“I feel really bad, Jordan,” he told me in the parking lot after a full day in school, where it felt like he’d been avoiding me like the plague. I’d never thought of Timothy as a coward, but I suspect he felt pretty uncomfortable.
I stood up a little straighter, actually hopeful that this could be the moment I’d been waiting for. I looked into his eyes with an expression that I hoped conveyed just how deeply wounded I’d been. And his features seemed to soften as he looked down at me. I was thankful that I’d taken care to dress just right, every hair in place, makeup perfect.
“Yeah, I feel bad too,” I told him in a very gentle voice.
“I honestly didn’t mean for that to happen, Jordan. I guess I was just mad that you went to the party without me, and then I was drinking way too much. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”
I shook my head in a sympathetic way. “Me neither.”
“Because we really had something, Jordan,” he continued. “You and me. I really felt like my relationship with you was different.”
I nodded without speaking.
Then he shoved his hands into his letter jacket and looked up at the sky for a moment as if he was trying to figure things out. “But maybe it’s for the best, you know?” He sighed deeply. “I mean, maybe it was just meant to be like this.”
I felt a wave of disappointment break over me, but just the same, I managed to maintain my best poker face and simply said, “Maybe so, Tim.”
“So, you’re really okay with everything, Jordan?” He looked hopeful now, like he thought he was getting off the hook really easy. And I suppose after all Shawna had put him through a few weeks back, I must’ve seemed like a real pushover.
“Well, you really hurt me, Timothy,” I told him. Now this was true enough. “And I guess you showed me that you’re not the guy I thought you were.”
He frowned slightly. Had I hit a nerve?
“So why should I have a problem if you want to go back to someone like Shawna?” I made a face like I was smelling a pair of dirty socks. And that’s when I lied to him. “I mean, why would I want you back at all after that?” Then I kind of smiled in this sad way as I opened the door of my car. “Have a nice life, Timothy.”
Somehow I managed to drive away in what I’m sure appeared a perfectly calm and controlled manner, but inside I was hurting and furious and actually seething by the time I was half a block away. And when I was two blocks away, I was actually screaming at the top of my lungs. Of course, I realized I had totally forgotten cheerleading practice after school. And so I pretended like I was simply driving to the local convenience store, where I went in and bought myself a huge Coke and a big package of Whoppers to share with the other girls. No one seemed to notice how hoarse my voice was at practice.
So this has been my little game plan—playing it cool—and so far it is better than nothing and has probably kept me from totally losing it. But I still feel like I’m getting nowhere and I wonder if I need to take it up a notch or two.
As a result, I have to ask myself, What does Timothy Lawrence really want? I know he and I really had something, and although I must admit that a part of it was physical attraction, there was something more too. I mean, when we talked, we really talked. He confessed to me that he’s worried about what happens after high school, and he can’t decide which college to go to, and he’s afraid he won’t play ball well enough to get a scholarship. He told me sweet, sensitive things—things I’m sure he doesn’t tell anyone else, things I would never dream of repeating. And I also remember him telling me, right after he broke up with Shawna, that their relationship had been empty and shallow and how he wanted something more—someone who really understood him, someone who knew how to listen and really care, something that he told me I had and Shawna didn’t.
So after cheerleading practice I went home and made a list. I know I should’ve been studying for my history exam tomorrow, but somehow I just couldn’t focus. Instead I made this list and taped it to the back of his picture, which I still keep on my dresser.
What Timothy Wants
1. A girlfriend who really listens to him. Someone who cares. Someone he can talk to about important things.
2. A girlfriend who’s popular, since he’s in with the “in” crowd.
3. A girlfriend who’s available when he needs her around. He’s one of those guys who really enjoys having a girl hanging on to him a lot of the time.
