by R. L. Stine
Everyone watched in silence as Devra did a short and simple floor routine with some basic tumbling tricks. The sunlight washed down on her, making the floor shine and sending her shadow in all directions.
She isn’t bad, Gretchen thought. But she has no spark. And she keeps forgetting to smile. She’s going through the routine, but she isn’t selling it.
“Here’s another cheer I wrote,” Devra announced.
She picked up a pair of red pom-poms from beside some water bottles beneath the lowest bench. Then she trotted back to her spot, turned, and performed her cheer.
“Do you dig it?
That Tiger beat?
Tigers roar!
More! We want more!
Tigers roar! Tigers SCORE!
GO, TIGERS! YAAAY!”
Devra punctuated each line with a tuck jump, raising both arms in a High V, then tucking her knees to her chest as she jumped. She finished with a series of Pike Jumps. Each time she jumped, she brought her legs up to meet her hands. She had good height on the pike, but her landing on the toe touch was off, and she struggled to keep her balance.
The girls clapped as Devra came running off the floor. A grin on her face, she shook the pom-poms above her head, as if in triumph.
She isn’t terrible, Gretchen thought. But she isn’t very good, either. Especially if she had all last year to practice with the squad.
Gretchen knew she was a better cheerleader. She knew this fact should help her lose her nervousness. But the heavy feeling in her stomach didn’t fade, and her hands remained ice cold and sweaty.
Coach Walker looked up from her clipboard, where she had been rapidly scribbling notes about Devra’s performance. “Good job, Devra,” she said.
“I can do the Pike Jumps a lot better,” Devra said. “I usually get my legs up higher at practice.”
“It’s not an easy jump,” Walker said, writing some more on the clipboard pad. “I liked the cheers you wrote. The second one needs a little work on the cadence. But … very good.”
“Thanks,” Devra said. “I think they’ll work for basketball, too.”
“And air hockey!” Sid chimed in.
That made some of the girls laugh. Devra just glared at him.
Coach Walker shook her head. “Thanks for sharing that, Sid.”
“Just trying to keep it light,” Sid replied.
Devra took a seat next to Courtney. The two girls whispered together. Stacy leaned close to Gretchen and murmured, “Go out there and nail it!”
Gretchen stepped into the bright rectangle of sunlight on the gym floor. She took a deep breath and held it. To her surprise, she suddenly didn’t feel so tense. She raised her arms in a V and practiced a straight Cheer Leader Jump. A grin spread over her face. She felt light and strong.
I can do this.
“Tigers roar!
Roar Tigers Roar!
Tigers roar!
Tigers SCORE!
She knew her Toe Touch Jumps were perfect. She performed the cheer again, this time with Spread Eagles. She showed off with a Double Hook Jump, kicking her legs out to the side, hooking her feet.
Time to REALLY show off!
Her running cartwheels made some of the girls gasp. Her Power Jumps were perfect. The double cartwheel into a Hook Jump made them burst into applause.
Gretchen ran off the floor, screaming, “Go, Tigers!” Cheering herself.
Coach Walker had her head down, writing on the clipboard pad. “Excellent job,” she told Gretchen. “Very smooth and confident.”
Stacy moved next to Coach Walker and said something in her ear. The coach nodded. Stacy gestured toward Gretchen and said some more to the coach.
Gretchen watched them intently. Stacy and Coach Walker are the only two voting on who makes the team, she thought. What are they saying?
Two rows up, Courtney was patting Devra’s shoulder. Devra kept shaking her head, her eyes down. Courtney was obviously reassuring her.
Gretchen’s heart was pounding. Sweat rolled down her forehead. She grabbed a water bottle from under the bleachers and raised it to Devra. “Is this yours?”
Devra motioned with one hand. “Go ahead. Take it.”
Gretchen mopped her forehead with her arm. Then she uncapped the bottle, tilted it to her mouth, and drank it nearly to the bottom.
Devra suddenly jumped to her feet. “Coach Walker, can I do some more? I didn’t really show off my floor tumbling routine.”
