by Келли Криг
Get in line. Get food. Pay. No eye contact. No talking.
After exiting the food line, she went straight to the empty table she’d ignored last time and set her tray at one end without so much as a glimpse in the crew’s direction, or the goths’, for that matter. She wasn’t going to give anyone the opportunity of shooting her so much as an ugly look today. Instead she’d keep her eyes on her tray and her focus on eating, and she’d direct her mind toward surviving the next twenty minutes.
As she lifted the first forkful of salad to her mouth, another tray hit the table, clanking down right in front of hers. Isobel lowered her fork and looked up.
From behind her owlish glasses, Gwen glared at her. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. Wadding up her broom skirt, hiking it enough so that she could feed her skinny spandex-clad legs under the table, she slid onto the bench seat across from Isobel.
Isobel opened her mouth, not sure what to say. Was Gwen seriously going to sit with her? An overwhelming sense of gratitude welled up inside of her, nearly bringing a sting to her eyes. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in more than a week.
“What, were you dropped on your head as a kid?” Gwen railed. “First you hang up on me.” She held up a hand and ticked off fingers. “Then you don’t call me back, then you don’t even show up at your locker this morning to say why you didn’t call me back!”
Isobel chanced a look toward the floor-sitting group that she thought Gwen normally ate with. She received a few curious glances from some scraggly bearded guys and more than a few sneers from the bandanna-wearing girls.
“Hey, Earth to Isobel.” Gwen banged her spoon against Isobel’s tray. “Why the snap-crackle-pop didn’t you call me back?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Well, I’m about to ‘Oh I’m sorry’ forget to tell you what I found out this morning.”
“Uh. What?”
Gwen grinned. Looking self-satisfied, she folded her arms. “No, I’m not tell—” but she stopped, her eyes growing round. Something over Isobel’s shoulder had caught her attention.
“Oh my.”
Isobel twisted in her seat. A hush fell over the entire cafeteria. All eyes focused on Mr. Nott, the assistant principal, who’d entered through the double doors, Brad on one side of him, a dark, familiar figure on the other.
“Oh, no,” Isobel said. She pressed both hands against the table and pushed herself up to get a better look. At the sight of him, a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness surged through her. She scanned him, taking an inventory of all appendages and searching for any sign of bruises or blood or evidence of a fractured skull. His face still looked as perfect as it had the previous night, smooth and calm. Brad, however, stood scowling, his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched into fists.
The two boys broke away from Mr. Nott and strode in opposite directions, ignoring each other as well as the countless stares. Brad headed for the crew’s usual spot, while Varen, bypassing his own table, moved straight for her.
“Holy granola. He’s coming over here,” Gwen whispered, hands flapping, knocking over her yogurt cup.
Isobel took in a sharp breath as she watched him approach.
A brown paper lunch bag hit the tabletop. “Mind if I join you,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Gwen, in a flurry, scrambled to move down one seat.
“Hey,” he offered to Gwen as he slid onto the bench next to her, directly across from Isobel.
“Shalom,” she said, raising a hand.
“What the hell is that?” asked Varen. He nodded at Isobel’s tray.
Isobel sat stunned for a moment, her brain flatlining when she felt his knee brush hers. “Uh.” She shook her head. Why couldn’t she think straight? She glanced down at the soupy contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. “Sloppy Joe,” she managed.
“Hmm,” he said, sounding doubtful. “May he rest in peace.”
“So, I don’t mean to be rude,” Gwen interjected, “but are you going to tell us what that was all about or what?” She jabbed a thumb toward the door through which he and Brad had entered.
Isobel’s eyes darted to Varen. Gwen, unlike her, seemed to have the audacious ability to jump in there and ask the hot-button questions. The girl was really starting to grow on her.
Varen sat very still, staring Gwen down in that withering way that always left Isobel wishing she could blend into the furniture. After an immeasurable moment, he blinked slowly and, turning back to Isobel, said, “Apparently, during football practice yesterday, somebody overturned your boy’s car in the school parking lot.”
