

  “What?”

  “Stick? Nail? Beat? Come on, you want it bad.”

  I gave Todd my best I’m-trying-to-swallow-back-my-own-puke look.

  “Not that I’d give it to you,” he continued, “’cause I know you like the ladies. I wouldn’t want to spoil that for you.”

  Well, that was it.

  I put on my best sex-kitten demeanor and stood up. I brought my face within inches of his and purred, “You know, in a way you’re right. Because I would sooner sleep with Amanda than sleep with you.”

  Todd faked a pained expression and brought his hand up to his heart. “Oh! Ouch.”

  “That’s right,” I said, straightening up again and smoothing over my body with my hands, pretending I actually was sexy. The squad from Stonemount finished up. “As much as I’d love to continue this revolting conversation, I’ve gotta go kick some cheerleader ass.” I lined up behind Simone and the rest of the squad.

  Todd lined up behind me. “Hey Princess,” he whispered. “You and Amanda—would I get to watch?”

  I snorted and pranced out onto the floor with everyone. Typical Todd. Any normal person would’ve given me a pep talk or some other phony thing. I hit my mark on the floor and struck ready position. Todd was far from normal, that was for sure. Then again, he’d taken my mind off the competition for a minute. Amanda called out, “Ready?” I yelled, “Okay!” and realized that Todd had done it on purpose. He’d distracted me on purpose. So I wouldn’t stress.

  The squad and I launched into Steam. I kept my arms as straight as I could and clapped and smiled like a lunatic. Then we rolled into Catch the Fever. In the huge, gravity-defying pyramid at the end, all I had to do was go down on one knee at the side, hold up Simone, and flare one hand. Done. We dismounted and positioned ourselves for the final cheer, Maximum Spirit. Only, I must have been off my mark by a foot or two.

  I started the cheer fine. Then the Russian came. I hit the jump, nailed it, even, but somehow, I landed even further to the right. Now, the next part was where Amanda, Takisha, and Tessa Hathaway do double back handsprings into back tucks. Todd and Jamar Douglass do round-off Rus
sians. Kendall Armstrong, Hillary Larchmont, Ainsley Finn, and Marissa Yee do round-off back handspring layouts. Simone does three back tucks front and center. And Christine Loving and I just do kicks on the sides. Christine only does them to balance me out. She actually can tumble pretty well.

  But like I said, I was off my mark.

  So when Amanda came toward me, mid–back handspring, and my leg was on its way up for the first of a series of forgettable kicks, somehow—and I cannot to this day account for it with anything besides pure coincidence and poor spatial comprehension—but somehow, my foot connected with the back of Amanda’s head.

  Hard.

  Her left arm also bore a good part of the blow, but there was no mistaking the feeling of my foot bones cracking against her skull. My knee crooked with the halted motion, and the inertia threw me forward. Amanda managed to plant her hands on the floor, but the next instant, the pain must have hit, because she collapsed like an accordion, clutching her head. I lunged for her, easing the rest of her body to the wood floor as best as I could with my balance off-kilter.

  I’d screwed everything up. I knew that. All I could do now was damage control. I looked into Amanda’s face for some clue of what to do. She grunted, “Up,” and I obeyed. I hooked my arms in her armpits and hoisted her to her feet as the rest of the tumblers finished. We struck the final pose with everyone else in the squad at the same exact moment. “TSSSSSS.”

  The crowd exploded. Whistles and hoots echoed through the gym. I guess the only thing more impressive than a perfect routine is a resurrected one. The applause seemed to buoy up the squad. Nevertheless, I was sure I’d lost the competition for us. Lincoln had been flawless, and we had definitely been flawed.

  We pranced back over to the bleachers to wait for the judges. As we sat, Amanda held her head in her hands. Todd sat with his arm around her and whispered in her ear. Some guy from first-aid brought over an ice pack.

  I prayed that there was such a thing as a sympathy vote.

  Finally, the head judge strode to the middle of the gym.

  Nobody moved.

  He tapped the mic.

  Announced the results.

  Lincoln took the title.

  We got second. Again.

  I sat alone on the bus home. I’d expected as much. I deserved it. But when we pulled into the school parking lot, I stood at the front and said, “I’m really sorry, everyone. I’m sorry I messed up.” What could I say? I’d become the queen of contrition lately.

  As people filed past me off the bus, some smiled, some patted my shoulder, and some kept their eyes on the floor. Takisha gave me a half-smile and a wink. Simone gave me a hug. I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure Mrs. O’Toole farted at me.

  Finally, Amanda and Todd were the only ones still there. Amanda got up from her seat and walked toward me. She still held the ice pack on her head. She stood in front of me and gave me her coldest running-of-the-bulls stare. I inhaled and prepared for the verbal lashing of a lifetime.

  “We took second,” she said. That was it. She shouldered past me and climbed down off the bus.

  I stood there dumbfounded by her cryptic statement. She meant that second place sucked, right? That she was disappointed, right? Or did she mean it as a good thing—that second place was okay and I’d helped them get there? Or did she mean that I’d sucked, but even so, they’d managed second place? I couldn’t figure it out.

  Todd sauntered up the aisle. I looked to him for some kind of clarification, or absolution; I wasn’t sure which. “Is she mad?” I asked.

  “She wanted to win,” Todd said. “And you kicked her in the head.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Let me finish. She wanted to win, but she knew we wouldn’t. To be honest, she didn’t think we’d even place. But you kicked her in the head, and we still got second. She’s not mad, Fiona.”

