A Non-Blonde Cheerleader in Love

by Kieran Scott

  Tara picked up another piece of paper. When she unfolded it, her face went white so fast, I actually thought she was going to crumple like a tissue.

  “Tara?” Phoebe said.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  “’Of all the super sexy squad members, I think I’m the super sexiest,’ ” she read.

  “What?” Coach said.

  Tara held up the paper and Coach snatched it out of her hand. As she scanned the page, her forehead vein started to throb. Tara grabbed another piece of paper from the box.

  “ ’Rah, rah, rah. This is dumb as rocks,’ ” Tara read. “’Rah, rah, rah. The props box sucks.’ ”

  “All right, who did this?” Coach said, nearly shaking. “Who did this?!” The tendons in her neck sprouted and I cringed. Meanwhile, Phoebe, Felice and Sage got up and dove into the box.

  “ ’I think we should all try real, real hard to get our GPAs up to one point five this year’?” Felice read. “Nice stereotype, morons. I’m up for valedictorian, in case you hadn’t heard.”

  “Yeah! And Jaimee’s, like, the number-one math geek in the state!” Phoebe interjected.

  “Thanks. I think,” Jaimee said.

  “’Let’s all get pom-poms permanently tattooed on our butts!’?” Sage read.

  “’Props to Tara Timothy! Miss Anal Retentive U.S.A.,’ ” Tara read.

  Someone behind me snorted a laugh. Suddenly everyone was yelling and snatching paper out of the props box. This was way bad. No one messed with the props box. Even I knew that and I wasn’t the box’s biggest fan.

  “What did you do?” I asked through my teeth, whirling around on the guys, who at least had the decency to appear chagrined. Everyone except Terrell, who was trying to hide a smile. “Oh, wait. Don’t tell me. You were just having fun,” I said pointedly.

  Suddenly the shrill blare of Coach Holmes’ whistle split the room, echoing off the high rafters and freshly waxed floor and slicing through my eardrums. Everyone fell silent and looked at Coach. Littering the floor were dozens of tiny scraps of paper.

  “Enough!” Coach shouted, whipping the box away from the crowd. She tossed it on the ground, where it fell on its side, spilling the remainder of its contents out on the basketball court’s sideline. “I have never been so disgusted,” she said, seething. “You!” she shouted, pointing up at the guys. “Don’t even think about trying to claim innocence for this one. I know that these girls did not disrespect our tradition in this way.”

  I sank lower in my seat, away from the death glare of Coach Holmes. All around me the other girls looked stunned and miserable and angry. Even Sage, Lindsey and Karianna were all clenched.

  “I told you guys how important this props box was to the team and what did you do? You ruined it for everyone,” Coach continued. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  No one spoke. No one even moved a muscle. I wouldn’t have been surprised if everyone had ceased to swallow, breathe and blink.

  “Great. Very mature and manly of you to own up to what you’ve done,” Coach said sarcastically. “You know what? Practice is canceled. I can’t even be around you people right now. Everyone go home.”

  I glanced uncertainly at Tara. She gaped at Coach Holmes. Coach had never canceled a practice before. Not for as long as I’d known her and apparently not for as long as Tara had known her either. Which was a long time.

  “And you four? You think about whether or not you actually want to be a part of this team,” Coach continued, pointing a trembling finger at the guys. Trembling with anger. Severe, scary, explosive anger. “I’ll expect each of you to answer that question personally to me tomorrow. And if you think I’m kidding, just test me and see what happens.”

  She grabbed up the fallen box, turned it upside down until it was completely empty and stalked out of the gym. As the door slammed behind her, a huge chasm opened in the gym floor and swallowed us all whole.

  Well, not really. But we might have been better off if it had.

  14

  I was sitting at my desk in my aqua blue bedroom, my geometry book open in front of me, staring out the window at the leftover Christmas lights on the house across the street, when the phone rang. My heart springboarded up into my mouth as I scrambled to grab it and check the caller ID. I didn’t recognize the wireless number displayed there. All I recognized was the fact that it was not Daniel.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Annisa? It’s Sage.”

  Huh. Apparently there was a first time for everything.

  “Sage?”

  “Yeah. Can you get a ride over here?” she asked. She sounded tense. Tense and wired and conspiratorial. I sat up straight and put my feet flat on the floor. My mischief radar hummed forebodingly.

  “What?”

  Sage grumbled in the back of her throat. “Can you get a ride over here?” she repeated impatiently. “To my house? Like, now?”

