A bang rattled from the bathroom, shaking the door. Another stream of curses followed.
Everyone in the bedroom exchanged an “oh no” look.
Beaker was going to be so upset when she found all the guys in here. I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
More banging, rattling, and yelling came from the inside, while my teammates giggled on the outside. A half hour later, a blow dryer kicked on and minutes after that the bathroom door opened.
Coach Capri emerged. Clearing her throat, she smoothed her short hair into place. “Well, everyone’s here. Good.” She smiled a little too sinisterly. “Real good.”
In the short time I’d known her, I’d gotten the impression she enjoyed her battles with Beaker.
“You can come out now,” Coach Capri called.
Nothing.
“You can come out now,” she called again, her voice a bit harder.
Nothing.
“Get your butt out here,” she barked. “Now.”
This time I held in a giggle.
The bathroom door slammed open, and Beaker stomped out.
My jaw dropped. Beaker had gone through a complete transformation. Like an I-wouldn’t-recognize-her-if-she-walked-up-to-me-on-the-street kind of transformation. Her hair was colored dark chestnut brown, and it lay in short, layered, loose curls.
She wore very little makeup, and I noticed for the first time her clear blue eyes. With all the overpowering dark eyeliner she usually wore, I’d never seen beyond it to her natural color.
No nose or eyebrow jewelry existed. And even though I couldn’t see, I was sure Coach Capri made Beaker take out her tongue stud and belly ring.
I couldn’t believe I was looking at the same person. Beaker looked . . . sweet—a word I never thought I’d associate with her.
Her red cheerleading vest, the same as mine, stopped right above her belly button. Her red-and-white miniskirt came to her upper thighs, revealing white legs, and red-and-white tennis shoes completed the outfit.
Other than her pale legs and the frown on her face, she looked beautiful—another word I never thought I’d associate with Beaker.
She scowled at each of the guys, and then her gaze immediately narrowed in on Bruiser.
Bruiser blinked innocently.
Coach Capri slapped Beaker on the back. “It’s a good thing everyone’s here. You’ve got to get used to being around people in your new identity.”
“Hey, Beak.” Wirenut popped a piece of candy in his mouth. “Chin up, babe. You’re hot. Who would’ve thought you had all those goods under your Goth getup.”
With a laugh, Cat poked him in the ribs.
Beaker blushed. Actually blushed. I’d never seen her embarrassed before.
“Sissy,” Coach Capri addressed Beaker by her real name. “Cheerleaders never frown. Smile, please.”
“What’s Sissy short for?” Bruiser asked, getting off topic.
Beaker shot Bruiser another scowl. “Priscilla. My mom was an Elvis fan.”
Elvis fan? Huh. I hadn’t known. I was sure there was a lot about Beaker that I didn’t know.
She pointed her finger at Bruiser. “But call me Priscilla, and I’ll poke your eyes out.”
Bruiser held up her hands.
“Cheerleaders never frown,” Coach Capri repeated herself. “Smile, please.”
Beaker’s ever-present scowl became scowlier, if possible.
Coach Capri arched a blond brow.
Beaker huffed out a sigh. She stretched her lips away from her teeth, looking more like a dental patient then a smile.
Everyone in the room held in a laugh.
Coach Capri cleared her throat. “I said smile, please.”
“I am smiling,” Beaker hissed through her stretched lips.
Coach Capri bopped her in the back of the head, and Beaker’s forced expression curved into an actual smile.
Wirenut tossed another chunk of candy in his mouth. “Now if you could just stay that way and not open your mouth . . .”
Cat bopped him in the back of the head this time.
Beaker flipped him a black-polish-free middle finger.
Wirenut rubbed the back of his head. “There’s the mad chemist I know and love.” He winked.
Bruiser jumped up on her bed. “Let me see you do a cheer.” She lifted her left leg from behind, grabbed her foot, and brought it all the way above her head.
I grimaced. From all the cheerleading books I’d been studying, I knew that was called a scorpion—definitely a move I wouldn’t be doing on this mission.
“Give me a B!” Bruiser shouted.
Coach Capri arched a brow at me. I knew that arch. I didn’t mess with that arch.
Immediately, I pushed off my bed and snapped straight into a liberty, with my right foot on the inside of my left knee and my arms straight up. It should be called the stork the way it looked.
“Give me a B!” I shouted louder than Bruiser.
