Revenge of the Titan

by Zoe Evans

  “You totally saw me standing there, and purposely let it slip from your fingers,” said the Port Angeles girl. “Just admit it.”

  “Oh please,” said the Dry Creek girl. “It was a kid-size ball anyway. They’re like Styrofoam. Get over it.”

  So the Port Angeles girl spent the rest of the game trying to convince the coaches to disqualify the other girl, but because it happened before the official start of the game, they didn’t buy it. Even the Grizzlies look tame compared to those bowling gals. Talk about Bowl-o-Rama drama!

  On a cheer-related note, though, the team got almost all the counts right for the Heads Will Roll cheer, and there were only some tiny mistakes in our other cheers. Katarina messed up on a low V, and Ian brought his arm across his body when he should have been in “clean it up” stance. But no one noticed except Jacqui and me. Plus, the league really appreciated that we came up with cheers just for them. Awwwww.

  Quick update on the Clementine sitch: On Friday, I luckily ran into Katie by the Lounge before class, and we had a few quick minutes to talk about our plans with Luc (plus some other necessary stuff. More on that soon).

  “I’m dying to hear what everyone is up to back in New York,” she said. “Like, who got in where, and everything.”

  I saw Evan walking down the hall talking to one of his friends and smiled in his direction. But not like a “Wow! You just made my day!” kind of dorky smile (wouldn’t want to look desperate). Just more of a “Nice. Cool to see ya,” kind of smile. He looked a little surprised at seeing Katie and me together, gave me a quick salute, and disappeared around the corner.

  “So I just really hope Luc gives us the inside scoop on all those girls,” Katie continued. I’d zoned out during my Evan spotting, so I hope I didn’t miss anything important. Oops! Space-cadet Madison.

  “I’m sure Luc will fill you in on everything under the sun,” I said.

  She looked down at her mega adorbs white ballet flats with little cherries on them (must find similar pair ASAP) and sighed. “Yeah. I just feel like sometimes those girls have the perfect lives. Like nothing ever goes wrong.”

  I was like “’Scuse me? Katie Parker feels like her life is less than perfect?” (Jaw on floor.) It is kind of funny because I always think of Katie as having everything in her life go perfectly. Like, how could you not be on top of the world when you’re beautiful, popular, and the captain of the varsity cheerleading team?

  The sane part of my brain knows that no one has the perfect life, and especially now that I’ve gotten to know her, I realize she has problems like the rest of us. But the other part of me can’t help but look at her and think how lucky she is. It’s kind of nice to know that even Katie Parker has Katie Parkers in her life.

  I half expected her to mention something about what happened the other night after practice between Clementine and me, but she said nothing. Not that I’m surprised. I couldn’t help myself, though—I just had to speak up.

  “Okay, so don’t get mad,” I said, giving her a little heads-up. I squished in closer to where she was standing so no one would hear us talk. “But is it just me or is Clementine acting even meaner than usual?”

  “Meaner, like, how?” asked Katie.

  “I mean, she seems to be really unreasonable about Lanie’s and my booth idea. You don’t really think there was a ‘vote,’ do you?”

  Katie’s eyes flickered with uncertainty for a moment, so I knew she must have seen at least a little of what I was talking about even if she wouldn’t admit it. “Well, I don’t know. I think whatever is happening with Clem is more complicated than you think. She’s been under a lot of pressure from her mom lately.”

  This was a surprise. Clem, with a problem? Guess I’m always overestimating people and their so-called perfect lives. “Her mom?”

  “Yeah,” said Katie in an almost-whisper. “It was her mom’s idea to do the styling advice booth for the Titans. Of course, Clementine told the team it was her idea. And I didn’t have a problem with it. But anyway, her mom wants to ‘reach a younger demographic’ and thought that making a celebrity appearance at the fair would be her ticket.”

  “Oh,” was all I could say. I found it hard to process the image of someone—even her own mom—forcing Clementine into doing anything. I’ve never seen that girl not get her way. I can’t even imagine what she must have been like as a toddler.

  “I know it’s hard to understand. But I think Clem doesn’t mean half the obnoxious things she says. A lot of it has to do with her own bad stuff going on. Maybe try to talk to her when she’s not at practice, or not with me?”

