Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  “Because she had to go to work.”

  I shoot out of bed. “Oh my God! What time is it? Dammit! I can’t believe–” I’m searching for a reason to blame Mother, but can’t find one. I look at Liam. He’s dressed himself in a t-shirt with a muddied brown chocolate stain down the front, shorts despite the cold weather, and two different shoes, but matching socks. “We’re so late! Quick, go and change. I’ll be right there to help you.”

  “What’s wrong with these clothes?”

  “Go, Liam!” Liam runs out of the room and I throw on the first outfit I find and run down the hall as the phone starts ringing.

  I grab the phone with annoyance. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Letta. I’m down at the bottom of the hill. I was starting to worry. You really need a cell phone.”

  “Hey, sorry. I overslept. I’m so late. You’ll have to go without me if you don’t want to be late too.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll figure it out, I guess.” I drop the phone without saying goodbye and go help Liam, who’s now trying to pull on his Spiderman Halloween costume.

  I manage to get Liam suitably dressed, throw a Pop-Tart in his mouth, and get out the door five minutes before we’re due in class. Unfortunately, it’s nearly a twenty-minute walk to school, Beckan’s nowhere to be seen – not that I’d even accept a ride from him at this point – and obviously, Mother took the car to work – not that I would’ve been allowed to drive it anyway. I don’t even have a Maine driver’s license.

  I yank Liam along by the arm and he huffs and puffs, trying to keep up. I’m still fuming with silent rage. I didn’t even hear my alarm go off. Why does today have to be the day I’m late? Today’s the day I need to be perfect. Today’s the day I have to get that red lipstick just right. Today’s the day that I have to blow-dry my hair and get it into that flawless ponytail. Today’s the day I have to shove that fake smile down Mary Donovan’s throat at cheerleading tryouts. How can I do that looking like this? I want to scream.

  My oily tangled hair is in a loose messy bun at the back of my neck, several strands flying out behind me. I’d paused in the bathroom long enough to get some cover-up on my emerging stress acne, which leaves me looking tired and a little bit sick. I’m wearing a wrinkled, long-sleeved t-shirt, perfectly accentuating the wide hips I hate so much, and jeans. I feel hideous. I’m doomed.

  The wind picks up at the bottom of the hill and the cold goes right through our light jackets with the ease of a chainsaw through twigs. “Ugh!” I shout. “This is the longest walk of my life!”

  “I-I’m s-s-sorry, Rosie.” Liam says through chattering teeth.

  “Oh it’s not your fault, Liam,” I say, slowing down. It’s Mother’s, I think venomously. How could she leave us like that, without even making sure I’m up to take care of everything? “It’s my fault. I overslept. I’m sorry I’m acting like a drill sergeant today. I just feel bad you’re going to be late.”

  “You’re going to be late too!” He says helpfully.

  “I know. C’mon,” I pull him closer and put my arm around him. “Walk closer to me. Maybe I can keep you a little warmer.”

  When we’re about halfway to school, we hear the rumble of a car engine creeping up behind us. A sleek black BMW SUV pulls up on the curb next to us. Behind the slowly receding tinted window is not exactly my worst nightmare, but it’s close.

  “Hey,” Ronan shouts. “D’ya need a lift?” His hair has that perfect bed-head style again, and appears to have subtle red highlights in the early morning sunlight. His smile nearly dazzles me speechless. He’s wearing a white collared shirt under a preppy blue sweater.

  “Sure,” I say, hoping I can blame my reddened cheeks on the wind. I open the back driver’s side door for Liam and help him into the back seat. I’m about to follow him, but Ronan stops me.

  “Sit up front, Rose,” he says. “Keep me company.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I strap Liam in, ignoring his anxious look.

  I run around the front of the SUV and climb into the passenger seat. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and try to feel like my pretty self and not a greaseball.

  Ronan smiles his glossy smile at me, and this time, it looks genuine. “I’m glad tah see you.”

  “Oh?” I hear more inflection in his Maine accent than I’ve noticed before.

  “Yeah. All the girls were convinced you’d stay home sick,” he says as he pulls back out into the road without a turn signal, flipping the wheel around with flair.