Coach Capri nodded her head once in a show of approval. Then she turned to Beaker and arched her do-it-now-or-else brow.
With slumped shoulders, Beaker slung her right leg into the same position as mine and flopped her arms up. “Give me a B,” she said with all the enthusiasm of a slug.
Coach Capri bopped her in the back of the head again.
I sighed. Here we go again.
A week later, david and I stood in Beaker’s lab. The large tables were filled with burners, beakers, and vials of various chemicals.
Beaker propped goggles on top her head. “I’ve been studying all the chemicals Eduardo has used in the past and what we currently know he will be smuggling in. I’m only one person, and I’m definitely going to need help diffusing things when we get to the final hour.”
She handed David and me each a thin pack of stapled pages. “I’ve put together all the various combinations I think will be used in making chemicals bombs. As you can see, I’ve detailed what to add to various solutions, what to take out, which to heat, ones to chill . . .”
As she continued describing her papers, I looked them over . . . and was suddenly intimidated. She’d used symbols I recognized from high school chemistry and thoroughly explained each one.
She’d expertly noted how many millimeters of this, what temperature of that. She’d organized which stir rods, whisks, and other things to use. But the brilliant detail overwhelmed me. I knew she knew her stuff—after all, this was her specialty—but the sheer magnitude of her knowledge boggled my mind.
Beaker nodded to the table in front of David and me. “Slip on those lab coats and goggles. I’m going to walk you through how to read my notes and defuse a chemical bomb.”
“Wh-what?” I blinked a few times. “D-did you say defuse a chemical bomb?”
She smirked a little. “Scared, GiGi?”
I narrowed my eyes. “No. I’m not scared.” Yes, I am scared.
Beaker rolled her eyes. “Relax.” She pointed to the flasks of chemicals lined up in front of her. “We’re not actually going to make and defuse a bomb; we’re just going to go through the motions. So you know how to read my directions during the real event.”
David and I put on our gear while Beaker brought her goggles down to cover her eyes.
She turned on a flame under a flask of yellow liquid. “Refer to scenario one. We’ll use that for the purpose of demonstration.”
Beaker checked her watch, then turned the flame up a little higher. “Notice in scenario one you have a simple combination of creino and oteca.”
“How will we know if its creino, oteca, or any other substance? ” David asked.
“You won’t know. That’s my job. I’ll perform some quick tests, tell you what’s in the bomb, and you’ll refer to the outlined scenarios to defuse it.”
“What if there’s no time to do the quick test?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It’s no big deal, really. It won’t take me long to figure out what’s in the bombs. If you have any problem
s, I’ll be right there. Don’t freak out or anything.”
“I’m not freaking out.” I am freaking out. I mean, what happened if I didn’t defuse it correctly? Oh, yeah, it’s a bomb. It would explode!
Beaker checked her watch again and put two drops of a purple liquid into the now-boiling flask of yellow. “Okay, in scenario one, it says to do what to defuse this bomb of creino and oteca?”
My heart kicked a little. “I thought you said you weren’t making a bomb.”
With a sigh, David looked at me.
I returned his look. “What? I’m just asking.”
“I’m not making a bomb.” Beaker rolled her eyes again. “Do you not think I know what I’m doing? This would have to reach a much hotter temperature before it actually became bomb-worthy. ” She pointedly looked at the flame. “Of course if you don’t tell me how to defuse this, it will be hot enough to become bomb-worthy.”
I quickly referred to the papers. “It says to take it to at least negative five degrees Celsius within two minutes.”
With a nod, Beaker slid over a capped bottle filled with tiny green crystals. “Six of these diumfite crystals will immediately drop its temp to negative five.”
She extinguished the flame from the boiling soon-to-be bomb and inserted a thermometer. She dropped six tiny green crystals into the mixture. I watched the boiling liquid turn solid.
Beaker pointed to the thermometer. “Check it out.”
David and I scooted in. Sure enough, the thermometer read negative five degrees Celsius.
David smiled. “You are too cool.”
Beaker returned his smile, and it occurred to me that I couldn’t recall ever having Beaker smile directly at me. “Any questions?”
We shook our heads. With the demonstration, her notes really were pretty simple to follow.