“What?” Isobel and Gwen shouted in unison.
Several sets of eyes shot in their direction. The three of them ducked their heads and turned to their lunches. Gwen tore her grilled cheese sandwich in half. Isobel poked at her fruit salad with her fork, while Varen pulled a small Tupper-ware container out of the paper bag.
Isobel leaned forward over the table. “That’s what he must have meant last night,” she whispered.
His eyes locked on hers, causing a mosh-pit sensation to erupt in her stomach. When he looked at her like that, it was like he was trying to communicate through some form of telepathy. It was a language she wished she held the power to decipher.
“How did I not know about this?” Gwen wondered aloud. “And what? He’s trying to say that it was you?” She dipped an apple slice into her yogurt.
“I spent the better part of the last hour in Finch’s office being questioned. With your ex and his old man there, let me tell you, it was a real party,” he said.
“They seriously think you could have done that?” asked Isobel.
“Yeah, well, I tried to explain that my mind powers don’t work on Tuesdays,” he said, prompting Gwen to let out a tiny, hysterical, almost fearful laugh. She stifled it quickly by shoving half her sandwich into her mouth at once.
“Didn’t you tell them about what happened at the ice cream shop?”
“Wha happwn?” Gwen asked with her mouth full.
Varen shot Isobel a look of warning. “I told them I was at work when it happened. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” He trailed off. “Hmm,” he muttered, his attention caught by something behind her. “Give me just a second.” He got up.
“Hey, is that hummus?” Gwen seized his Tupperware container.
“Knock yourself out,” he said, and dumped over the paper bag. A Ziploc pouch full of pita bread hit the table.
“Ohh, this looks like the whipped kind Mom used to get from Cohen’s Deli back in Brooklyn.” Gwen snatched up a piece of pita bread and scooped out a Ping-Pong-ball-size glob of hummus.
Glancing over her shoulder, Isobel watched Varen as he intercepted a dark-haired, Egyptian-eyed Lacy, who, it seemed, had been heading straight for their table.
Isobel felt her blood run suddenly hot beneath her skin. Something about them standing there together like that irked her. And then the girl reached out one lace-gloved, copper-toned hand to brush back a few locks from his ear. She stood on her toes, leaning in very close to whisper in his ear as her goddess eyes slid in Isobel’s direction.
Isobel whipped around to face Gwen again, balling her napkin into one tightening fist.
She felt sick.
Gwen shook her head, trying to swallow her mouthful of pita and hummus. “Mmm!” she said, gulping hard. “That’s what I had to tell you.”
A long shadow fell over the table. Gwen averted her gaze and started to nibble on another slice of pita.
“Can you meet me tonight? To work on the project?” Varen asked.
Isobel looked away. She shrugged. “I’m still grounded.”
From beneath the table, she received a kick to the ankle. She kicked back, aiming for Gwen’s shin, but missed. “But I’ll try,” she amended in spite of herself.
“Good. Listen,” he said, pulling a crumpled red envelope out of his back pocket. It was the same red envelope, Isobel knew, th
at Lacy had given him that morning after he’d stopped by her locker. “I’ve got to go return something right now, but I’ll find you later.”
“Sure,” she said. Then, as he turned to walk away, she called after him. “Hey!”
He turned.
“So, for real, we’re going to get this project thing done, then?” she asked.
He shrugged, walking backward. “Pending any unforeseen disasters . . .”
She nodded, and he turned to go, a group of tray-carrying sophomores clearing a wide path for him.
“Good,” Isobel said, standing. She picked up her own tray, Sloppy Joe remaining untouched. She looked at the cafeteria clock. Almost ten minutes left. It might just be enough.
“Wait a second.” Gwen rushed out of her seat and followed Isobel as she went to drop her tray at the dish-washing window. “Wait for me! I still have to tell you—where are you going?”
Gwen at her heels, Isobel hurried through the cafeteria doors. “There’s something I’ve got to do too.”
