The Madison Jennings Series Box Set

by Kiara Ashanti

  Maddie snaked through the door, then shut it. She turned and gave the coach a wide, bright smile.

  Coach Samson pursed her lips and folded her arms. “Honeydew, I’ve been in this business way too long for that to work on me—especially from the captain of the brood team.”

  “Right.” Maddie cut off the phony sunbeam, then planted herself in a chair. “Sooo, here is the thing, Coach Samson: I need a favor. Some things that are really, really important to me depend on it.”

  “Sounds a bit dramatic, but OK. What can I do you for?”

  “I need to become a cheerleader. That is, I need to be on the cheerleading squad. This year. Like, now.” A raised eyebrow from Coach Samson sent more words out in a rush. “I don’t need to be a starter or whatever the special people are called on a cheerleading squad. I just need to be on the team. In exchange, I’ll join the basketball team and work hard to become the best guard you’ve ever had.”

  Coach Samson leaned back in her chair, stroked her chin, and considered the offer. “Interesting. This have anything to do with the scuffle I yanked you out of yesterday?”

  “Little bit.”

  The well-built woman shook her head in slow circles as she mulled things over. “We did just lose Pat to an ankle injury. Hmm, OK. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you on the team, BUT you can’t just hang back. I expect you to learn the routines and put as much effort into it as you’re promising to put into basketball. I’d give you a comment about quitting, but if you’re sitting here asking, I’ll assume quitting isn’t an option.”

  “No, it is not.”

  “And there is one other thing,” said Coach Samson, her eyes narrowing. “You cut down Dorete’s boyfriend, so she is going to make being on the team hell. Know that ahead of time, because I don’t want to hear any complaints about it . . . or fights. If either happens, you’re gone. Is that clear?”

  Maddie gritted her teeth but nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Coach Samson’s predictions about Dorete proved beyond prescient. On television, the high school queen bee is stereotypically portrayed as bitchy, teasing, and openly harassing the object of her derision. Name-calling, making fun of clothes or appearance, or pulling cruel pranks are the order of the day.

  That was all so year 2000. The cruelty of the past did not compare to the modern world of social media, a camera in every pocket, and millions of high schoolers everywhere looking for the next viral teenage humiliation. None of this occurred to Maddie as she began practicing with the team. She expected dirty looks and even worse, comments. But when no massive barrage of insults or anything else occurred, she felt that things might be OK.

  As Coach Samson put her through her paces on the mats to see the full range of her tumbling skills, Maddie thought she even sensed a grudging respect. She had always been a great tumbler. If she had kept at it, the floor routine would have been her best skill. Even with eight years of rust, she felt certain she was better than many on the squad.

  Tumbling, however, was just a small portion of cheerleading, while dancing was more important. As a dancer, Maddie sucked. Formal dance moves were easy to pick up with practice. Modern dance depended more on feeling the music associated with it and being familiar with the current dance moves. Maddie had next to zero knowledge of both.

  She could watch a routine and mimic the steps. She just had no timing or pizzazz. She was wooden and awkward. Trying to synchronize her movements with the rest of the squad was just painful. Maddie knew she would need to work hard, but now, each time another squad member whispered “hopeless,” she agreed.

  Dorete took command of taking her through the routines like repeating a drying cycle. She recorded each step and walked Maddie through them. She even silenced any hint of a remark from the other girls with merely a stare or raised eyebrow. This should have clued Maddie into the fact that something was up, but it went right over her head.

  “We need it to show you where you are making your mistakes. Don’t worry, we all have video of each other,” had been Dorete’s nonchalant explanation as she held up her phone to record. Maddie’s mom had drilled into her a healthy dose of aversion to being on video, but Maddie’s innate need to do everything well overrode the aversion.