Coach Walker lowered her clipboard. “No. I think that should be enough,” she told Devra. “You both did five minutes and showed us your best moves and—”
“No. I didn’t show you my best moves,” Devra insisted. “I thought you’d want to see my basic jumps. But I do much harder stuff.” She frowned at Gretchen. “I don’t do all those cartwheels. I mean, I’m not a circus clown. I don’t see what they have to do with leading a crowd in cheers.”
Coach Walker jumped to her feet, too. “That’s enough, Devra. Let’s keep this nice and civilized, okay?”
Devra didn’t reply. She sat back down, shaking her head. Courtney leaned closer to commiserate with her.
Gretchen stood at the side of the bleachers. Stacy and the coach were gazing at Coach Walker’s notes, going over them line by line. Gretchen saw Ana slide next to Sid. He put his arm around her shoulders and whispered something in her ear. Ana giggled and shoved his arm away.
Gretchen’s stomach rumbled. She suddenly felt strange. A wave of nausea rolled up from her belly, tightened her throat. She tried to swallow, but her throat had tightened.
Another wave of nausea made her stomach churn. She tried to force the feeling down. She felt really sick. Felt her stomach rumble and tighten.
“Ohhhh.” A moan escaped her throat. She tried to fight back the feeling, struggled to keep her lunch down. But her stomach gave a sharp, violent lurch.
She grabbed her sides, shut her eyes, leaned over—and spewed a tidal wave of green-yellow vomit onto the gym floor at her feet.
An ugly groan burst from deep inside her. And another gusher of vomit poured onto the floor.
Holding her stomach, Gretchen bent over grunting and groaning as violent spasms shook her body, and her stomach continued to heave up everything it held.
Over her groans, Gretchen heard the startled cries of the other girls. She held her breath, trying to stop the sick upheavals.
Raising her head, she saw Coach Walker pick up the nearly empty water bottle at Gretchen’s feet. The coach raised the bottle and sniffed it. “Hey,” she said. “This doesn’t smell right. Someone put something in this water bottle.”
Gretchen spit the last glob of vomit onto the floor. Stacy handed her a towel. She wiped her face with it. Her whole body shook. She swallowed, swallowed again and again, her mouth bitter and sour.
Coach Walker put an arm around Gretchen’s shoulders. “Are you all right? Do you feel better?”
Gretchen nodded. Then raised her eyes to the bleachers—and caught the pleased smile on Devra’s face.
14.
“She poisoned me, Polly. I know she did.” Gretchen adjusted the phone on her ear.
She had driven home, still fighting down her nausea. Her head pounded, throbbed in pain. She ran into the house, to her bathroom, brushed her teeth for five minutes, struggling to scrub the sour taste from her mouth.
Her mother wasn’t home. She left a note saying she was having dinner with a new friend she had met at the hairdresser’s.
Gretchen couldn’t wait to call Polly and tell her about the tryout.
Polly was speechless with shock. “Devra put something in the water,” Gretchen told her. “Coach Walker sniffed it. She said it smelled like cleaning fluid or something.”
Gretchen felt her stomach churn. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“I saw the smile on Devra’s face,” Gretchen continued. “She was so proud of herself. But guess what? She loses. She loses, Polly, because I won the tryout. She wasn’t
in the same league, and everyone saw it. Even her friend Courtney knew that I was better.”
Gretchen rubbed her forehead. If only this headache would give me a break and go away. It felt like some creature was trying to burst out of her skull. She shut her eyes, but it didn’t help.
“If I tell Mom that Devra tried to poison me, she’ll call the police,” Gretchen said. “But Devra will only deny she did it. Look, they’re going to announce the winner of the tryout in a few days. Devra’s going to be an alternate all year, and she’ll have to stand on the sidelines and watch me perform. That’s punishment enough, don’t you agree?”
Before Polly could reply, the doorbell rang. Gretchen said goodbye, tossed the phone onto her bed, and hurried to the front door.
Through the peephole, she saw a boy standing on the front stoop, his face hidden behind a gray hoodie. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me.”
Me?
