“Tell me what you’re thinking right now.” Jordan watched me, his expression curious. I wanted to tell him and I would tell him, but all I really wanted to do was lean in and kiss him.
He’d been so sweet, so protective of me…
But then the bell rang, interrupting my fantasy kiss.
“Can I walk you to your next class?” Jordan offered, standing up and adjusting his backpack straps. They looked tiny on his broad, tan shoulders.
“Sure.” I smiled, the panic I’d felt earlier gone but not forgotten. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still couldn’t help wondering if Brittani was the one who killed Genevieve. She was known to do whatever it took to reduce the competition, including dropping a girl from a stunt last year. That drop resulted in a broken leg that took nearly a year to heal correctly.
Jordan dropped me off at Home Room. “Good luck at tryouts today!” he shouted, smiling so sweetly it made my stomach drop, like the good kind you get when you fall from the peak of a rollercoaster…
And in all of the chaos, I’d nearly forgotten about tryouts…
Chapter Eleven
The Sociopath
Violets are blue.
Roses are red.
Genevieve lost her nose.
Now you’ll lose your head…
Chuckling to myself, I tucked the note inside the locker, pleased with my latest poem. What do you know? I can be smart and artsy.
If they thought they could get rid of me by sending that moron Ashleigh away, they were dead wrong…not only will I eliminate the competition, but I’ll cut them up.
One. By. One.
Chapter Twelve
Amanda
Despite my concerns about Brittani’s possible guilt, I was still excited about tryouts. This is what I’d been waiting for all summer! Not only was it my chance to be a “veteran” on the cheerleading squad, but it was our first year entering the 2016 All Star Cheer Competition in Dallas, Texas.
Everyone knows it’s the most coveted cheer trophy in the country, and I had to make the team so I could get a chance to compete, and because I wanted to cheer for Jordan.
Coach Dolly Davis’s voice rang out over the intercom, notifying all cheerleading hopefuls that the first day of tryouts would be held outside next to the track.
Because of Genevieve’s crime scene, I thought, nervous jitters rushing back to the pit of my stomach.
At the sound of the bell, I made my way outside to the track, eager to run or tumble or practice lifts…anything besides thinking about Genevieve.
The boys’ basketball team were running on the track. I immediately recognized Ronnie, Genevieve’s boyfriend and my ex, standing with the basketball coach, Coach Purnell, on the sidelines. Unlike Mariella’s phony act this morning, it was obvious Ronnie had been up all night last night, and that he’d been crying.
His cheeks were raw and red, and he had ugly bluish-black circles beneath his eyes.
Ronnie’s an asshole. He screwed me and Dakota over last year, but at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He obviously had nothing to do with Genevieve’s death if he was this distraught over losing her.
A group of girls were clustered in the grassy middle of the track. I made my way toward Dakota and Sydney. They smiled as they saw me coming, waving me over excitedly.
I guess Dakota’s not mad at me anymore. That’s one good thing, I suppose…
But then a flash of white-blonde hair intersected me. Winter stopped in front of me, slightly breathless and sweaty, but glistening in the way that only a rare breed of girls can do when they’re working out.
“Hey, girly!” She jogged in place.
I tried my best to smile back, sneaking a peek at Dakota’s sour face behind her.
“Hey, there.” I kept walking, heading toward my two best friends.
“I’m so excited, aren’t you?” Winter asked, tightening her ponytail as she fell in step beside me. I had no choice but to lead her straight to Dakota.
I suddenly felt awkward and irritable. It’s not my problem if Winter and Dakota have history. I have enough on my plate without their childish drama.
I plopped down in the grass, spreading my legs in a V and raising my arms up high above my head to stretch them. Dakota and Winter stared at each other, having their own version of a Mexican standoff.
“Talk to you later,” Winter mumbled to me, walking toward a different group of girls.
Dakota smiled, seemingly triumphant. For what? Being a bitch? I rolled my eyes, joining my legs together and bending over until my face was touching my kneecaps.
“Did you notice all the new girls?” Sydney plopped down on the ground beside me, leaning back and relaxing in the grass. That girl never stretches. I’ll never understand how she doesn’t pull a muscle or sprain a leg.
I looked around at the other girls, surprised to realize most were strangers. There were five new girls—probably freshman. Also, I couldn’t miss that tangled mess of red hair—Mariella Martin was here, of course.
“Genevieve would have wanted me to fill her shoes. I have to try out, in honor of her memory…” She was still maintaining that bullshit?
“Ugh,” I muttered, standing up to jog in place.
“Tell me about it. She’s such a fake,” Dakota snapped, staring at me upside down from where she was bent over in a backbend.
“The last thing Genevieve would have wanted was for her to get a spot on the team,” I muttered, noticing a dark-haired freshman girl standing next to Winter. She looked familiar, but she had to be new to Harrow…she definitely wasn’t in any of my classes…
Suddenly, the new girl turned, running across the grassy midway. Much to my shock and dismay, she performed a running double full flawlessly.
“What the—?” Dakota dropped from her backbend and stared—as did everyone—surprised to see such a difficult stunt performed by a freshman. By anyone, in fact. I don’t think I’d ever seen a double full, unless it was on YouTube or TV.