She scooted her frozen bomb to the side. “Now, I wanted to ask you two something. I’ve been working on a tracking dust that works with a person’s DNA. It chemically reacts to their blood. I’m still doing tests, but if I have it ready by the time we leave for Barracuda Key, I’m confident it will be valuable in trailing Eduardo.”
David nodded. “We’ll have a mission briefing right before we leave. Be ready to show everybody how it works.”
Beaker propped her goggles back on top of her head. “It’ll be ready. Also, I’ve developed a powdered GPS compound. It’ll last five days in a person’s body. I’m calling it crystallized siumcy. I’ve already told TL about it and he said to talk to you two . . . ?”
David nodded again. “Sounds good. I’m proud of you for being proactive in your thinking and not waiting to be told what to do. That shows real initiative.”
She beamed with pride.
He’d sounded just like TL, and David’s words had elicited the same devotion that TL’s words did. I glanced over at him, swelling a bit with respect and esteem for the guy I liked. If he kept this up, he would be a great strategist one day.
[6]
We were at week three of our cheerleading training, and things had gotten tough.
“That was pathetic. That’s all you’ve got?” Coach Capri jabbed her finger toward the barn door. “Go out and do it again. Both of you. You’re jogging in here like a computer genius and chemisty whiz undercover on a top-secret mission.” Coach Capri widened her eyes. “You. Are. Cheer. Leaders. Comprende?”
With a sigh, Beaker and I both nodded our heads.
We’re tired, I wanted to whine on behalf of us both. We’d been at this all day long. And a break seemed nowhere in our future.
Turning, we shuffled across the barn and out into a cold, sun-setting evening.
“My project for Excelled Physics is due tomorrow,” I grumbled. “And I haven’t even started.” The story of my life these past weeks.
Beaker stopped to adjust her cheerleading shorts. “I hate these things. They barely cover my ass.”
I commiserated. These shorts reminded me of the ones that David had bought me when I first came to the ranch—the ones I had initially refused to wear.
Rubbing her bare arms, Beaker jostled in place. “It’s freezing.”
“Okay, girls,” Coach Capri yelled from inside the warm barn. “Let’s see it.”
Beaker and I rolled here-we-go-again eyes at each other. In the past few weeks, we’d established a small—let me repeat that—a small camaraderie. We definitely hadn’t had any heart-to-hearts. But as slight as it was (usually a look or a mumbled complaint), it made things better.
Beaker stepped back into the barn. “Let’s do this.”
We jogged in, side by side, our feet nearly touching our butts. In my opinion it was a ridiculous way to jog. With our elbows into our sides, we clapped. "H-E-Y. Hey! We’re ready for today! P-U-M-P. Pump it up! H-E-Y. Hey! We’re ready for today! P-U-M-P. Pump it up! H-E-Y. Hey! We’re . . .”
We kept jogging around the barn, grinning, chanting the stupid cheer. According to Coach Capri, at America’s Cheer, all cheerleaders would be expected to enter the morning meeting doing this chant.
I didn’t see why we couldn’t just go in and have a meeting. And why, exactly, did cheerleaders feel the need to spell everything?
“Perfect,” Coach Capri yelled over our chanting. “Halt.”
“All this peppiness wears me out,” Beaker grumbled.
“Okay,” Coach said. “TL got called away to a meeting. So David’s here to assist with back handsprings.” She nodded to the rear of the barn.
From the shadows stepped David.
Inwardly, I groaned. Please tell me he didn’t see us.
He passed by us, smiling. “Nice perky cheerleading, girls.”
Beaker narrowed her eyes.
“We’re going to warm up for our back handsprings by doing twenty-second handstands.” Coach Capri led the way to the blue mats that ran the length of the barn. “I’ll spot Beaker, and David has GiGi.”
I groaned. Again. Working with David normally thrilled me. But if he was my spotter, I knew where his position would be.
Right in line with my butt. And the shorty-shorts.
Great. Juuust great.
At least I’d shaved my legs.
Beaker and I stepped onto the mats. Coach Capri and David were a few feet in front of us.
“Feet together,” Coach reminded us. “Point toes. Straight knees. Squeeze thighs. Butt tight. Back taut. Shoulders hollowed. Head neutral. Elbows locked. And arms . . .”
Pressed to your ears, I finished her directions in my head. Coach Capri had said it so many times over the past weeks, I wouldn’t be surprised if I mumbled it in my sleep.
The Winning Element (The Specialists) Page 8