  I blinked and looked around my room, figuring I’d see an oversized penguin sitting in my bed or Mickey Mouse playing cards with my third-grade teacher. Both recurring and freakish dreams I’d been having since I was about eight. I saw nothing but my messy bedspread and half the contents of my closet strewn across the floor. Total normalcy.

  “I guess. Why?” I asked.

  “I’m calling a meeting,” Sage said. “I have an idea of what we can do about the guys.”

  Okay. This was making no sense whatsoever. I pinched my arm and then gasped for breath as tears stung my eyes. Smart move.

  “What we can do about the guys?” I asked.

  “You know. For what they did with the props box,” Sage said. “It’s called revenge?” she added. “I believe people from Joisey know something about the concept.”

  Great. More mobster jokes. Like I hadn’t heard fourteen thousand of those since I’d moved here. Thank you, HBO.

  But wait. Was she serious? Sage Barnard, Flirt Addict Numero Uno, wanted to get back at the guys? Sheesh. Apparently these people really did take their props box seriously. Which just made it all the more irritating that no one had freaked out when someone had thrown in the highly inappropriate suggestion of dyeing my hair.

  Okay. Bygones. I was over that. Really.

  “But you like the guys,” I said, thoroughly confused.

  Sage clucked her tongue with obvious impatience. In the background I heard a doorbell ring and a bevy of familiar voices greet each other.

  “Will you just get over here? Everyone’s either here already or on their way,” Sage said.

  Figures she would have called me last. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” The line went dead before I even had a chance to say good-bye.

  Unfortunately, my parents were not, in fact, home. They had to go to some black-tie event at the upscale department store where my mother worked as a personal shopper. (In other words, my father was in his own personal hell.) There was only one other option if I didn’t want to be left out of this latest squad meeting. One neither of my parents would have liked.

  I got up, walked down the hall and knocked on my brother’s door. He swung it open two seconds later.

  “What’s up?” he asked. On the floor of his room were stacks of books and CDs. The kid was organizing. His break needed to end soon or he was going to lose it. Lucky for him he was headed back to class on Monday. And, I’m sure my parents were hoping, another brand-new makeover.

  “Bored?” I asked.

  “You have no idea,” he replied.

  “That motorcycle of yours have a passenger’s helmet?” I asked.

  Gabe’s eyes went wide. “You want a ride?”

  “Just call me Biker Babe,” I said.

  “Whoo-hoo!” Gabe shouted, grabbing his leather jacket and slamming his bedroom door as he emerged into the hall. “Let’s roll!”

  By the time I got to Sage’s house, I was a total Harley hussy. That thing was awesome. It was so cool, leaning into turns, the wind in my . . . well . . . face. (All m
y hair was tucked under the helmet.) And my brother wasn’t kidding. He was a responsible rider. I wished my dad would cave in and go for a ride with him already. Then maybe he could stop worrying about Gabe. And, you know, let me ride with him.

  “Now remember, if anyone asks how I got over here, I carpooled,” I said as I lifted off the helmet.

  “You got it,” Gabe replied. He reached out his hand and I slapped it, but instead of letting go, he grabbed my fingers up and moved them through an increasingly intricate handshake that ended with a fist pound.

  “Right on,” I joked.

  Gabe rolled his eyes and I jogged to the front door as he revved up and roared off.

  “Finally!” Sage said, whipping open the door before I could even ring the bell.

  “Good to see you too, Sage,” I replied.

  “Come on. Everyone’s waiting.”

  She led the way into the living room, calling out to everyone that I had arrived and we could start. As soon as all the squad members—the female ones only, of course—were gathered in her white-on-white living room, Sage dimmed the recessed lights and stood up in front of us. Apparently, she really was serious about this revenge plan of hers. Deadly serious. Her attitude had even affected her fashion choices. Her hair was flattened and hung long and straight down her back, and she wore a no-nonsense black turtleneck. I had never seen Sage wear black before in my life.

  “What is this?” Chandra asked, pulling her foot up on the couch. “Are we having a meeting or are you putting on some kind of play?”

  A few people giggled.

  “Feet off the furniture!” Sage snapped.

  Instantly, Chandra’s sneaker hit the wood floor.

  “Her mom is kind of a freak about stains,” Phoebe whispered.