  “I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction,” I say with a smile. “I’m looking forward to showing them what cheerleading is supposed to look like.”

  And there she is, the old me, just for a second. The me who knows what it’s like to make girls cry at the sound of my catty barbs, who knows what it’s like to pretend to avoid the drama, all the while making my way directly toward the headlights. The drama is so tightly woven together with the adrenaline of the competition. And it isn’t just the competition between teams that calls to me. It’s the competition between the girls. Who’s the prettiest? Who’s the bitchiest? Who’s the easiest? Who has the hottest boyfriend? Which superlative should I have? Which one could I get? Which one do I deserve?

  Back in Texas, it seemed so important to be in that scene because it was those people who mattered. That’s all I really wanted – to matter, if not to someone special, then to anyone, everyone. But it’s different here, because I certainly do matter– but I’m not happy about it at all. It’s all wrong. I’m hoping that joining the cheerleading team will somehow right things for me.

  Ronan’s laughter brings me back to attention. “Well I’ve no doubt you’ll give them a run for their money. That’s good,” he says. “Mary’s had it pretty easy for a while. She could use a good scare. Keep her on her toes.” He looks away from the road long enough to smile at me and I blush again.

  “So, is this your brothah?” Ronan looks at Liam through the rearview mirror. “Hi, little man. How are you?”

  “I’m not little,” Liam mumbles, pouting.

  “You sound different today,” I say.

  Ronan smiles knowingly. “Mary doesn’t like the accent very much.”

  “Why?” I say proudly in my best southern drawl. “Your accent tells where you’re from. You should embrace it.”

  “She thinks it makes us sound like idiots or somethin’. I have to hide it when she’s ‘round or she gets her panties in a wad.” He rolls his eyes and I laugh.

  Ronan pulls into the school’s parking lot. We’re only ten minutes late thanks to his ride. Together, we walk Liam to the elementary doors.

  “Have a good day squiggle worm,” I say and ruffle his hair. “And say thank you to Ronan for giving us a ride. That was nice of him.”

  Liam mumbles a thank you to his feet, and then as he’s about to go inside says, “Beckan’s truck is better.” Then he disappears.

  I gasp. “That little –”

  “It’s okay,” Ronan says as we walk to the other side of the building. “I get it. I have a couplah little brothahs myself.”

  “Yeah?” I smile as our pace naturally becomes slower. “How old?” A gust of wind twists around us and I inhale Ronan’s sweet cologne. It’s a sharp contrast to Beckan’s musk and cigarettes.

  “Eight and ten,” he says, jamming his hands into the pockets of his expensive leather jacket. “They can be real pains sometimes.”

  A few seconds of silence pass as we approach the high school doors.

  “So, I know why I’m late,” I say. “I overslept. Why are you late?”

  Ronan looks away for a second and then turns back to me with an embarrassed smile.

  “What?” I fiddle with a backpack strap. I can’t remember the last time I’d been nervous in front of a guy.

  “Well,” he says, “I was lookin’ for you.”

  “Really?” I say because I can think of nothing else, but I must’ve sounded threatened, because Ronan begi
ns struggling for an explanation.

  “Look, I’m not stalkin’ you, I swear.” He pauses in front of the doors, blocking them to me. “I’m curious ‘bout you, Rose. You’re just... you’re different. Somethin’ ‘bout you...” He shrugs, as if shaking the thought away. “Anyway, don’t tell Mary. She’s wicked jealous of you already.” He pulls open one of the doors and gestures with an open hand. “Aftah you.”

  ***

  “What a pig,” Letta says. “Mary would kill you if she found out, Rose. She’s vicious. Last year she caught Ronan under the bleachers with another girl and went ballistic. Beat the crap out of her.”

  I snort. Mary isn’t so different from me – which is probably why I hate her so much. “Why are they even together?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “Because they’re supposed to be,” Letta shrugs. “They’re like a local monarchy. Two people, who might care about each other in some deep, dark place, and have to be together for the good of the kingdom. They have their little not-so-secrets, just like anyone else.” Her voice quiets and her eyes go to her feet, but I don’t notice, preoccupied as I am with what’s about to happen.