  I was going to say that I’d tried that, sort of, in the hallways, but each time she’d ignored me. I guess I wasn’t going to get much sympathy from Katie. Maybe if I try talking to Clementine one on one again on Monday, I’ll have some more luck. We’ll see . . . but I don’t have a good feeling about this.

  I guess most of the day has been pretty good. Evan tapped me on the shoulder when I was stuffing a quick PB&J down my throat. No time for a leisurely lunch when there are Fair Committee members to harass! He was wearing one of my favorite Evan looks: a too-small button-down shirt (frayed at the elbows), a light scarf (he’d gotten into scarves lately, but it looked kind of cool on him), and slightly-too-short jeans. Now I know that short jeans can look like your family exclusively shops at the Salvation Army, but on Evan it looked almost . . . trendy. I still don’t know how the clothes that I considered Major Dorkville on him before now look so cute to me.

  “What’s up, sticky fingers?” he said, nodding toward my sandwich. “Haven’t spoken to you all weekend.”

  He was right, though. I’d been so wrapped up in the fair drama and working on Get Up and Cheer! stuff that I didn’t have any Evan time at all. Which is weird, since he is usually on my mind most of the day. I am TOO STRESSED!

  “Yeah, I’ve been busy with cheer stuff and this whole booth drama with Clementine.”

  “That’s cool,” he said. “I just missed talking to you this weekend, is all.” I saw him flush slightly.

  “Well, you could have called me,” I said jokingly. “The phone works both ways.”

  Evan smiled. “I know you’re a busy girl. I didn’t want to bother you, with your CRAZY schedule and all.” He waved his hands in the air to emphasize the word “crazy.”

  “Nice save,” I said.

  But I really wanted to spend more time with Evan, even though I had a lot going on. So I had an idea:

  “Do you, um, need any help getting your booth together for next week?” I asked.

  Evan’s eyes seemed to sparkle at the suggestion. “Definitely. I need to pick the ‘best of’ from SuperBoy and mount those images on foam core, so people can choose which scene they’d want me to replicate but with them drawn in the picture. Like a personalized SuperBoy sketch.”

  “I can do that.”

  “You free later today?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Awesome. All right, some of us gotta get a real lunch,” he said, cuing his exit.

  “Enjoy your chow,” I said. “See you later.”

  Seriously, even the idea of just hanging out in Evan’s grungy old room with a bunch of foam core and glue makes me feel giddy!

  The next order of business (the not fun order) was locating the different committee members to ask them what the real deal was about me and Lanie not getting a booth. Lanie had been so miserable last night when I talked to her about it, because already she was getting hounded by the Fair Committee to sign up for trash pickup. And even though Lanie’s a good sport, she’s not really into physical labor. I can’t imagine anyone being that excited about picking up sticky Popsicle wrappers and cotton candy cones while everyone else is enjoying rides and hanging out at booths. She’d tried to talk to Clementine too, but with the same results as me: Clem claimed her stupid “you were outvoted” thing again and that was the end of discussion. I’d already talked to Jared about it, and he’d said the only person
who didn’t want two fashion-themed booths was Clementine herself. And there wasn’t a vote at all, she just declared that it wouldn’t make sense to have both and crossed ours out.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I’d asked Jared. He’d literally cowered at the suggestion.

  “Honestly? That girl scares me. Most people didn’t want to say anything she’d disagree with.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get your point.”

  LAME-O.

  But I needed more than just Jared’s word as ammunition. My plan was to ask enough people around the cafeteria so that when I went to Principal Gershon, there’d be evidence to back up what I was saying (and hopefully people would speak honestly about it if she asked them). I caught another Kiss-Up Crew (er, Fair Committee) member—Helen Bassett—on her way into the cafeteria. When I asked her why we didn’t get the booth we wanted, she apologized.

  “I’m really sorry. Clementine was in a real mood about it. I tried to defend your idea, because I thought it was really cute, but she was super mean about it and really chewed my head off when I tried.”