She pulled the door open. “Sid? Hi. I didn’t expect—”
“Gretchen, are you okay?” He pulled back his hood. His eyes searched hers. “I was worried. I—”
“I feel a lot better,” she said.
She stepped aside for him to come into the house. But instead he wrapped his arms around her waist, lowered his face to hers, and kissed her. The kiss lasted a long time. She gave herself to it. Let all other thoughts leave her mind.
Kissed him. Kissed him … then pushed him away. Stacy. The name flashed into her thoughts.
Her face felt hot. On fire. She could still taste his lips on hers. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the living room. Most of their furniture hadn’t arrived yet from Savanna Mills. She tugged him to the couch facing the fireplace. He pulled her down on top of him and they kissed again, another long, lingering kiss.
Again, she broke the kiss and pushed him away. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She felt a rush of emotion, suddenly realized how attracted she was to him.
Stacy. Stacy is his girlfriend. This isn’t right.
But it feels right.
Sid tugged down his hoodie and sprawled back on the couch, tilting his head back, gazing up at the bronze ceiling fixture. “Wow,” he murmured. “Wow.”
She slid to the couch arm. “Did you really come to see if I was okay?”
He nodded. “Whoa. Devra. I don’t believe her.”
“Do we have to talk about her?” Gretchen said, playing with the end his hoodie sleeve.
“You should have heard her ranting after you left,” Sid said. “She’s really psycho.”
“Huh? You really think she’s crazy?”
“No. I just think she’s a spoiled brat. No one has ever said no to her. Devra always gets what she wants.”
“Not this time,” Gretchen said. “This time, Devra loses and I win.”
Sid smiled. Gretchen saw that he had two tiny dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. He reached for her and started to pull her to him.
But she resisted. “Can we talk about something?” she asked.
He frowned. “You want to talk?” He ran a finger tenderly along her cheek.
“What about Stacy?” Gretchen asked.
Sid let out a long sigh. He pulled himself up straight. “Stacy? Stacy is a long story.”
“Well … aren’t you two going together?”
“Forever,” he said. “We’ve been together forever. Our parents were all best friends. When I was little Stacy’s family lived right across the street from us. Stacy and I played together when we were two years old.”
“Whoa,” Gretchen murmured.
“Yeah. Whoa.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s like we’ve been together forever. We’re even going to college together. We’re going to Wisconsin. Our parents expect us to get married. Everyone in our families expect us to get married. It’s like this great romantic story, only … only…”
“Only what?” Gretchen demanded.
Sid took a breath. He shrugged. “I like her a lot. Seriously. But I don’t want to marry her. I’ve tried to break up with her.”
“Really?” Gretchen studied his face, trying to determine if he was telling the truth.
“Yes, really. I’ve tried to explain a dozen times. Tried to say we should just be friends. But I can’t get through to her. She doesn’t think I’m serious. I mean, I guess she doesn’t want to believe the truth, that I want to break up with her.”
“Everyone thinks you’re the perfect couple,” Gretchen said.
“Everyone is wrong,” Sid said, lowering his eyes. “Stacy keeps acting like everything is perfect between us. You know how gung-ho she is. She’s a cheerleader even when she isn’t being a cheerleader. But…” He shook his head sadly.
Gretchen leaned forward. She placed her hands on Sid’s cheeks and pulled him close. She shut her eyes and kissed him.
The tryout … Sid … things are finally going my way.
He left about ten minutes later. He had to do some shopping for his mom.
Gretchen leaned back on the couch, waiting for her heartbeats to slow. The image of him kissing her, kissing her lingered in her mind.
She felt as if she were floating on air as she picked herself up and made her way upstairs to her room. As she entered, a bell ding on her phone startled her out of her dreamy thoughts.
She picked her phone up from where she had tossed it on the bed. She gazed at a text message on the screen:
YOU COULD BREAK YOUR NECK
All in capital letters. From Devra?
A chill tightened the back of Gretchen’s neck as she read the words again.