  I couldn’t help it; I suddenly welled up. Why the hell I would cry over whether or not I disappointed Amanda Lowell was a concept I simply didn’t have the energy to explore. But there I was. “I tried my best,” I whispered.

  “Everyone knows that,” Todd said. “She knows it. You did great, Princess.”

  Then Todd Harding, Señor Shitslacks, the no-necked Neanderthal wrapped his arms around me and hugged me.

  It was too much.

  “Your neck smells like cheese,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said, “that’s my cheese cologne. I have a whole selection. Cheddar, American, Swiss.”

  “Fromunda.”

  He laughed. We broke apart. I looked at him. He looked at me. And I felt . . .

  Nada.

  Todd Harding was hilarious, smart, brave, compassionate, and my friend. That was all. It would never be more. But I honestly hoped it was for Amanda and him. That was how cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs my life had become. I actually wanted something to happen to Amanda that didn’t involve her going bald, breaking out in boils, or getting a tapeworm. Remarkable.

  Todd and I stepped down from the bus, and he splintered off to find Amanda. I looked around for Dad, but he wasn’t there yet. One by one, everyone got into their cars and drove off. I stood there in the middle of the parking lot. With no ride home. All alone.

  Then the bus pulled away.

  Johnny Mercer was on the other side of it. Leaning on his car. Smiling at me.

  My skin filled with bees again. I smiled back.

  “Need a ride?” he said.

  CHAPTER 32

  I HITCHED MY COAT UP AROUND MY NECK AND TRIED to look as cute as possible while walking through the frigid parking lot toward Johnny. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I saw the bus. I thought maybe you’d be up for some pizza.” The sound of his voice warmed the cold December afternoon air.

  “Sounds great. Where’s Mar?”

  “She had to get home. Had a thing.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I wasn’t sure what kind of “thing” Mar could have had that I wouldn’t have known about, but I didn’t give it much thought. I was starving and pizza sounded fantastic. I pulled out my cell and called Dad to tell him not to bother rushing over to get me, since he’d obviously forgotten.

  Johnny opened the car door for me, and I got in. His car smelled like . . . cinnamon. And what—peaches? But not real peaches: that fake, flavored-candy-type smell. And was that cloves? Weird. Maybe Johnny Mercer liked to bake. In his car.

  “Sorry, it smells a little . . . fruity,” he said when he got in, as if he’d read my thoughts. Maybe I’d sniffed loudly without realizing it.

  “It’s not bad,” I said. “Kind of yummy.”

  “My mom sells candles,” he said. He hitched his thumb toward the back. Eight or nine white cases sat stacked on the seat. “It’s her car.”

  “That’s a lot of candles,” I said.

  “That’s nothing. Those are just her samples. You should see the guest room. It’s packed. The whole upstairs reeks like a card store.”

  Silence while we buckled our seat belts and Johnny started the car. The radio blasted, and his hand shot out to crank the volume down. He must’ve been listening to an oldies station, because the song “Come Sail Away” by Styx was playing. I knew this only because Styx is my dad’s all-time favorite band. He plays their vinyls all the time. So I knew “Come Sail Away” pretty well. It starts out as a ballad about throwing off the mantle of everyday responsibility for a life of freedom and adventure, but somehow ends up in an alien abduction. Whaaaatever.

  Johnny twitched his head and slipped in a Radiohead CD. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. I wondered if he was nervous because we were alone. But you know the weird thing? I felt kind of nervous myself. Which was strange. I mean, it wasn’t like a date or anything. We were just taking a ride in his car.

  “It could be worse than candles,” I said.

  “I guess.” We pulled out of the school parking lot. Once we were off school grounds, off our main social turf, away from the comfort of our familiar, sha
red environment, the whole mood changed. We were out. Out in the world. Together.

  After a couple minutes, I said, “For example, your mom could sell bat guano for fertilizer. That would be worse than candles.”

  Johnny huffed. “Yeah.” We stopped at a light. Johnny stayed quiet.

  Oh, crap. I’d tried to lighten the mood a bit, but I might as well have burped out loud. I was such an idiot. Why did I always have to turn every awkward situation into a joke? Couldn’t I just leave it alone?

  Just to make things more uneasy, “Creep” started playing. Perfect. That song pretty much summed me up. What the hell was I doing here, anyway? Wearing a cheerleading uniform. And makeup. In a car with a guy. Alone. Who did I think I was? I was nothing more than a weirdo, and I didn’t belong here.

  Then Johnny said, “You know what would be worse?”

  I inhaled uncertainly and said, “What?”

  “She could sell slop to pig farms.”

  I laughed, relieved. He was playing along. Making sure I was okay. And it dawned on me that maybe Johnny had been thinking the same thing about himself when that song played. Well, not the uniform and makeup part, but the rest. And it might be bananas, but I found the idea that we were just two weirdos together strangely comforting.

  “You know what would be worse?” I said. “She could sell owl pellets.” I warmed my hands over the heat coming out of the dashboard.

  “Owl pellets?”

  “Lumps of owl puke. Full of bird and mouse bones. Schools use them for science classes.”

  “They do not.”

  “They do.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  I snuck sideways glances at him. His straw-colored hair had that kind of long, messy look and hung just over the tops of his sideburns. I was watching his long eyelashes blink when he turned and looked straight at me. I quickly spun toward the front so he wouldn’t catch me staring, but it was too late. I knew he’d seen me.