  Four days later, Tommy ran up to her before class. He nearly shoved his phone through her eye in a rush to show her a Snapchat playlist titled “Epic Dance Fails.” Every single misstep Maddie had made in practice was showcased along with scathing commentary. Worse, the playlist links were linked to several Tumblr and Instagram pages dedicated to all things Maddie.

  Anger exploded in her, followed by a stab of fear. Mom is going to freak. Nothing was more important to her mother than Maddie staying off social media and the web. She was too paranoid about someone recognizing her.

  Maddie looked for any of the team members in the hallways, but they were nowhere to be found. Dorete was in her history class though, and Maddie whirled in with fists clenched as she scanned the room looking for her. Dorete’s usual seat was empty, but Maddie located her a moment later talking to the class clown, Jason.

  Dorete looked at Maddie with a wide smirk. She nudged Jason, who quickly shoved the phone they were looking at into Dorete’s hands. Dorete gave him a withering stare, but he was the class clown, not stupid.

  Maddie marched over to them. “You think that shit is funny? Take it down right now!”

  Dorete just tapped the phone screen once and placed the phone in her back pocket. Her smirk never left her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play innocent with me! The only way those videos could have gotten online was from you or your cronies on the team.”

  “My cronies on the team?” queried Dorete. “Aren’t you on the team, dancing queen?”

  Maddie thrust her hands out, pushing Dorete against the back wall.

  “Miss Jennings, that is enough!” yelled Mr. Y Leiro. Three seconds later, he placed himself between both girls. Maddie stood with eyes blazing fire. Dorete had kept her plastic smile in place as if the shove had never happened.

  “What is going on here?” asked Mr. Y Leiro.

  Seething, Maddie turned to the teacher. “Dorete . . .” Maddie’s words failed her. She was about to say that Dorete had made fun of her on the web, but now that sounded lame. If she uttered those words, she would not get far. If Mr. Bilson were the teacher, she might have an ally, but Mr. Y Leiro was no friend of hers.

  “Dorete, what . . . Miss Jennings?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Y Leiro. Just a misunderstanding.” Maddie turned and stomped back to her desk. She tried not to turn red with anger and humiliation from the snickers that followed in her wake, but she failed.

  Despite her better judgment, Maddie allowed Tommy and Lilly to talk her into showing the websites and playlist to Coach Samson. Tommy sat with her in Samson’s office, spending too much time looking through his phone as Maddie and the coach waited for him to bring the information up.

  “I don’t know where they went. They were here earlier today,” said Tommy as he typed in the video playlist number a fourth time. Again, nothing. “Hold on.” Frustrated, Tommy clicked on his web history to pull up the website. “Dammit. It’s not here. Like it’s not even on the web anymore.”

  Coach Samson frowned. “I’m sure you saw what you say was there, but I cannot very well do anything if it’s not there now. Tommy, can you please wait outside?”

  Tommy grabbed his backpack. As he left, he gave Maddie an apologetic look.

  As soon as the door closed, Maddie started in. “Coach, you don’t need to see the damn video to know it’s exactly the type of thing Dorete would do. They must have taken the videos down and the Tumblr sites too. But it was there.”

  “Yes, I can imagine Dorete doing something like that. I also remember warning you she would make your life hell, be a bitch—yes, I know. I’m a teacher and shouldn’t be saying things like that about a student, but I’m
not blind. But, I told you I wasn’t going to do anything about it. You remember that, correct?”

  “Yes, but this is different,” said Maddie, exasperation etched in her face.

  “No, Madison, a video of you nude would be different. These are just words.”

  Maddie balled her fists. “No, that’s . . . that is not the only problem. There are . . . other issues.”

  Coach Samson folded her arms. “OK. Tell me.”

  Maddie growled loud in the back of her throat, then turned and punched a file cabinet. “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t do anything, honeydew. Suck it up and deal with it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Aden had problems. No one on the team liked him—or rather, they had stopped liking him. He was not the one who hurt Andre, but that did not matter. Andre had not fought a mob of people; he had fought one girl. That did not matter either. All that mattered was that the girl had hurt Andre while Aden had stood by and watched. Now, everyone acted like Andre’s injuries were his fault.