When she finished, the girl casually walked back over, prepping for another tumbling stunt. A few of the new freshmen girls excitedly clapped for her. “Who is she?” I asked, still watching the girl in wonderment.
“That’s Lauren,” Sydney said, staring at the girl as she performed another flawless tumble—this time a full layout. Her landing was perfect, the technique poised and strong.
“Lauren is in a few of my A.P. classes,” Sydney added.
“But isn’t she a freshman? I’ve never seen her before,” I mused.
Sydney nodded. “She was supposed to be a freshman, but she’s way smart. So smart, they let her skip ninth grade. That girl is smart and funny. Pretty and cute. Not to mention she’s dating the hottest new guy in school, Jordan.”
“Jordan? Jordan who?” I whipped around to look at my Jordan, running with the boys on the track. His eyes were on Lauren, watching her perform a set of perfectly formed toe touches.
Her shoulder length black hair glistened in the sun. Damn. That girl is hot shit, I had to admit.
Hearing about her and Jordan made me want to puke on my shoes. Now my stomach felt like it would at the end of the rollercoaster ride—nauseous and regretful for riding in the first place…
Now I know why she looks familiar, I thought, remembering the random girl riding home with us after school yesterday. I was so in shock, too confused, and preoccupied to realize she might be his girlfriend…
Thinking a guy like him was single…so stupid of me!
“Yep. That Jordan,” Dakota chimed in. Was it just me or did she seem to enjoy the fact that I was jealous?
Relieved to see Coach Davis crossing the track, I huddled with the other girls. Screw Jordan. I just needed to focus on tryouts. Especially now that I know how tough my competition will be this year.
Chapter Thirteen
After respectfully saying a few words to mourn Genevieve, Coach Davis divided us up into teams, having the veterans teach the new girls a group ch
eer just like we did last year. Only this year, I was one of the veterans. Which felt pretty cool, I must admit.
With Genevieve gone—dead, I corrected myself—there were only three of us veterans. Me, Dakota, and Sydney. After learning the cheer, Coach Davis announced the girls each of us would be teaching.
I had Mariella Martin—yuck. And then I had two perky freshmen—Gabriella and Blakely. The four of us made up a group team. Dakota got stuck with the new superhuman freshman—or sophomore crossbreed and stealer of my new crush, Lauren, as well as one other freshman named Khloe. Sydney got the leftover girls, Libby and Winter.
I set to work, teaching the new girls and Mariella the complicated cheer. First, I demonstrated it for them, and then I taught them one segment at a time. The routine seemed harder than last year’s, with a complicated set of dances moves, a lengthy chant, and then a complicated lift at the end. The hard part would be nailing our standing back tucks at the very beginning of the routine. Gymnastics wasn’t my strong suit, and by the looks of the faces of the two freshman girls, it wasn’t quite theirs either.
We did three full run-throughs before Dakota wandered over. “My group doesn’t need my help. Lauren, the super freak, is making me look like the amateur over there…”
Mariella and Blakely lifted Gabriella perfectly, holding her up in the stunt with ease. I was the back spotter, and barely listening to Dakota.
“These freshmen are freakishly good…but at least this year we don’t have to worry about Brittani dropping girls from the lifts…” Dakota added.
We did a three count in unison, then performed a fancy cradle toss to lower the teeny tiny freshman Gabriella from the lift. She was cheerful and perky, not to mention a great flier for stunts. Dakota, who was the main flyer last year, seemed to be thinking the same thing I was…this girl could be her replacement. Lauren was only one of many new girls to worry about…
Dakota chewed on her lower lip nervously.
“Let’s take a quick break then start back from the top in five minutes,” I told the girls, looking around at the other group teams.
Speaking of Brittani…
“Where is she?”
“Where’s who?” Dakota asked, picking at a jagged thumbnail. She still looked nervous.
“Brittani, that’s who. Why isn’t she here?”
Dakota gave me a strange look. “Remember last year? She got cut from the team, silly…”
“I know that! I mean, she’s supposed to be trying out today. Apparently, her mom said it was okay to come back. And she was in the gym right before tryouts the other day…right before I found Gen—”
But before I could finish and right on cue, Principal Barlow came sprinting across the school parking lot, straight toward the track and field. Normally prim and poised, she was screaming, her hair wild and voice frantic.
“Help me! Someone! Please God, help me!”
We stared at her in wide-eyed confusion. Only Coach Davis jumped to action, running to meet the principal halfway. Fast, desperate words were exchanged and then Coach took off running inside, followed by Principal Barlow.
Basketball players and cheerleading hopefuls…all of us, took off running behind them.
I didn’t know what was going on exactly, but we’d all heard Principal Davis’s words to Coach Davis. They were clear as day…
“Her throat has been slit! Someone tried to kill my daughter!”
Chapter Fourteen
I watched from the outer edges of the crowd, my throat constricting and my temples throbbing. Brittani was lifted onto a stretcher by several paramedics. Her mother—Principal Barlow—kept her hands on her daughter’s neck, trying to stop the bleeding.