  I could see why Helen didn’t want to rock the boat with Clem, ever since the Nose-Picking Incident of last year, when Clementine caught Helen itching her nostril. Of course Clem took that opportunity to claim that Helen was a giant nose picker, and Helen couldn’t enter a room without someone asking her, “Find anything good?”

  Tracey Mesnick was easy to find too. All I had to do was look for the nearest crowd of girls and there was Tracey in the middle. I wasn’t the least bit surprised that she’d also joined Kiss-Up Crew too. She’s Port Angeles’s answer to Gossip Girl, and if anyone would want to know and help be in charge of who is doing what at the school fair, it would be her. When I finally tore Tracey from her audience, she too said that no one had a problem with our booth except Clementine. But because Clem had veto power, her word was the last one.

  “Yeah, there was no denying that girl what she wanted,” said Tracey. “And she did NOT want your booth in the picture, for some reason.” I could practically see the wheels turning in Tracey’s head as she tried to figure out why Clementine has a beef with me. Before I could walk away, she asked the million-dollar question: “Speaking of, why do you think she didn’t want you to have that booth?”

  “No idea.” I shrugged innocently. I had to get out of there before she attempted to read my mind or something. “Thanks, Tracey.”

  This is great (not). So I can pretty much guarantee that by tomorrow, the school paper will have a full report on the Clementine Prescott vs. Madison Hays issue.

  I quickly texted Lanie what my cafeteria sleuthing had turned up so far, and she wrote, “That’s it. We r taking this on with Principal G.”

  But I told her I wanted to try approaching Clementine one more time before we became tattletale types running to the principal for help.

  “Well, if u put it that wayyyy, I guess . . . fine.”

  I told Lanie to meet me at the caf, and we’d go up to Clementine together. “But move it! We don’t have that long.”

  Lanie rushed over in a nanosecond and apologized but then got right down to business. “So where is our favorite person? At her usual table?”

  “Yeah. I saw her lording over there when I went to grab a sandwich,” I said, nodding my head in the direction of the table where Clem was seated.

  It was the usual Titan Triumvirate: Katie was sitting between Clementine and Hilary, while a bunch of guys drooled over the three of them.

  It was too bad Clementine wasn’t alone, because with an audience, I knew she’d lay the mean on superthick. But this was going to be my last try at talking some sense into her, and I doubted I’d find her alone practically ever.

  “You sure you want to do this?” asked Lanie.

  I knew what she meant. Neither of us was “scared” to talk to Clementine, but who knew what kind of scene she’d cause in front of all the football guys and the rest of the cafeteria? I could just see the withering look she’d give me before she hurled one of her famous one-liners my way. There I would stand, tongue-tied and humiliated as their entire table (but hopefully not Katie) laughed at me.

  Quick trip down memory lane: About a year or so ago, there was this one time Clem decided not to invite her teammate Marissa Kemper to a party at her house that the entire rest of the team had been invited to. Clem had been ignoring Marissa for days, and finally Marissa worked up the courage to say something about it. Everyone who had been in the gym at the time could hear Clem’s stinging words:

  “I’m sorry. Did someone just say something?”

  Marissa had held her ground. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Oh right, yes, you did,” Clementine had said. “Except I don’t really waste my breath on loser cheerleaders who can’t even stay on top of a simple pyramid. Cheerleaders who almost cost us our shot at Regionals.”

  It was true—Marissa had taken a heck of a fall at the Regional Qualifier, and the Titans had almost lost out on going to Regionals because of it. Girlfriend paid a price, though: She had to go on crutches for weeks and watch the Titans from the sidelines. Which is basically a cheerleader’s worst nightmare. No one likes to be left out of competing in something they’ve worked their butts off to participate in. It is kind of like seeing a whole tray of desserts in front of you and not being able to reach out and grab one because your hands are shackled to a wall.

  Marissa had stood there, her fists clenched at her sides and her eyes welling up with tears. “It wasn’t my fault! It was an ACCIDENT!”

  “Whatevs. This party is for Titans who’ve got game. The only ACCIDENT I saw was your TRAIN WRECK of a routine.”

  News of the fight spread around the school faster than a cold virus. Before she knew it, even non-Titans were teasing Marissa. Wherever she went, someone would mumble, “Train wreck.”