4. Lots of friends. He loves having his friends around him.
5. Lots of laughs. He likes being the center of attention.
6. Fun. This is a guy who loves to have fun.
7. To star in basketball. He adores this sport.
8. To get a scholarship in basketball. It’s possible.
9. To graduate. He told me he can’t afford to lose a single credit this year.
10. To have sex. Okay, no beating around the bush here. This seems to be pretty important to him.
And that was where my list abruptly ended—on number ten, To have sex. Wouldn’t you know it?
In all fairness, Timothy isn’t just about having sex. Like I said, we had a great time for more than two weeks of dating without ever feeling too much pressure to go to bed together. We talked and laughed and totally enjoyed being together. It was only toward the end of our short-lived relationship that this came up, which made me wonder, Had he and Shawna been having sex all along? Duh. Why hadn’t I ever thought to ask her about this while we were still friends? Sheesh, I can be so totally naive sometimes.
And so I called Ashley. “Did Timothy and Shawna have sex?” I asked somewhat abruptly.
She laughed. “You’re the one who caught them in the tub.”
“No, I mean before that. When they were going out together before the Harvest Dance breakup.”
A long pause. “Why are you asking me this?”
“I just want to know.”
“What do you think, Jordan?”
“I think they did.”
“Bingo.”
Now I paused.
“Does it really matter, Jordan? I mean, I thought you had moved on and were just dealing with it. We’ve all been really proud of you.”
I realized it was time to put on my happy mask again. “Yeah, I have moved on, Ashley. I guess I was just curious is all. Now I know. No big deal.” And then I started asking her about her mom’s shop in the mall. Ashley had told me that I could probably work there if I wanted, especially during the Christmas season.
“You really interested in a job?” she asked.
“Kind of. I wouldn’t mind having some extra money. And it’d sure beat babysitting my little brother and sister.”
Finally, sure that I had convinced her I wasn’t obsessing about Timothy and Shawna, I hung up the phone and immediately began wondering how far I would really go to get Timothy back.
I flashed back to that scene of the two of them floundering around in that stupid oversized bathtub, and to be perfectly honest, it was pretty disgusting. But then it wouldn’t have to be like that. Would it?
eight
I DON’T THINK I’VE EVER REALLY HATED ANYONE BEFORE. I MEAN, I REALLY disliked Miss Jones, my third-grade teacher, especially after she humiliated me by making me sit in the hallway for talking. But I don’t recall experiencing this venomous emotion, the kind of thing I would describe as real honest-to-goodness hatred, that I presently feel toward Shawna Frye.
She completely and thoroughly disgusts me. I can barely stand the sight of her. Even the sight of her streaky blonde hair flashing down the hall makes me want to barf. Of course, she’s not a real blonde, and judging by her roots I suspect that her natural hair color is kind of a boring, muddy brown. No wonder she wants to cover it up. She’s such a phony. I don’t see how Timothy can stand her. I cannot believe I ever considered her my friend or thought that I was hers. She is a manipulative, lying, stealing, cheating hypocrite. And it’s plain to see she’s still got her sights set on me.
I
mean, isn’t it bad enough that she stole Timothy from me? Any normal person would call it even at this point. But no, it’s like she’s got to keep this personal vendetta going. I think her goal is to knock me down so low that I will just tuck my tail between my legs and crawl under a rock somewhere, whimpering as I go.
“You’re not doing that move right, Jordan,” she told me at cheerleading practice today.
“What?” I put my hands on my hips and stared at her.
Then she demonstrated—or showed off, depending on how you look at it—exactly how the move is “supposed” to be done.
“Is that right?” I asked Amber, since she calls the shots.
She nodded.
“Well, fine.” Ignoring Shawna, I proceeded to do the move “correctly” for Amber.
“That’s better,” said Amber.
“Well, a little,” said Shawna in her snootiest voice. “But Jordan still needs to work on it.”
“It looks okay,” said Ashley.
“Yeah, if okay is good enough,” said Shawna. “But Ms. Brookes says we have to be absolutely perfect if we want to make it into finals at Flair Fair next month. That means we have to be a whole lot better than just okay.”
