Revenge of the Teacher's Pets

by Jennifer Ziegler

  “I see.” Mrs. Neighbor nodded. She didn’t seem so alarmed anymore, just thoughtful. “You know, I think it’s nice your sisters are trying to help you.”

  “I kind of wish they wouldn’t,” I said. “I can’t help being like this. I’m just shy. I know I’m going to have to get over it at some point, but why do I have to change right now?”

  Mrs. Neighbor shrugged. “I suppose you don’t have to. But let me ask you this: If you’re not able to approach people you don’t know, won’t you get lonely?”

  “No,” I said. “I have my sisters.”

  “That’s true. But what about that person on the bicycle? What if she doesn’t have sisters and would really like to meet someone?”

  I had no answer to that. I’d never really considered it before.

  What if Wanda was lonely?

  The next day was the back-to-school pep rally, so we each had to wear our blue Pom Squad shirts along with nice jeans and sneakers.

  “These pants are uncomfortable,” Dawn said as she walked in a somewhat bowlegged fashion toward the bus stop. “And short.”

  We had grown a bit since Mom bought the jeans last spring, and they felt a little tight — even tighter after breakfast, when I ate two bowls of Frosted Mini-Wheats. Plus, while they used to come down to our feet, they now ended just above the ankles.

  “It’s okay. No one will notice,” I said. “Only shy people like Darby walk around looking down. And shy people are too shy to make fun of someone because of their pants — even if they think it in their heads.”

  Darby agreed with my theory. “Even though I’m trying not to be shy anymore, I’d still never make fun of someone’s pants.”

  Dawn and I patted her back. We knew she still felt bad about not being able to go through with meeting the new neighbors. As disappointed as we were that she backed out — and that she wasted a perfectly good box of Pop-Tarts — we were proud of her for being honest with us. That couldn’t have been easy.

  As the bus pulled up to school, we noticed that a lot of the other students were wearing school colors. The eighth-grade cheerleaders were in uniform and the Color Guard also had on their navy blue outfits. Dawn made a grumbling sound whenever one of them walked by. I suggested we keep a lookout for any Color Guard members who looked like they weren’t having fun, thinking we might be able to convince them to quit. Unfortunately, they all looked happy or excited.

  We followed a few more Cheer Squad members into the gym. Everyone who was part of the pep rally was supposed to report there early. Four kids from band showed up with drums strapped to them, and as we practiced cheers and chants, they pounded out rhythms. I had to admit, it sounded pretty cool.

  Coach Manbeck blew her whistle and told the Pom Squad to get into position for the rally. Only those who were cheerleaders last year got to be on the floor of the gym. The rest of us were given the small glittery pom-poms and sat in a big square section on the bleachers. I sat in the front row, next to Dawn. Darby sat on her other side.

  After that, the Color Guard got into formation and their teacher made them run through some moves real quick as the drum corps played. It hurt to watch, knowing we were supposed to be with them.

  “Look at those guys,” Dawn said, shaking her head. “Sloppy, sloppy.”

  I thought they looked good, and was about to say so, but then I realized Dawn just had sour grapes because we didn’t get into the class.

  Darby put her arm around Dawn. “I know. I wish I was twirling with them, too. But don’t worry. We’ll get in there eventually.”

  “Yeah,” I said, putting my arm around her from the other direction. “Besides, cheerleading is tradition, too. Think about that.”

  “It’s not the same. Color Guard has honor. Cheer Squad just gets people fired up about football and basketball, which, if you ask me, people are already too fired up about in these parts. If only they …” She stopped all of a sudden, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide. “Wait,” she said. “I think I’m being brilliant again.”

  I was about to ask her what she meant when there was a loud crackling sound overhead. Mrs. Jessup’s voice came over the intercom, telling all the students to report to the pep rally in the gym before they went to class. Immediately students began streaming through the double doors, laughing and talking and climbing all over the bleachers, so it was too loud to hear any particular voice.