  Aden was sure more than a few of his teammates thought he had allowed Andre to get hurt just so he could take his spot on the team. After all, why else had he gotten into tip-top shape so fast? There had to be an ulterior motive for that.

  Unlike Maddie, who only had her horrendous dance moves splashed across the web, angry friends of Andre could literally hit Aden. Football was aggression. Football was about attacking your opponent either at the line or when they had the ball. All sorts of nasty hits could be disguised while tackling someone to the ground.

  Aden did not expect the coach to control the team. Branford had his favorites, and he loved winning. Anyone who helped him win became his favorite. That was Andre. Aden was nothing. The coach would allow the team to hit Aden how they wanted, and Branford would get his own payback through conditioning drills—drills that had made the last four days a blanket of misery. Aden had not thought anyone could push him worse than his dad had, but he was wrong. As far as Aden could see, the coach was forcing him to run and do speed drills and strength lifts to the point of abuse.

  There was nothing he could do about the exercise and running. He had to endure them. But the tackling was another thing altogether. The team could hit him as hard as they wanted, but Aden got to hit back, and he liked to hit people.

  Every time a teammate showed their displeasure with him, Aden showed his own displeasure in return. Every block became a game of trying to knock the person on his ass. Every time someone tried to tackle him, he tried to drive his shoulder right through them. He especially loved throwing his hand out into a pursuer’s face when they got too close.

  By day three, his teammates were discovering just how much Aden loved blocking someone into the ground. The sound and crunch of equipment hitting each other sent a spark of energy through him. The secondary defensive players learned how much Aden loved to ram into them when he passed the linemen and set off running down the field.

  Coach Branford noticed as well. Halfway through the third practice, he tried Aden in a few defensive schemes. He did not know all the assignments, but every time anyone on the offense had the ball, Aden somehow found a way to be involved in the tackle. It didn’t matter if they had blockers or were on the opposite side of the field, he still found his way there.

  By the fourth practice, Aden could sense a change in both the coach and members of the team, at least on the defensive side. After each hit, the number of people jumping on him dropped from almost everyone to just a few, with others hitting him in the ass and screaming, “YEAH!” Coach Branford still ran him to exhaustion with drills, but the screaming turned from berating to reluctant encouragement.

  On day four, the fumble drill changed the Galvin High universe.

  The drill was simple. The running back would fumble on purpose somewhere on the field. It was up to the defense to get on the ball. If they did, they were allowed to head straight to the locker room after practice. The offense, however, had to run a mile. If the defense did not get on the ball, then the offense went straight to the locker room and the defense got to run a mile and a half. The point: It was up to the defense to secure the ball when they caused a fumble. Coach Branford had Aden on the defensive side for the drill.

  The fumble happened at the twenty-yard line. It bounced right in front of Aden. He knew what he was supposed to do: Fall on the ball. The defensive lineman coach had screamed that into the heads of each player: Fall on the ball!

  But the fumbled ball did not roll around on the ground. It popped up and landed right in Aden’s arms. Perhaps it was because he was not used to playing defense or that he was confused with his role. Whatever the cause, Aden did not drop to the ground. He caught the ball and took off down the field. Three people in front of Aden converged on him like elephants on a stampede. He barreled through them like they were paper, leaving them flat on their backs. The third-string running back and a receiver took off after Aden. They should have caught him, but Aden was running faster than he ever thought someone his size could. He left them in the dust. Eighty yards later, he was in the end zone.

  He turned around and saw five players following him. He tensed. He thought they were going to hit him. They just screamed in jubilation as they jumped on him.

  “Alright, offense, hit the track!” yelled the coach. “And I want two miles out of you for letting yourselves get scored on. Defense can hit the showers. Not you, Aden. I want you front and center, now!”

  Aden groaned but started walking over to the coach.