  The last bell rang only moments ago and we’re slowly walking toward the gym. With each step, my pulse quickens. I try to laugh off the nervousness, reminding myself this is what I enjoy, this is what I want, but the pep talk isn’t sticking.

  “Are you ready?” Letta asks as we approach the gym doors.

  “Of course.” I try to sound confident.

  “Alright, well you don’t want to be late. Here.” Letta stoops over her bookbag and pulls out an old set of gym clothes. “I know my dwarf clothes won’t fit you quite the same, but it’s better than nothing. Anyway, the shorts will show off your nice cheerleading ass.”

  “Letta!”

  “Sorry. Alright, well I’m gonna head home. Call me when you can and let me know how it goes – if you aren’t grounded. Maybe I can finagle some arrangement with my parents and hold your mom up.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Letta,” I give her a quick hug. “You’re the best.”

  “You know it. Go get ‘em tiger!” She shouts as she walks away.

  I change clothes in the girls’ locker room. The shirt is only a little short on me, just hitting the top of my hips. The shorts turn out to be perfect. Letta’s right; they do show off my butt, and they make my legs look like long, lithe totems. As I pull my hair tightly behind my head and catch a glance of my striking looks in the mirror, I feel more confident. I pull a tube of lipstick from my bag and press the crimson to my lips, painting them generously. With a wicked smile and a tug on an eyebrow I think, Oh, I got this. I throw my shoulders back, give my reflection a wink, and strut out of the locker room.

  There are more people in the gym than I expected. Somehow I pictured my tryout to be more personal: four severe looking girls with plucked eyebrows and hair-sprayed ponytails glaring me down in an empty gym. After all, how many cheerleaders can a pathetic school this size really need?

  A group of boys in basketball uniforms dribble at the other end of the gym. Several people sit in the bleachers watching the practice, most of them parents. On this end, Mary and five other girls in cheerleading uniforms are talking to each other with their hands on their hips. There are ten other girls waiting to try out for the team, eyeing Mary and her cohorts in pathetic jealousy. Some of them don’t have a shot in hell of making the team. They’re too heavy, too plain, too short, too ugly, too desperate. I give them credit for having the guts to try out though.

  I walk toward the bleachers to sit with the possibles, aware several people are staring at me. As I sit, a group of students enter the gym and climb into to the bleachers behind me. I recognize them as the rest of the popular kids, mostly girls, who hang out with Ronan and Mary at lunch. At the tail end of the group is Ronan. He walks up behind Mary and pinches her on the rear. She jumps, at first annoyed, but then Ronan a lays thick kiss on her lips and she hugs him. Then he leaves Mary to get organized with her teammates, and makes his way to the top of the bleachers. As he passes me, he winks.

  “Good luck, Ghost Girl.” His voice is clearly mocking and I hear laughter behind me. I shoot him a dirty look, feeling betrayed after our encounter this morning. Didn’t he seek me out? Basically told me he’s interested in me? Then it dawns on me – Ronan’s showing me he knows how to play The Game, that he’s good at it, and he likes it.

  I sit patiently and watch each of the other girls try out, putting boys out of my mind. A few are okay, but most are awful. I watch Mary and her teammates laugh, sometimes trying to hide it, sometimes not. The audience behind me is even crueler, shouting jeers and insults mid-cheer. More than one girl runs out of the gym in tears.

  I should’ve known I’d be the last to go. There’s a certain amount of acid in Mary’s tone when she calls “Ghost Girl – oops. I mean, Rose Delaney” to the floor. She smirks at me and the audience whistles and catcalls, but I refuse to let it get to me. I stand before my audience with a wide, bright smile, conscious of my perfect posture.

  But I should’ve known today just wasn’t going to be my day.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Twilight Zone

  I lumber home at a snail’s pace, passing the colorful array of Victorians just before the tree line. I’m nursing a bloody nose with a gym towel and reliving my nightmare afternoon. The sun slinks below the trees and the cold air bites at my fingertips. Unlike a good Catholic girl, I’m currently cursing my existence, my stupid mother, this whole stupid town, and most of all, that evil bitch Mary Donovan.