  When most everyone was sitting down, the drummers started drumming and the cheerleaders started a loud cheer. This was our cue to wave the pom-poms to the beat. As we did this, the football team came in and sat on the folding chairs. They were all wearing nice shirts; some even had on ties. I guess it was like their dress uniform.

  Mr. Carrothers, the football coach, walked up to a microphone on a stand and said, “Presenting your proud Patriots! This year they will represent this school and WIN! Give them a big hand!”

  At that the whole crowd started hooting and applauding, and the cheerleaders started leading the “Let’s Get Fired Up!” chant.

  The noise was wonderful. The vibrations from the drums, claps, and stamps shook through my body, and energy was building up inside me — a big, fizzy, electric feeling. As it kept building, I kept bouncing higher and higher in my seat. But that wasn’t enough movement to let the energy out. I was starting to worry that I might explode in a meteor shower of glitter pom-poms and Frosted Mini-Wheats.

  “Let’s get fired up!” Clap, clap! Stomp, stomp!

  Digga-digga, digga-digga, whomp! Whomp! Whomp!

  I bounced and chanted and waved my pom-poms so enthusiastically, Dawn kept having to duck. Staying in place was getting harder and harder to do.

  Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something. Before I could argue with myself, I was on my feet jumping and shouting and turning cartwheels. Only … I forgot that I was wearing my too-small jeans instead of shorts. When I stood up after my roundoff, everything felt kind of breezy below my waist and something was flapping against my legs. I glanced down and saw that my pants had ripped open at the leg seam. Luckily the split hadn’t yet reached as high as my yellow underpants with the orange happy rabbit faces. But the rip seemed to be getting longer and longer …

  Thankfully, Darby and Dawn noticed what was happening. They jumped to their feet and stood in front of me, jumping up and down as if they were super excited, too.

  “Go out the side door,” Darby hollered back to me. “Run to the dressing room!”

  Her face was all pink, and I realized she must love me very much to be jumping around and drawing attention away from me and over to herself. Quick as I could, I ran out the side door to the locker room. The metal door slammed behind me with a blam!

  I sat on a bench and examined the long tears in my jeans. The sounds were almost gone, and so was the sparkly, bubbly excitement I’d felt. As glad as I was that nobody saw my underwear, I was also feeling sad about missing the rest of the pep rally. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time.

  Why do they call them burritos?” Delaney asked as she considered her lunch. We sat at the end of one of the cafeteria tables, Darby and I on one side and Delaney across from us.

  “I’m not sure,” Darby said between bites. “The word means ‘little donkey’ in Spanish.”

  Delaney gasped. “I’d never eat a donkey. Big or little.”

  Over spring break we’d gone camping at Lake Lewis, where Aunt Jane was living now. While we were there, Delaney made friends with a donkey we called Mo. She still talks about him all the time, and when we write Aunt Jane, she includes a letter to Mo and asks Aunt Jane to read it to him.

  “Enough about burritos. I’m calling this meeting to order,” I said, pounding my fist twice on the tabletop, making the Jell-O on our lunch trays jiggle.

  “Why are we having another meeting?” Delaney asked, with her mouth full.

  I gave her a stern stare.

  “What I mean is” — Delaney swallowed — “why are we having a meeting now?”
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br />   “I have important business to discuss,” I said.

  “Do I have to take notes?” Darby asked. “Because I’m hungry.”

  “No,” I replied.

  “Is this about my blunder at the pep rally?” Delaney asked. I noticed her absently hike up the waist of the sweat pants Coach Manbeck had lent her. “Because by the way, thank you. You guys saved my rear. I owe you big-time.”

  “That’s also not the reason for the meeting,” I said. “But what the blazes happened to you out there anyway?”

  “Yeah,” Darby said. “What made you do that?”

  Delaney shrugged. “I don’t really know. It’s like I exploded with excitement. You know how I have to run and jump around if I’m upset or nervous? It was like that — only with good feelings.”

  “I suppose that’s all fine and dandy,” I said. “But in the future, make sure you’re wearing stretchier pants.”

  “I will.”