22
Cheer Up
“Hold up!” Gwen piped, pattering after her through the empty hall, Varen’s Tupperware container in one hand, the half-eaten bag of pita bread flapping around in the other. “Wait for me!”
“Come on, hurry up. The bell’s going to ring soon, and I don’t know if she’ll give me a note.”
“Who? Isobel, listen, they broke up!”
Isobel stopped. Skidding to a halt, Gwen nearly toppled into her.
“What are you talking about?”
“Varen and Madame Cleopatra,” said Gwen in a low, drawn-out voice, flicking her fingers dramatically over fluttering eyes. “Happened this morning. I heard it from Trevor, who heard it from Sara, who heard it from Ellen, who said she saw them arguing.”
Gwen leaned against a row of lockers, arms folded. “Apparently, though,” she said, “they were only pseudo girlfriend-boyfriend to begin with anyway.”
Isobel narrowed her eyes on Gwen, then whipped around to stalk through the hallway again. “Sure looked like they were broken up.”
She could hear Gwen bustling after her again. “Okay, so I don’t know what that little moment was all about, but I do know for a fact that they’re not together. Didn’t you see his reaction when she came over? So obvious he wasn’t about her.”
“And I care because?”
“Whatever!” Gwen said. A huge smile sprang to her lips, making Isobel feel even worse. “As if. You so got it for him. I mean, can we say, ‘Uhm, urh, durh, Sloppy Joe’? Psh. Please.
Can’t hide it from me. I know all— hey, what happened last night, anyway? Are you ever going to tell me? And oh my God, Brad’s car. Any idea who could have done it? And what’s this stuff about the ice cream shop? What happened at the ice cream shop? C’mon, Isobel, you’re gonna have to fill me in here—hey, why are we going into the gym?”
Isobel came to a halt outside the double doors and pivoted to face Gwen. “You can’t tell anybody.”
“What? That we’re going to the gym?”
“No,” she said. “I mean . . . about Varen.”
“What? You mean . . . that you like him?”
“Swear,” Isobel pleaded. “You can’t tell anyone.”
Gwen’s expression turned coy. “What, you don’t think he likes you back?”
“You do?”
Gwen’s smile grew. “You kidding? I mean, did you not see the way he kept sneaking looks at you? No, I guess you didn’t. He was very good at it. Kinda makes you wonder what else he’s good at.” She elbowed Isobel and beamed. “And why else do you think little Miss Morticia Addams came prancing over? But don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Gwen thrust a fist between them, her smallest finger extended. “Pinky swear.”
Isobel paused, an eyebrow raised, but then hooked her own pinky with Gwen’s. They shook.
“Come on,” said Isobel. Turning, she pushed through the gym doors. Gwen hustled in behind her.
Isobel found Coach Anne in her office, listening to the oldies station and poring over paperwork. She looked up only when Isobel tapped on her open door.
“I want back on the squad,” Isobel said.
Coach’s curiosity over Gwen faded in an instant; her eyes flashed, then narrowed and locked on Isobel. She leaned back in her chair and tossed her pen onto her desk. She rubbed her face like she was too tired to hear it. Isobel stood her ground, determined to do or say whatever it took to get back into the air.
“You walked off the squad, Lanley.”
“And now I want to walk back on,” she said. “I was wrong. And stupid. I want to go to Nationals. I want to see us win.”
Coach Anne pursed her lips, considering.
Behind them, the bell ending lunch echoed through the gymnasium.
“Get your keister back to class, Lanley,” Coach Anne said. “You’ve got two more hours to prepare your formal apology to the squad, and I want it in cheer format, is that understood?”
“Yes!” shouted Isobel, jumping.
“Go on,” Coach Anne said, waiving them toward the door. “I’m not writing any notes. Get your butts back to class.”
“Come on!” said Isobel.
Together they hurried out of the gym and took a shortcut through the courtyard, their footsteps crackling through strewn leaves.
“Isssobel.”
She stopped and whipped her head around. A breeze washed past them, carrying with it a rush of crisped leaves, the singed smell of autumn.
“What is it?” Gwen asked, jogging up to meet her.
