Backlash (12 page)

When the bell finally rings and it’s time for tryouts, I go down to the locker rooms to change into my shorts and T-shirt. Even though I’ve lost weight, I still get really self-conscious changing in public, worrying that everyone is still looking at me and thinking,
Lardosaurus
.

“Are you new?” the girl next to me asks. “I don’t remember you on JV last year.”

“I was here at Lake Hills, but I wasn’t on JV,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she says. “What made you decide to try out this year?”

“I’ve always wanted to,” I confess. “And I finally got up the courage. Well, except that I’m so nervous now I’m not so sure about the courage part.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” she says. “My name’s Ashley, by the way.”

“I’m Lara,” I tell her as I bend to tie the laces on my sneakers.

“Well, good luck!” She heads off into the gym with a bounce in her step, looking way more confident than I feel.

I walk over to the sinks and take a final look in the mirror, making sure my hair is neatly tied up so it won’t get in my face when I do tumbles.

Bree completely ignores me when I walk into the gym. Whatever. I’m here to try out for the Lake Hills High Varsity Team, and I’m not about to let Bree Connors psych me out. I just hope I make it.

“D
ON’T FORGET
to text me,” Mom says for what must be the twentieth time since we left the house.

“Omigod, Mom, I
will
,” I snap, slamming the car door on whatever else she was about to say, because I’m so sick of her nagging me.

She cares more about me making the varsity cheerleading team than I do.

Because Mom didn’t make it as a cheerleader in high school, it’s super important to her that I do. Ever since I can remember, she’s told the story of the Mean Girls and the Evil Coach who came between her and her dream of wearing a short skirt and waving pom-poms. It was her favorite fairy tale, but without the usual happily-ever-after ending.

“But it toughened me up” was how the story ended instead. “It gave me the grit that made me the successful real estate broker I am today.”

Still, when I made JV last year you’d think I’d gotten into Harvard she was so excited. She took me out shopping at the mall and then for frozen yogurt to celebrate. I began to wonder if she’d be half as excited if I actually got into Harvard, not that there’s the slightest chance
that
will ever happen.

The whole reason she drove me today instead of making me take the bus is because Ms. Carlucci might post the list before school, and she wanted to make sure I got in early enough to check. Personally, I could have waited until lunch, but I’ll take any excuse not to have to ride the bus.

Marci and Jenny are hanging out on the wall near the front door, playing Fashion Firing Squad before the bell rings.

“Hey,” I say, settling my butt on the cool concrete next to Marci.

“What’s up? Awesome day, right?” Marci says. “Well, it would be if I didn’t have to look at Maribel Agesta’s muffin top explosion.
Ugh.
”

“Seriously,” Jenny groans. “Doesn’t she look in the mirror before she leaves for school?”

I wonder what they said about my outfit before I walked into earshot, or if being their friend gives me a pass from judgment. The thing is, even if Marci and Jenny aren’t judging me, I know there’s always someone at our school who will. You walk into the wild jungle of judgment every time you open the door to the student center.

“Check out Tim Daniels. He’s expecting a flood,” Marci says. “I think he’s been wearing the same pair of jeans since sixth grade.”

“And that shirt — did he get it at
Nerdcrombie
?”

Marci laughs at Jenny’s lame joke. They both look at me because I’m not laughing. They expect me to say something — to agree, to make fun of him, too.

The thing is, even though he wears the same pair of high-waters every day and he’s kind of strange, Tim’s okay. Last year when I was struggling with algebra, he helped me with my homework in study hall a bunch of times.

Still, if it’s a choice between Tim Daniels and me, guess who’s getting thrown under the bus?

I giggle, but it’s a couple seconds too late.

“What’s with you this morning, Bree?” Marci asks.

“Oh, I’m just nervous because the lists go up for cheerleading today,” I tell her, even though that’s not what’s really the matter.

I wonder: Is there anyone I can tell that sometimes I want to crawl out of my own skin and be a different person than who I am? Be someone other than the Breanna my mother wants me to be?

“Ohmigosh, when?” Jenny squeals. “I’m sure you’ll make it.”

“Not sure,” I mumble. “Maybe before school. Maybe during the day. Maybe not till after school.”

“Why aren’t you there checking now?” Marci asks.

I don’t have a good answer. So I pick up my book bag and stand up.

“I guess I better go and look before the bell rings.”

“Good luck!” Jenny calls after me.

I’m not sure if I want it. Because I secretly half hope I don’t make it, even though it would suck if I didn’t because it would just give Mom another reason to think I’m not good enough. What I really want is to make it, and then tell Mom I’m not going to do it. That I’m going to try out for the dance team, no matter what she says.

If I could actually get up the courage to do it.

I can see from down the hall that there’s nothing posted on the cheerleading trophy cabinet yet, so I turn around to head to my first-period class. Lara Kelley is coming down the hallway, obviously going to check if the lists are up. I could tell her that they aren’t yet, but I don’t. I just nod in her general direction and keep walking.

I can’t believe we were best friends once, running back and forth between each other’s houses like there were no doors to stop us and sharing secrets up in the tree fort. I’d been so excited when Mom sold the Kelleys that house and told me a girl my age was going to live there. Dad always used to look over at the big oak tree in our backyard when we had cookouts and say how it would be great for a tree fort. Mom would laugh and say she’d never trust us in a structure that Dad built up in a tree. It was different somehow when Lara’s dad said the same thing. Dad said, “That’s what I’ve always said,” and Mom suddenly changed her mind. Our dads worked together on the tree fort for months, and all these years later it’s still standing.