  From behind Delaney, I could see two girls coming toward us, Cherry Luedecke and Lynette Barstow. They were two of the eighth-grade cheerleaders who helped us learn the chants in sixth period. As they approached, they were looking right at Delaney, and I wondered if they were going to give her a hard time about the pep rally.

  “Hi!” Cherry said, grinning down at Delaney. “Were you the one who did that great run on the gym floor this morning?”

  Delaney hunched her shoulders in a Darby sort of way. I could tell she was also worried they’d scold her or make fun of her. “Um … maybe?”

  “That was awesome!” Cherry said.

  “Yeah. I hope you go out for cheerleader,” Lynette said. “You’d be perfect.”

  Delaney’s mouth hung open slightly and her eyes focused on a spot of nothingness in the distance. It’s not often Delaney is speechless, so I could tell she was really uncomfortable. It was time to rescue her again.

  I leaned across the table and waved my hand to get Cherry’s and Lynette’s attention. “Thank you for your interest, but I’m afraid Delaney has other plans,” I said. “The thing is, we’re not going to be in Cheer Squad for very long.”

  The girls’ smiles fell away. “Really?” Lynette said, looking surprised. “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. Well … nice run anyway,” Cherry said. “See you.”

  “Bye. See you in class,” Delaney said.

  I also said good-bye and Darby added a shy wave as they turned and walked back the way they came.

  “You didn’t have to tell them that,” Delaney said to me.

  “No problem. I was glad to get you out of that situation. Now finally we can have our meeting.” I pounded my fist on the table two more times. “I hereby call us to order once again.”

  As soon as I said that, another girl walked past us, behind Delaney. She had an interesting hairstyle — long in front and short in back. She waved as she went by, and Darby waved back.

  Delaney turned to look, but by that time, the girl had disappeared into the throng by the salad bar.

  “You know what?” Darby said. “Maybe we should invite other people to sit with us.”

  I frowned. “Why would we do that?”

  “Just … because,” Darby said, lifting her right shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “It would be nice.”

  “But we’re trying to have a private meeting!” I didn’t intend to sound grouchy, but I was tired of all the interruptions. “How can you have a private meeting if you invite just anyone to listen in?”

  “Fine,” Darby said, hunkering over her lunch tray. “So what’s this big idea you have, Dawn?”

  I cleared my throat and sat up straight. After glancing right and left to make sure no one else was listening, I said, “Prepare yourself to hear one of the most genius ideas I’ve gotten in a long while. It came to me during the pep rally. I’m thinking, if we’re going to be part of Cheer Squad, even for a little while, we should instigate some changes — for the better.”

  “Like what?” Delaney asked.

  “You know how the Cheer Squad only shows up for football or basketball games?” I asked.

  “Um, yeah?”

  “Well, I think it’s high time we fix that. In the interest of fairness, and to maximize school spirit, I say we start cheering for all the teams at school.”

  Delaney looked confused. “But Coach Manbeck said —”

  “I know what she said. And we don’t need her. We can get a group together, show up, and cheer on our own. It’s just demonstrating school spirit, and there’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

  “I guess not,” Darby said, only her voice went up high at the end of her sentence, as if she were asking a question.

  “Oh, I see. We’ll be bonus spirit boosters! Brewster boosters! Brewsters who boost!” Delaney danced around in her seat. “When do we start?”

  I tapped my chin. “I haven’t figured that out yet. But it shouldn’t be hard. We just need to find some poor, underappreciated sport that we can cheer for. As long as we’re stuck in Cheer Squad, we’re going to make our time count. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Delaney said.

  “Agreed,” Darby said.

  The bell rang right at that minute, and even though I’d only taken four bites of my burrito, I didn’t mind. For the first time since school started, I felt a sense of mission and duty.

  Maybe this was why our schedules had been botched up. Maybe we were meant to make a difference.

  Our first weekend after school started was a Dad weekend — the first one in three weeks. So when school let out on Friday, we jumped into Dad’s VW bus as he drove through the pickup circle and gave him quick hugs around the neck before strapping ourselves into our seats.