Now Flair Fair is the statewide cheerleading competition that Ms. Brookes, our staff adviser, has been talking up for the last few weeks. “This is the best time to really dig in and practice, Jordan,” she had told me after I’d privately asked her why we have so many practices between football and basketball season. Dumb me. I’d stupidly thought we’d get a little break.
“That’s true,” said Betsy Mosler. “Okay won’t cut it. Like, we could’ve walked away with first place last year if we’d worked a little harder. JFK wasn’t all that great.”
“They barely beat us,” said Shawna. “That’s why we cannot settle for Jordan’s version of ‘okay.’”
I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from responding to that little snipe. Put on the happy mask. “Fine,” I finally said. “I’ll try harder.”
“Yeah,” said Shawna. “You better. We don’t need your inexperience dragging us down this year.”
I looked over to Amber now, hoping she might say or do something to give me strength, but she just shrugged and said, “Well, let’s get back at it then. I, for one, have to be out of here by five.”
And so I really did try harder, but it seemed that every time I turned around, Shawna was finding fault with me again. It wasn’t too long before I began to look at the other girls more closely, curious as to whether I was really messing up that badly or not, and that’s when I noticed that several others, including Betsy Mosler and Jenny Brighton, weren’t doing any better than I was. In fact I think they were actually doing worse. Of course, I didn’t dare mention this. I can’t afford to risk any more relationships. Having Shawna dogging my case is bad enough without alienating everyone.
Then, to add insult to injury, after I went to the locker room to shower and change, I couldn’t find my jeans. Not anywhere. It’s like they’d vanished into thin air.
“Anybody seen my jeans?” I asked.
“Having trouble keeping your pants on?” teased Betsy.
I faked a smile. “I’m not the one with that particular problem.” I turned to look at Shawna now and couldn’t help but notice this little glimmer in her eye like she knew something. “Did you take them?” I asked her point-blank.
“I’m sure!” She looked seriously offended now. “Like I would steal your jeans, Jordan. Sheesh, get a life.”
“I didn’t say you stole them, Shawna, but maybe you just put them—”
“Hey, don’t go blaming me just because you can’t keep track of your things, Jordan.”
I shook my head and, knowing I was getting nowhere, just pulled on my slightly sweaty practice shorts. “Fine. Whatever.” Then I grabbed my stuff and left. But as I walked out to the parking lot, I was seriously fuming. “Can’t keep track of your things,” I muttered to myself as I furiously searched through my bag for my keys. I’m sure that Shawna meant I couldn’t keep track of Timothy that stupid night when she’d seduced him.
That’s when I realized my car was still parked in the other parking lot, which meant I had to walk two more blocks to get there. Arggh! After nearly freezing my rear end off, I finally reached my car in the nearly deserted parking lot that’s right next to the staff lot. Why had I parked here in the first place? But even when I found my car, I realized that I still hadn’t found my keys. So, feeling like a total idiot—is sixteen too young to get Alzheimer’s?—I threw my bag onto the pavement and knelt down, pawing through the various contents a girl needs throughout the course of a day, in a wild and frantic search for my car keys.
But finally it became painfully clear that they really were not there. Like my favorite pair of jeans, which weren’t cheap, they had completely and mysteriously disappeared. And it must’ve been like twenty degrees outside, and I was about to turn into an ice cube in my still-damp shorts that I’m sure were starting to freeze to my buns.
So, out of pure frustration, I first kicked my stupid bag and then my poor car. And to my utter and total surprise and dismay, I actually put a small dent in the innocent front fender. Totally infuriated with everyone, including myself, I cut loose with a whole bunch of four-letter expressions I would normally never use, never have used. But it’s like I just needed to get it out.
“Jordan Ferguson!” said a woman’s voice from behind me. And that’s when I turned to see Ms. Brookes only a few feet away and beside her the vice principal, Mr. Myers.
