A Non-Blonde Cheerleader in Love (24 page)

But then I’d remember all the amazing things he did for me when I first moved to Sand Dune, our first date, our first kiss, that incredible Christmas gift, the I-love-yous, and I’d cave all over again. I spent almost all day Sunday alone in my room, listening to music, taking the bracelet he’d given me on and off and going schizo.

I love him, I hate him, I love him, I hate him, I love him, I hate him.

It was all so exhausting that I fell asleep at eight o’clock. I didn’t even get to see what happened in the Sunday night NFL playoff game. I had to watch the crappy highlights on SportsCenter that morning. Just not the same.

I had no idea what to hope for when I walked out of my house on an unbearably sunny Monday morning, but as angry as I still was, I was disappointed when he wasn’t waiting for me. I trudged my way to school and when I saw Daniel in the hallway, my heart pretty much stopped beating. Then it died when he took one look at me and walked the other way.

Well. Apparently we knew where
he
stood.

Every second of the day I kept waiting for him to tap me on the shoulder and tell me in no uncertain terms that it was over. What would I do? Would I tell him that was fine by me? Would I break down in tears? Would I flip out on him? Any option was possible at any given moment.

My teachers could have been speaking in Greek. Backward. With pig latin overtones. And I wouldn’t have even noticed. It was a total waste of a day.

And then came practice.

We sat on the bleachers in complete silence. I could feel Daniel’s eyes burning holes in the back of my T-shirt.

Just break up with me already!
I wanted to scream.
Get it over with!

But I didn’t. And he didn’t. We just sat there. I glanced at Chandra and she rolled her eyes and blew out a big sigh. Yeah, we all felt it. This was going to be an interesting afternoon.

The moment Coach Holmes stepped into the gym, she paused. Probably could smell the acrid scent of hatred in the air. Then she strode over to us, all determination, and set the props box down, as always, on the floor in front of us. Like anyone was going to be writing down anything positive today.

“What happened now?” she asked, hands on hips.

I heard a collective intake of breath, but then Holmes lifted a hand, thinking the better of her question.

“On second thought, I don’t want to know,” she said, waving us off. “Normally I’d never suggest this so early in the game, but this has already been the longest season of my life, so I’m gonna do it. Let’s open the props box.”

I squirmed in my seat and a bunch of the other girls did the same. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or a bad one. I had only put a couple of comments in the box over the past few weeks. There couldn’t possibly be enough happy thoughts in there to cure the ills of this squad. I wasn’t even sure the props box could do that if it was
overflowing
with cheer.

“Come on! It might do you some good to hear the positive things you have to say about each other,” Coach said hopefully. “Tara? Want to do the honors?”

With a huff and a dubious sigh, Tara pushed herself up from her seat. She lifted the props box and placed it on the bottom bleacher. Slowly, she detached the tape from around the lid and started to open the box.

“Uh, Coach?” Daniel said, causing my pulse to go berserk.

“Yes, Healy?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Is there a problem?”

Every cell in my body sizzled. What was he going to say?

Daniel cleared his throat. “Um . . . no,” he said finally, though he sounded miserable. “Nothing.”

My brow knit together and I automatically turned around to look at him. Even if he did hate me. Even if I maybe did hate him. I had to know. What was that all about?

Daniel looked back at me, his eyes sad. I had never seen his eyes so sad. Then he rolled them up, shook his head and leaned back. He was telling me there was nothing he could do. But about what?
What?

My heart pounding uneasily, I returned my attention to Tara. I could tell that the props box wasn’t nearly as full as it had been the last time we’d opened it—the time that half the comments had suggested I dye my hair blonde for uniformity and my head had spontaneously combusted. All I could do was hope that there was a lot more positivity in there this time around.

Tara lifted out a piece of purple paper. She opened it slowly and read, “’I’m totally psyched to stunt with the guys! We’re going to be unstoppable.’ ” Her voice couldn’t have been more flat if it were a popped tire.

Coach Holmes nodded proudly. No one else moved. Whoever had written that had written it before they knew what this season would really be like.

Tara plucked out another piece of paper. “’Props to the guys for their bravery! You deserve to be Mighty Fighting Crabs!’ ”

Yeah. That one was mine. I had written it after Daniel’s confrontation with his brother in the hallway. Figured it would make us both feel better.

Behind me, Daniel sighed. I thought I heard Joe swear.

What was wrong with them? They were getting all the props and acting like it was their funeral.

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.