When the gurney was gone, I stared at the pool of blood on the floor. Brittani’s eyes were open but who knew if she’d survive. After all, she’d lost a lot of blood.
Blood…
I love you, Cookie…that’s the last thing my dad said before he took two bullets in the chest. I saw it from the living room window.
Come out with your hands in the air! That’s what I heard outside…right before he left.
I’m so sorry, Cookie. He was covered in blood. Spatter on his shirt, sweatpants, and shoes. His neck had these tiny wrinkles, little creases filled with dry blood. And his hands. They were covered the worst.
What did you do, Daddy?
He held me, smearing blood on my chest with his own.
I made mistakes. Huge mistakes. I’m sorry. Just know that I’m sorry, Cookie…
After he was gone…I’d stared down at my hands and Tinkerbell t-shirt, now soaked with a stranger’s blood.
And that’s when I heard the gunshots and saw my father hit the ground…
I shuddered, body quivering…my mind drifting back to the present—another bloody scene. More horror. They don’t call it Horror High for nothing…
“Someone attacked her from behind and attempted to cut her damn head off.” I don’t know who said it; there was a group of freshman boys behind me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe again. Coach Davis corralled us all back outside, barking orders as more police sirens rang.
Detective Simms arrived with nearly six other officers.
Probably the entire police force of Harrow Hill, I realized.
“Everyone stay outside!” he barked, causing me to jerk, then stiffen.
Was the psycho who did this still in the building?
Dakota clutched my hand in hers, squeezing it hard. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
No, it won’t. Nothing will be okay. Someone cut off Genevieve’s nose. And now someone attempted to slit Brittani’s throat!
I wanted to scream those words out at the top of my lungs, waking up all these stupid idiots.
“Guys, come over here, please.” It was Coach Davis talking, using her commanding used-to-be-a-cheerleader pep voice.
“The police are here. We’re going to be okay. And Brittani’s in good hands. She’s probably already getting checked into Harrow Memorial.” The basketball coach, who was also Coach Davis’s fiancé, was talking to the boys. I could hear him giving a similar speech.
Is this supposed to be a pep talk?
Voices buzzed, like a steady hum of pissed off bees. The way Coach Davis said it, it sounded like Brittani was going into the hospital for a minor checkup.
Someone tried to cut her head off, for Christ’s sake!
“Coach Davis, will we still have tryouts tomorrow?”
Without turning around, I knew Mariella was the one asking. “You selfish little bitch,” I muttered before I could stop myself. I stared at her, ready to smack her if I had to, but Coach Davis grabbed me by the arm.
“What Amanda is trying to say,” she said, giving me a warning glance, “is that tryouts are the last thing you all should be worried about. At this point, we might not even have tryouts this year…”
Wait. What?
As much as I wanted to tackle Mariella for her inconsiderate, ill-timed question, Coach’s words felt like daggers in my own chest. No tryouts…as in, no cheering at all this year?
I fought the urge to cry. Standing quietly by the doors of the school, we waited for the police to release us. By the time they finally came back out, it was nearly dark outside. I could see Jordan and Lauren in my periphery, holding hands and talking in whispers. Winter caught me looking and frowned. “Are you okay?” she mouthed, looking more concerned than ever. I rolled my eyes.
If one more person asked me if I was okay, I really would smack somebody.
Finally—thankfully—Detective Simms and his deputies said we were being released. They were toting plastic bags of evidence, loading them inside their squad cars.
“All of the basketball players and cheerleaders are accounted for?” Detective Simms asked Coach Purnell.
Coach Purnell nodded.
“Besides Brittani. She was the only one expected for tryouts who didn’t turn up today,” Coach Davis said, standing next to me.
“I don’t need to call my parents. I have my own car.” Ronnie stood with his hands on hips, still looking disheveled and distraught.
“No cars are to leave this parking lot. We are still investigating the scene. This entire school is a crime scene now. So, please have your parents pick you up immediately,” Detective Simms repeated, his voice gruff.
“I can’t call mine. Neither can Sydney or Dakota. You have our cell phones, remember?” I asked.
The detective nodded, looking exasperated by my question. “You will have your phone back soon enough. In the meantime, I already called all three of your parents. Your mother is picking you up, Amanda.”
I groaned, throwing up my hands. I felt disgusted.
For the next hour, I watched other people’s parents come and go. Dakota’s mother took home Dakota and Sydney. Mariella’s stepmom and sister came after that. I even watched Jordan and Winter leave. He waved to me and to his girlfriend, climbing in the back of a fancy black sports car.
When Mom finally showed up, I didn’t even know it was her. I squinted at a cherry red antique car, surprised to see my mother sitting behind the wheel.
I climbed in tentatively, then stared at her with questioning eyes.
“What’d you do to get this? Rob a bank?”
It was a low blow. Very low, in fact, considering my father did exactly that when he was hard up for cash. His decision cost many people their lives that day at the bank, including a pregnant woman and her eight-year-old son. It even cost him his own life…
“You need to apologize.” I could feel her glaring at me.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, but I really wasn’t. She was as much to blame for me living with Grandma Mimi as my dad was. Unlike him, she was able to take care of me…she just chose not to.
Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High #2) Page 4