It’s at times like this that I can almost believe those stories about these guys in India who just internally combust and explode and disappear into a poof of smoke and ashes—because that’s exactly how I felt just then.
“Did we just hear what we thought we heard?” asked Ms. Brookes as she approached me with a very concerned look on her face. Mr. Myers was standing by his car, watching us with what seemed like way too much interest. I was toast.
I looked down at the contents of my bag splayed across the parking lot like a mini garage sale and actually considered lying and denying that I’d actually used foul language. Maybe I could make them believe I’d said words that only sounded like the profanity I’d just spewed. And even though I’ve always considered myself an honest person, I suddenly wondered why it should even matter anymore. I mean, why should I care about something as small as telling a lie when I slowly seem to be turning into someone else anyway? But then I reminded myself there were two witnesses—and both of them faculty members.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Brookes,” I confessed, glancing uneasily at Mr. Myers and wondering if I should shout out an apology for him to hear as well. “And I would never talk like that normally, but, you see, I’m just having a really, really bad day. First I lost my jeans and then I lost—”
She held up her hand to stop me. “Jordan, there is no excusable reason to talk like that. Now, you know that you signed the cheerleader pledge, promising to conduct yourself in a certain manner worthy of a cheerleader.” She looked over to where Mr. Myers was still standing, waiting, I’m sure, to see if she handled this correctly. “And as you know, cussing and swearing was something that was clearly listed under item number five on the pledge.” She firmly shook her head. “Now even though it may not seem as bad as using drugs or alcohol, it is entirely unacceptable. You girls are supposed to be role models.”
“I know.” I nodded and attempted to look truly contrite, although the truth was I was still totally steamed. Like, I’m sure, doesn’t Ms. Brookes know that Betsy cusses like a sailor half the time? Or that everyone except for me and Jenny Brighton indulges in drinking on a fairly regular basis? The only rule that I don’t personally know of being broken by any cheerleaders is the drug use one. And to be perfectly honest, it wouldn’t surprise me to find out that Shawna uses something to keep her weight down, because she almost admitted as much to me once back when we were still friends.
“So I’m going to have to put you on probation,” she told me with a sad expression. And for a moment I wondered if I might have gotten off if not for Mr. Myers’ presence.
“What exactly does that mean?” I asked.
“It means that you are suspended from cheerleading for the next two weeks.”
“Okay.” I nodded. I could handle this. After all, the first game wasn’t until early December, and Flair Fair wasn’t until after Christmas. Maybe this wasn’t really such a bad consequence. I attempted a meek smile.
“And that means no practicing as well, Jordan.”
“What?”
“You aren’t allowed to be with the cheerleaders for two weeks.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I am not. Perhaps this will be a good reminder to everyone that we really enforce the standards.” Satisfied, I’m sure, that she had ruined my life, she turned and smiled at Mr. Myers, who was finally getting into his SUV.
“But, Ms. Brookes,” I pleaded with her as he drove away, “that means I won’t know the routines for Flair Fair, not to mention basketball season.”
“I know. It’s a shame too. Somehow the squad will just have to get by without you.” And with that she just walked over to her car and drove away.
Now, you’d think that I would’ve had time to cool off as I walked home from school in the freezing cold wearing my practice shorts, since as fate would have it my cell phone battery was totally dead, but I think I only got madder and madder with each stupid step. I was quickly becoming enraged and felt seriously worried for anyone who crossed my path.
By the time I got home, there was absolutely no reasoning with me. I figured the smart ones would just get out of my way.
“What’s wrong?” asked Leah as I stormed in the back door and threw my bag on the floor.
“Life sucks!” I growled as I pushed my way past her.
Fortunately, she had the good sense not to say anything else, because I think I might’ve done her some serious damage.
Deep Green: Color Me Jealous with Bonus Content Page 5