Isobel’s gaze darted toward the cafeteria Dumpster, where she thought she’d seen someone. Her eyes snapped to the oak tree in the courtyard’s center. She caught a dark blur of something just as it vanished behind the trunk. She heard a low rustle. A group of nearby pigeons, pecking at a pizza crust, took off in a flurry.
She tilted her head back to follow their scattered flight. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she caught a glimpse of several dark figures peering down at her and Gwen from the ledge of the roof.
That couldn’t be right.
She dropped her gaze, stepped back to a better angle, and looked again.
What she had first taken for the silhouettes of people’s heads, Isobel could now see were crows. They all sat on the edge of the roof, beaks rifling through feathers, heads turning in small jerky movements.
Someone snickered.
“What was that?” Isobel whispered.
“What was what?” Gwen asked. “And what are we looking at?”
Isobel revolved in a slow circle, her eyes scanning the empty courtyard and the vacated cement tables strewn with stray pieces of trash. “Nothing. I just . . .”
Inside, the bell rang.
“Now look what you did. You made us late. Y’happy?” Gwen said. Taking her by the wrist, Gwen led her toward the doors. Isobel followed. Confused, she stared back at the courtyard and up along the building. When they reached the doors at the opposite end, Isobel could see around to the other side of the oak tree and behind the Dumpster.
But there was nothing there.
She was already dressed and ready by the time she walked into the gym that afternoon, wearing a dark blue sports bra and her pair of short shorts with the little yellow megaphone in one corner.
Coach Anne gave her whistle a sharp blow. “Okay, gang,” she said, raising her hands for silence, “find a seat, Isobel has something she wants to say.”
This was met with murmuring and even one or two arm crossings, but with another short blast from Coach’s whistle, the squad complied, piling with heavy footsteps onto the squeaking bleachers.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alyssa groaned.
Taking a slow, deep breath, Isobel marched forward to stand in front of her less-than-enthused audience. Alyssa, who’d found a seat next to Nikki, pivoted away with a noise that made her sound like a hacking cat. She leaned back against the bleachers, crossing her thin legs and draping her arms over her lap.
>
“Whenever you’re ready, Lanley,” said Coach. With that, she took a spot on the bleachers too. Leaning forward, she braced an elbow on each knee.
Isobel scanned the listless faces of her squad mates. Well, she thought, here goes.
She straightened, nodded, and brought her arms down sharply against her sides. “Ready? Okay!”
She fell into the movements she’d only had time to practice in her mind, trying to ignore how ridiculous she sounded shouting at the top of her lungs all by herself.
“Don’t mean to make a ruckus,
Don’t mean to make a fuss,
But there is just one thing
I think we should discuss.
“I shouldn’t try to meddle!
I shouldn’t try to fight!
’Cause pushing fellow teammates
Is simply just not right!”
She turned toward Alyssa now. With one knee up, one fist at her hip and one arm held high, Isobel brought a finger down to aim straight at the other girl. She beamed her hardest, putting on her biggest, brightest cheer smile. Wake up, Alyssa. Pay attention.
“I’m sorry that I shoved you!
I’m sorry that you fell!
I’m sorry that I nearly
Kicked your little tail!”
A chorus of “Oooh!’s” rang through the gym, drowned out only by the raucous laughter that followed. In an instant, Alyssa’s smug expression dissolved. Her face reddened. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel saw the gleam of Coach’s whistle as it rose to her lips. Before she could be stopped, though, she plunged forward, still smiling. She snapped into a T position, then hit into a toe-touch. She landed with a nod, pouring as much energy into the cheer as she would in any competition, knowing how infectious enthusiasm could be to those of the cheer persuasion.
“I want another chance,
I want to try again,
I want to go to Nationals
And win, win, win!”
Isobel delivered each “win” with a tuck jump, then threw in a double nine jump at the end just to show off. She finished with a clap, another tight nod, and a forward lunge, her arms extended in a high V.
Breathing hard and gritting her teeth now more than smiling, she awaited the verdict.