  In addition to our school stuff, we each carried small overnight bags with a couple of changes of clothes that Mom made us pack, since most of Dad’s belongings — including the things we kept there — were still in boxes.

  For two years after Mom and Dad divorced, Dad lived in a two-bedroom apartment. But earlier this summer, he bought a house. It’s single-story with dark red brick and was built in 1950. Dad calls it ranch style, but I don’t know why, since it’s near the center of town, and there aren’t any horses or cattle nearby. When you walk in the front door, you step into a living room/dining room area with a kitchen in the back, separated by a low half wall. To the left is a long hallway that leads to three small bedrooms and a bathroom with flamingo-pink tile. To the right is a converted garage that Dad is using as both his bedroom and an office, with a whole area full of shelves where he can store the medical supplies he sells. There’s even a yard for Quincy — only it’s not fenced in yet, so until it is, he can’t come over.

  “Did our new beds arrive?” was the first thing Dawn said to Dad after hello.

  “Not yet,” he said, pulling the bus onto the road. We bounced left and right in our seat.

  “Dagnabbit.” Dawn scowled out the window. “What’s taking them so long?”

  I knew she was looking forward to getting the bed she’d picked out of the catalog — the one with the super tall wooden headboard with a scroll pattern carved into it. She probably couldn’t wait to bang her fist on it to call our meetings to order.

  Delaney, meanwhile, picked out a four-poster bed so she could swing and twirl around the posts, and I’d selected a white metal canopy bed with curtains that could be pulled shut all around it. I loved the idea of my own private pillowy place.

  “Actually, I’m relieved they haven’t arrived yet, since we still have to paint your rooms,” Dad said. “But we can probably finish that this weekend.”

  That’s another cool thing we each got to decide on — new colors for our bedroom walls. Delaney had quickly picked out a soft yellow shade, like lemonade. Dawn chose a cool blue called Lake that looked nothing like the inky lake water we were used to, but was still pretty. And I’d found a light, dreamy lilac that reminded me of twilight.

  We were supposed to be doing the walls ourselves — with Dad’s help, of course
— cleaning and priming and measuring and buying paint. Unfortunately, Dad had to travel a lot toward the end of summer, so we didn’t finish before school started, like we’d hoped to. This probably meant we’d be “camping” in the living room again for the next couple of nights, since paint fumes can dissolve your brain.

  “Home sweet home!” Dad sang out as he pulled into his new driveway. I liked how happy and proud he seemed, and the way he kept referring to his house as his “quaint abode.” He even didn’t seem to mind too much that he had to sell his Vespa scooter in order to help raise the down payment. Although I kind of miss getting rides on it.

  “Tonight I’m making my masterpiece hamburgers,” Dad announced as he unlocked the door. I could see that he’d gotten a new lamp, but otherwise everything looked just like the last time we were there. In fact, playing cards were still spread across the coffee table from our game of Spite and Malice.

  “Will you make potato wedges?” I asked.

  “Already fried up,” Dad said.

  “And pickles?” Dawn asked.

  “Two kinds in the refrigerator.”

  “And root beer?” Delaney asked.

  Dad’s grin went slack. “Ah … no. Sorry. Afraid I don’t have any.”

  I felt bad, like we’d spoiled some of the fun.

  “We could walk to the Corner Mart and buy some,” Dawn suggested.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Delaney hopped in a small circle. “Please? Can we?”

  “Sure, but be careful,” Dad said, handing them a five-dollar bill.

  “We will.”

  Dawn and Delaney opened the door and headed down the front stoop. “Come on, Darby,” Delaney said, glancing back at me.

  “I’m going to stay here and help,” I said. We hadn’t seen Dad in a while, and it seemed wrong to leave him when we’d only just got there.

  “Suit yourself,” Dawn said with a shrug and shut the door.

  Dad was in the kitchen, whistling a rock ’n’ roll song I kind of recognized. He was crouched in front of the open refrigerator, pulling burger patties, pickles, and sliced cheeses off the shelves and setting them on the counter.