  I gulped. No wonder neither Sage nor Whitney had ever held a squad gathering before. The place was like a museum with all its glass cases full of vases and artifacts, strategic lighting and white walls. It must have been torture growing up in a place like this. When I was six, I had drawn a mural for my parents on the dining room wall with indelible ink. After an initial screech of shock from my mom, my parents had decided to leave it there as a conversation piece and had actually shown off about my creativity to their friends. I kind of had a feeling markers were verboten in this house. And Play-Doh and fruit punch. Pretty much anything with a color.

  “Now, the reason I have called you all here is because of the shocking events of this afternoon,” Sage said, standing before us with her hands behind her back. “The men on our squad took what was once a beautiful tradition and made a mockery of it.”

  A beautiful tradition? Had everyone forgotten that the first-ever SDH props box had been cracked open just last season? Apparently. Because angry murmurs filled the room. I felt like I was at some kind of union meeting. Were we going to form a protest or something?

  “All they have done since joining our squad is disrupt it,” Sage continued.

  “Talk about jumping ship,” Chandra whispered. “I just got splashed.”

  I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. It seemed that if Sage was going to switch sides, she was going to do so full-force. And apparently no one was going to question her conversion. I think everyone was too livid at the guys to really care.

  “And it is my feeling that we can no longer tolerate such behavior. We have to teach these guys a lesson,” Sage said, her blue eyes glinting. “And I have a plan.”

  Tara sat forward in her seat in eager anticipation. I swear I heard several people panting. We waited for Sage’s evil mind to reveal its blackest depths. And waited. And waited.

  “Well?” Tara said finally.

  Sage slowly smiled, savoring her moment as the center of our tiny little universe.

  “Wednesday afternoon is the pep rally for the West Wind rivalry games,” Sage said. “I suggest that if the guys think they’re so cool and fabulous, that we let them have it.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Have what?” I said finally.

  Sage rolled her eyes in impatience, like I was sporting an IQ of ten. But to be honest, I don’t think anyone else in the room got it either. So who was the low-IQ chica here, I ask you?

  “The pep rally!” Sage said, spreading her arms wide. “Let them get out there and try to run the thing on their own. They think cheerleading is so easy and mockable? They think they’re so freakin’ great? Let them show the whole school!”

  I felt a thrill of excitement sprout up in my chest. Talk about an ego check. Terrell, Daniel, Joe and Steven would have no idea what to do out there without us. This would totally show them how difficult cheerleading really was—that we’re not just a bunch of silly girls with no brains. Sage really was an evil genius.

  “Oh, this is perfect!” Jaimee said, clasping her hands together. “They won’t know what hit them!”

  “They’re gonna be totally humiliated,” Tara said gleefully. “I love it.”

  And then, I felt a little squeeze of doubt. They would be totally humiliated. The entire school would be watching as they fumbled and stumbled and were completely confused. And as a person who had humiliated herself publicly on more than one occasion, I knew how horrible that felt. Was that really a fair punishment?

  “They deserve it after everything they’ve done,” Chandra said in my ear, sounding very much like my shoulder devil. All around us people schemed and planned and laughed. “Don’t go soft on us now.”

  “What are you, a mind-reader?” I asked, startled.

  “It’s written all over your face,” Chandra told me. “I know he’s your boyfriend, but do you think he had you in mind when he crashed our party and let Terrell take all those awful pictures? No. We have to get them back.”

  Damn. Chandra would make a fab shoulder devil. Because she was right. After everything, the guys really did need a wake-up call. They couldn’t continue to disrespect us and everything we cared about and get away with it. And public humiliation would definitely be a fine wake-up call.

  Besides, it wasn’t like I was doing something to Daniel. It was all of us, together, teaching all of them a lesson. And if I wanted to further rationalize it (which I did), Daniel had been avoiding me for the last forty-eight hours—averting his eyes, walking away from me in the hall. I was pretty sure he didn’t even want to be my boyfriend anymore and yet he was keeping me hanging. He didn’t even have the decency to tell me. So what exactly did I want to protect him for?

  “So? Whaddaya say?” Chandra asked.

  I say . . . I say . . .

  “I’m in,” I told her with a resolute nod.

  “Yes!” She wrapped her arm around me and gave me a squeeze.

  Too bad I wasn’t quite as excited as she was. Even though part of me knew the guys deserved what they had coming to them, I knew it was going to take every ounce of self-control I had in me not to warn Daniel, and not to die of overwhelming guilt in the process.

  When Bethany opened the door on Wednesday morning to find me standing in front of her in my blue, yellow and white uniform, she looked like she might throw up.

  “Hi!” I said, waving my dance pom.

  “Okay. It’s too early for this,” she said. Already the door was swinging in toward my face.