That’s more than you can say for our friendship. Everything is different now. Awkward. Ever since seventh grade when Lara got all crazy and depressed, and I had to spend night after night listening to her go on about her awful life. High school gave me a chance to break free.

Now she’s lost all this weight and tried out for cheerleading. Why is she trying to force her way back into my life? I’ve made other friends now. Like, I’m happy for her that she’s managed to get her act together and all that, but I’ve moved on. Can’t she get a life of her own?

Mom texts during second period, asking if the list is posted yet.

No. STOP. I’LL TXT YOU! : /

I press Send.

Shouldn’t she be busy selling houses or doing her volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity or whatever? She should know better than to text me during school anyway.

I’m trying to pay attention while Ms. Blackstock reads from
Julius Caesar
, “ ‘A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities, but Brutus makes mine greater than they are.’ ”

She tells us that means Caesar thinks friends are supposed to put up with their friends’ faults, but that Brutus exaggerates all of Caesar’s.

It makes me wonder if that’s how Lara feels about me. It’s not that I didn’t feel bad about pulling away from her when we got to high school. But seriously, I’m not exaggerating what she was like in middle school. The girl was totally cray-cray.

How long do you put up with someone’s faults before you get sick of it and give up? I totally get why Brutus stuck it to Caesar. If you ask me, Brutus got a raw deal. The play should have been named for him.

I check to see if the list is up again during lunch. It’s not. I send Mom a text telling her that so she doesn’t text me during class again.

What’s the matter with Coach Carlucci? This is her JOB, Mom texts back. Maybe I’ll call her.

NO!!!! DON’T!!!!!!!!!!!!! I text back.

Ugh. My mother isn’t just a Tiger Mom. She’s a freaking Great White Shark Mom. She should have her own week on the Discovery Channel.

By the time the end-of-school bell rings, Mom’s texted me three more times, even though I told her I’d text her as soon as I knew anything. You’d think it was her who was waiting to hear if she was going to make cheerleading, not me.

When I walk down to the trophy cabinet, there’s already a bunch of girls hanging around the list. Lara is one of them, and I hear her let out a shriek as I approach the group. I’m not sure if it’s of disappointment or excitement, but then she turns around and starts jumping up and down. It makes my stomach clench tighter as I draw closer to read the names.

They’re in alphabetical order and … there’s no
Connors
. It skips from
Chapman
to
Dresner
. I read it twice, just to make sure. There’s
Kelley, Lara
. But no
Connors, Breanna
.

I can’t believe it. Am I being punked?
Lara
made the squad and
I
didn’t? This is just wrong.

Lara is talking to Ashley Trapasso, a junior on the team, and she is all giggly and happy. As if she senses my gaze, Lara looks in my direction and laughs.

Seriously?! After all the time I spent listening to her whine about how much her life sucked, she has the nerve to laugh at me when I get cut from cheerleading? I turn on my heel and head out of there. I feel my phone buzzing — probably another text from the Great White Shark. I ignore it. I can barely handle myself right now. The one thing I
do
know is that someday, somehow, I am going to make Lara pay for laughing at me when my life sucks after all those times I listened to her whine when hers did.

When I get home I fling myself onto my bed and blast music and decide to repaint my nails. I can’t believe I didn’t make the team, even if deep down, there’s a part of me that’s relieved, because now I have an excuse for not doing cheerleading. But I just can’t believe Lardo made the team over me. Something has to be seriously wrong with the universe for that to happen.

My phone is buzzing constantly. Mom’s probably flipping out, wanting to know if I made the team. But I’m not up for the sigh, the rant, the way she’ll make this all about her. Because this isn’t about her. It’s about me. And Lara. And her laughing at me for getting cut. This is about me figuring out how to get my revenge for that, somehow. The question is: How?

“Bree!” my brother shouts from downstairs. “Pick up the freaking phone! Mom wants to talk to you!!”

Guess I can’t avoid talking to the Great White Shark Mom any longer. Time to be reminded of what a disappointment I am. Always
such fun
.

“Yeah,” I say when I pick up the phone.

“Breanna, your father and I don’t pay for you to have a cell phone so you can play stupid apps. We pay for it so we can communicate with you when we need to. That means you pick up the phone when we call and answer our texts when we text. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“So? What happened? Why have you been avoiding me?”

I take a deep breath and exhale the answer into the phone. “BecauseIdidn’tmakeit.”

“What do you mean you didn’t make it?”

“I mean, I’m not a varsity cheerleader. I got cut.”

“That can’t happen!” Mom shouts into my ear. “I paid for all those camps! You were on junior varsity! You can’t get cut!”

“Apparently I can, Mom,” I point out. “My name wasn’t on the list.”

“Did you go to Coach Carlucci and ask her why?” Mom asks.

“No,” I say.

“Why not?” Mom asks. She’s sounding increasingly irritated, and I can tell that she’s winding up for a lecture.

“I didn’t feel like it, okay? I just wanted to come home.”

“You didn’t feel like it?”
Mom repeats in a scathing tone. “You have to start advocating for yourself, Breanna. You’ll never get anywhere in life if you stay a doormat.”