The phone dinged again. Another message appeared beneath the first one:
SOMETIMES CHEERLEADERS DIE
Gretchen stared at the words until they blurred. She squeezed the phone so hard, her hand ached.
Is Devra serious? Am I really in danger?
15.
Madison set her violin down on the coffee table. She rubbed her neck as she crossed her living room and took the phone from Gretchen. “You got these messages right after the tryout?”
Gretchen nodded. “Do you believe it? How crazy is this?”
Madison studied the screen. “Well … they are definitely from Devra. There’s her name under the phone number at the top. Devra Dalby. She didn’t try to disguise it or anything.”
Gretchen shook her head. “I guess she wanted me to know the texts came from her.”
“Wow.” Madison handed the phone back to Gretchen. “She doesn’t care what she does. She thinks she’s just above us all. It’s like the rules of decency don’t apply to her.”
Gretchen blinked. “Rules of decency? This is just plain psycho, Madison. What do I do?”
Madison rubbed the soreness from her neck. Gretchen saw that her hands were covered in rosin. “I’ve been practicing for two hours,” she said. “I don’t want to look like a jerk in front of the string quartet.”
Gretchen tucked the phone into her bag. “You won’t look like a jerk. You play beautifully.”
“What if I break a string or something?” Madison’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, I’m sorry. We were talking about you. Sorry to be so self-obsessed.”
“It’s okay,” Gretchen said, perching on the edge of a brown leather armchair and swinging her bag onto her lap. “I just don’t know whether I should ignore these threats. I mean, how serious could they be?”
Madison pressed her hands against the waist of her jeans. “You can’t ignore them, Gretchen. You have to report them.”
“No way. I can’t go to the police.”
Madison shook her head. “No, not the police. You have to show them to Coach Walker. She needs to know what Devra is doing to you.”
Inside Gretchen’s bag, a bell rang. The phone.
Gretchen fumbled in the bag until she found the phone. She raised it to her face and read it. “Another message,” she told Madison. “From Devra.”
GIVE ME A K-I-L-L
Madison squinted at it. Her mouth dropped open. “Oh my Go
d. Gretchen, that’s a death threat. You have to show it to Coach Walker. You don’t have a choice.”
* * *
Coach Walker stared at the messages on Gretchen’s phone. She kept blinking as if trying to blink them away. Her face at first had shown surprise. but now she stared blankly, all the emotion drained from her features.
She blew out a breathy whistle. “Wheeew.”
“I had to show it to you,” Gretchen said, her voice just above a whisper.
They were in Walker’s office. The door was closed. Walker sat stiffly in her desk chair, the glare off the phone reflecting her troubled face. She wore a long-sleeved Shadyside High T-shirt over white gym shorts. Gretchen stood close beside her.
Outside the window, Gretchen could see the cheerleaders practicing a cheer in the center of the gym floor. Their shouts were muffled by the window glass.
“I think Principal Hernandez has to see this,” Coach Walker said. She set the phone down on her desktop. “This is not a small thing, Gretchen. This is very bad.”
Gretchen nodded. She didn’t know what to say.
Walker started to rise from her desk chair. “Maybe we should talk to Devra first,” she said. She didn’t wait for a reply from Gretchen. She pulled open the office door and shouted for Devra to come.
Courtney and Becka were helping Devra practice a Thigh Stand. Devra perched high on their thighs, caught her balance, and raised her arms above her head. Hearing the coach’s call, she leaped to the floor and came running to the office, her red hair bouncing behind her.
Coach Walker ushered her inside and carefully closed the door.
Devra brushed back her hair with both hands. She tugged her white sleeveless T-shirt down over her black tights. She gave Gretchen a quick glance, then turned to the coach. “You wanted to see me?”
Coach Walker motioned for Devra to take the wooden chair against the wall. “Devra I want to ask you about some text messages,” she said.
Devra wrinkled her face, as if confused. “Text messages?” She glanced at Gretchen again.
Gretchen stood with her arms crossed beside the coach’s desk. She held herself tightly, trying to stop her whole body from trembling. She gritted her teeth and tried not to show any emotion at all.