  At the tryouts, things initially went my way. The other girls were relatively talentless. My own audition, using an award winning cheer from my days in Texas, was by far the best. I completed it with confidence, charm, and grace. But of course, this hadn’t been enough for Mary and her cronies. They wanted the girls trying out to form a pyramid.

  I wasn’t worried about my own performance in the pyramid. I’m a tall girl and have been on the bottom of many a pyramid. It’s the other girls I was worried about. If they weren’t good at balancing, or didn’t know how to dismount properly, someone could get seriously injured. Someone like me.

  As Mary directed the other girls, all I could think was, Of course! Of course, I would be the one responsible for the heaviest wannabe. One of the smaller girls was lifting the other half of this whale, while another top-heavy girl with D-cups climbed to the top. Either Mary had no idea how to form a pyramid, or she was toying with the new recruits.

  Just as I was complaining to myself and rolling my eyes at the sheer absurdity of such a pyramid, the girl at the top lost her balance. The whole pyramid toppled, and I ended up at the bottom of the pile in a tangle of elbows and knees, with the whale’s foot on my snout.

  I pull the gym towel away from my nose. The blood flow has finally stopped, but my nose smarts something awful. I’ll have a black eye for sure. Even if I manage to make it home and change before Mother gets home, I’ll never be able to explain my Marsha Brady beak. I’m definetly grounded. Again. Goodbye storm party. Goodbye cheerleading. Goodbye Texas Rose.

  “Dammit!” I yell, stomping my feet on the sidewalk. Oh, I’m going to get back at Mary Donovan for this one. I don’t know how or when, but it’s going to be good.

  I hear the familiar rumble of the O’Dwyre’s diesel as Beckan pulls up to the curb. He glances through the dirty passenger window, sees my bloody towel, and hurriedly waves me into the cabin with a look of concern.

  Still shivering in Letta’s tiny gym clothes, I don’t hesitate.

  “Good Lord, girl!” Beckan says. “What happened?”

  I look at my steadily swelling nose in the mirror on the sun visor before turning back to him. “I got stomped on by a fat chick. Sort of.”

  “Come heeah,” he says. “Let me see.”

  Beckan pulls up on the parking brake lever and slides across the seat to get a better look at my nose. For the first time since we met
, I’m not fighting an urge to pull away. His rough hands touch my cheeks gently, which begin to warm underneath them, and I get a good look at his green eyes while they survey me. They have little flecks of gold strewn throughout, making them sparkle like coins at the bottom of a fountain. A warm feeling spreads through my chest and I bite my lip.

  He turns my chin gently and inspects my nose from different angles. I pray there isn’t a giant booger hiding up there. “Well, at least it isn’t broken,” he says finally. He lets his hands drop, but doesn’t slide back behind the wheel.

  “It feels like it.” I ignore the heat rising off my body. “How do you know anyway?”

  He laughs. “Get in enough fights and you know what a broken nose looks like. It’ll be a little swollen tomorrow, and you’ll probably have a black eye.”

  “I figured.”

  There’s a moment of awkward silence while we look at each other. Beckan looks like he wants to say something, or is expecting me to. His lips look about to part when he breaks away from my gaze and returns to the steering wheel. Without another word, he releases the parking brake and puts the truck back in gear.

  I glance at the dashboard clock. I still have half an hour before Mother gets home. I’m deciding whether I should bother concocting a lie about my nose as Beckan pulls up in front of the cottage and shuts off the engine. When he doesn’t get out, I look at him.

  “I’m sorry ‘bout before,” he says. “I didn’t mean tah hurt your feelings ‘bout cheerleadin’.”

  My cheeks redden, but not in anger – in embarrassment. All of my anger at Beckan over what he’d said about cheerleading and I didn’t even make the team. Seeing myself through the lens of his apology makes me feel silly and immature.

  “I’m sorry too.” I avoid his eyes. “When you said all that stuff about cheerleaders being shallow and dramatic attention whores, it was like you were insulting me, not just the sport. I lived for cheerleading. That’s who I was back in Texas. That’s who I am. That’s the real me.”