  “Did I say you could walk? Do we walk anywhere on this team?!”

  A universal “No!” sounded off from all the players, prompting Aden to pick up his feet and jog over to the coach. When he got within arm’s reach, the coach grabbed his face mask and pulled him in face to face. “Maier, on a scale of one to ten, how tired are you right now? Don’t you lie either.”

  “I dunno. Six and a half, seven maybe?”

  “Outstanding. I want you to take off that helmet and those shoulder pads right now. Hurry up!”

  Aden struggled to peel the heavy pads off, but he managed to do it.

  “Good. Now I want you to line up on the goal line. I’m going to time you at the forty-yard dash right now. Go line up.”

  Coach took out a stopwatch as Aden squared up on the goal line. “Take a few deep breaths, and tell me when you’re ready.” Aden took three deep breaths, then nodded.

  “Go!”

  Aden took off, pumping his arms and feet as fast as he could. It did not feel all that fast to him, but he powered through just the same. He kept running even after he passed the forty-yard line. He ran another ten yards before slowing down. When he turned around, he was surprised to see Coach jogging toward him.

  “Damn, boy,” he said when he reached him. “You just ran a 4.740. That means fresh you could get a 4.5.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Is that good? Well, let me put it this way. Only Andre is faster, and just barely. I don’t know where you been hiding that burst of speed, but we will have to stop treating you as a short-yardage fullback. I’ve got good news and bad news for you. The good news is we are going to cancel out the short-yardage plays.”

  “I’m more concerned about the bad news.”

  “You should be. On offense you’re going to a regular RB position, or maybe tailback. I’ll have to look at the playbook, but that means you’ve got a load of plays to learn and film to watch. I want you here in the morning for the next two weeks for two-a-days.”

  Just like that, Aden transformed from being tormented by the coach for costing him a star player to being a project.

  “Yes, Coach,” he mumbled and started walking toward the locker room.

  “Maier! Where are you going?”

  “To the locker room.”

  “I just told you you’re on offense now. Get your butt on the track and give me two miles.”

  Aden groaned. I should have just fell on the damn ball.

&
nbsp; Aden dragged his feet out of the boys’ locker room, exhausted and sore. Worse, the offensive players were none too happy to learn that he would be taking over for Andre. Andre still attended most practices and had killed him a thousand times with murderous glares. Aden did not care. He had not asked for it, and there was nothing he could do about it; at least not if he did not want to hurt the team. He just had to accept it and do his best.

  The sound of a door slamming exploded through the hallway. Oh, I wonder who that could be? A moment after the sarcastic thought, Aden saw Maddie striding through the hall.

  Before he knew what he was doing, Aden found himself crossing the hall after her. He gave a spare glance back toward the girls’ locker room as he reached the T-junction. Dorete and three of her bitch posse stood at the open door with malicious grins.

  That told Aden all he needed to know. He increased his speed and caught up to Maddie just as she was about to walk outside. “Hey, Maddie, wait up.”

  At the sound of his voice, Maddie whirled around. “Aden, this would be a very bad time for you to say or do something stupid. Go away, or so help me God.”

  Anger blossomed in Aden. He did not care what he had done or not done; as far as he was concerned, it was over. She should be over it as well. “And just what do you think God is gonna do?”

  Maddie’s feet slid apart, repositioning her into a more balanced position. Aden had seen his father do something similar when he made Aden fight him.

  “Jesus, chick, I’m all for a little fight now and then, but can you give it a rest for like one damn day?” When she did not respond, Aden rolled his eyes and moved past her. “Never mind. Whatever.”

  It was his turn to slam a door as he pushed the exit door a little too hard. He heard the glass rattle and hoped it had not cracked or broken. He did not look back to check though.

  He cursed when he saw that his father was not there to pick him up. Making a swift exit would have been much better than standing outside with his thumb up his butt. Worse, no car waited there for Madison either.