  Marissa had almost quit after that, but finally Coach Whipley had said something to Clem about being less of a bully and made her apologize. Of course, I have a feeling Coach Whipley just said that because she wanted to keep World’s Worst Bully as her own personal title.

  Anyway, breaking down in the cafeteria and earning a fancy new nickname was NOT on my list of things to do today, so I made up my mind that no matter what Clem said, I’d stay strong. Besides, I had Lanie by my side. Best Friend Power!

  We walked up to the Titan table. Clem was laughing at something one of the guys had just said. “Ohmigod, John, shut UP!” she squealed. Whenever she flirts, her voice seems to rise ten levels higher. “You’re gonna make me spit up my iced tea!”

  Lanie cleared her throat loudly to try to get Clem’s attention. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt,” said Lanie, who clearly wasn’t.

  Clementine casually sipped her drink and sighed, addressing her crowd of admirers. “Calm down, everyone. Don’t be alarmed. I’m sure these two are just lost. Sorry, ladies,” she said, turning to face us. “But Dorkville is thataway.” She pointed to the table where Evan, Lanes, and I usually sat.

  “Don’t worry. We’re not staying,” I said. “Listen, we spoke to everyone on the Fair Committee, and it looks like there WAS no vote. You were the ONLY one who didn’t want our booth to make it.”

  How I was able to say all this in one breath without stuttering or getting beet red is a mystery I may never solve.

  “Hmm, so strange,” said Clementine, tapping her mouth with her forefinger. “I could have sworn we all voted against it.” She grabbed a carrot stick off Hilary’s plate and took a dainty bite. “Oh well. Too late now!”

  “Actually, it’s not too late,” said Lanie. “We’re taking this to Principal G if you don’t straighten this out.”

  Clem coughed at the mention of getting the principal involved. I knew this would hit her right where we wanted. The last thing Clem wanted was to look bad in the school’s eyes. Otherwise, how would she be able to sweet-talk them into doing special things for the Titans that other teams don’t get?

  “Excuse me?” she asked.


  “You heard us,” I said. “Principal G said that if something can’t be figured out with you or the Fair Committee, then a student could go to her. And since I have each Fair Committee member saying that there never was a unanimous vote against our booth, I think we have every reason in the world to go over your head.”

  Katie, who’d already pushed her food away so she could watch this little scene, gave Clem a meaningful look. “Clementine. . . .”

  Clem scowled at her plate. “Fine,” she said.

  “Fine?” asked Lanie. “Fine what?”

  “Do your stupid booth. What do I care? Just don’t blame me when everyone flocks to the Titans’ booth for fashion advice instead of yours.”

  “That’s a risk we’re willing to take,” I said. “A LOW risk,” I added for good measure. I gave Lanie a tiny nudge, letting her know this was our cue to walk away.

  “Yeah, have fun with that,” said Clem, always trying to have the last word.

  When we were finally out of earshot of the Titan table, Lanie gave me a high five. “We did it! We have our booth back!”

  I definitely was happy about what we had just accomplished, but I had a feeling there’d be a hefty price to pay for having threatened one of the Queen Bees. Clementine does not like losing her battles, so even though we “won” this time, I knew she’d have something else up her sleeve within minutes. Oh well. At least Lanie isn’t going to be stuck doing trash pickup at the fair anymore. V for victory, right?

  Ugh, not looking forward to Grizzly practice later. I know, I know. Totally uncaptainlike.

  BEFORE SNOOZEVILLE, ABOUT TO HAVE SWEET DREAMS (I HOPE!)

  Yep, I was right. Grizzly practice was pretty harsh. Our Beyoncé-inspired moves are not going as well as Jacqui and I had hoped.

  Throughout practice, Ian and Matt keep asking to do more break-dance-type moves instead of what they call “girl power moves.” I think they’re lucky we’re doing a military-style dance instead of one of the more girl-type dances we could have come up with. They don’t see it that way, unforch. ALSO, Katarina’s new thing is to start, like, everything a second too early. Like, I’ll say “Five, six, seven, eight,” and she’ll be doing her low V at “four.” Frustration Nation!!!