A Non-Blonde Cheerleader in Love

by Kieran Scott

  “Don’t worry,” Tara said through her teeth. Then, louder. “It’s not like we’re going to lose.”

  “Yeah. You keep believin’ that, baby,” Terrell said, shaking her hand. “So let’s count.”

  Daniel, Steven and Joe dove into their basket of money as Tara whipped open the lock box. The air sizzled from the sudden kinetic energy.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” I said, throwing up my hands. “Anyone see the obvious flaw in this plan?”

  “What?” Daniel asked.

  “How do we know we can trust you?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “You could count that up and tell us you have five thousand dollars in there.”

  “Maybe we do,” Terrell said with a smirk.

  “Uh, no. Annisa’s right,” Chandra said, stepping forward.

  “One of us will count your money and one of you will count ours. Then each counter writes down the number and it gets verified by another member of the squad. That’s the only fair way.”

  “Damn, you girls are paranoid,” Terrell said. “Fine. Who wants to count?”

  “Oh! Me!” Jaimee cried, jumping up. She was our resident math genius.

  “I don’t do math,” Joe said.

  “I got it,” Steven volunteered.

  All there was to do after that was wait. Tara hovered over Steven as he counted and Terrell paced back and forth behind Jaimee, gnawing on his bottom lip. Part of me wanted to take out whatever money I had in my wallet and slip it into the lock box. I guess after watching all those people blithely toss their green at the guys’ feet, I wasn’t feeling all that confident.

  Finally Jaimee wrote down her figure, folded the paper and held it up. No one moved. I glanced around at my friends and shrugged.

  “I’ll go,” I offered. I was salivating to see what was on that paper anyway. How the rest of them weren’t was beyond me.

  “What?” I asked Jaimee, noticing her pallor as I approached.

  “Just . . . take it,” she said.

  Never had I heard Jaimee the Peppy sound so ominous. Heart in my throat, I unfolded the scrap of paper. I couldn’t believe the number when I saw it.

  Seven hundred thirty-two dollars? That was ridiculous! How in the world had they made that? Quickly I ran some numbers in my head. There were only about eight hundred students in the entire school. But then, if only a third of the student population of the school had given them two dollars each . . . And then there were the teachers, parents, bus drivers and custodians, all of whom had more money than the kids did and could put in however much they wanted. Meanwhile, all our baked goods had fixed prices.

  Gulp.

  I had a feeling we were in trouble.

  My mouth dry, I took the bills in hand. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Daniel got to work double-counting our earnings. I counted as quickly and accurately as possible, trying to get done before Daniel did. As if my being a faster counter would somehow mean something in this competition. No such luck, anyway. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daniel finish when I was barely even three quarters of the way through. Not a good sign. When I was done, I wrote down my figure. I had come up with the exact same number as Jaimee had.

  “All set?” Tara said.

  I nodded and stood up, wondering if she’d ever heard that old adage about not killing the messenger.

  “Well? What do we got?” Terrell asked.

  “Ladies first,” Daniel said with a small smile.

  I took a deep breath and looked at the scrap of paper in my hand, even though I didn’t have to. I’d memorized the figure when Jaimee had first shown it to me.

  “Seven hundred and thirty-two dollars,” I said.

  Tara choked on her own breath. Chandra whistled. Daniel laughed. He laughed. I felt my face burn. He couldn’t laugh at me! That was so wrong!

  “Why? What? How much did we make?” I asked.

  “Three hundred and ten,” Daniel said, turning the paper around so we could all see.

  “Aw yeah!” Terrell cheered as the girls’ side groaned. He slapped hands with all the guys and then started chanting as he danced around the lobby. “You’re washing my car! You’re washing his car! And oh yeah, his car!” he sang, pointing at each of the guys in turn.

  “I don’t believe this! You made more than double?” Tara shrieked.

  “That’s called ‘no overhead,’ baby!” Terrell cheered. “Best idea ever, man,” he said, slapping Daniel’s hand.

  “Thanks, my brotha,” Daniel said, bumping shoulders with him.

  I just stared as my entire world was redrawn and recolored in front of my face. Preconceived notions out, reality in.

  “Wait a minute. That was your idea?” I asked Daniel.

  He smiled and shrugged innocently. I couldn’t believe it. All this time, not only had he kept the plan a secret from me, but it had been his plan. There’s no way I ever would have been able to keep my mouth shut if I had come up with something that good. I would have been all too ready to show off my brilliance.

  Hey. It happens so infrequently, a girl has to give herself a chance to bask.

  “Eh. I do what I can,” Daniel said, all modest.

  Unreal. Apparently they were all evil masterminds.

  I walked over to join Tara and the other girls as Terrell, Daniel, Joe and Steven celebrated and chanted their new favorite song. Talk about sore winners. The longer they went on, the more I wanted to smack each one of them upside the head. Yes. Even Daniel. Although, you know, I’d probably smack him less hard.

  “See? I told you they were going to screw up everything,” Tara said.

  “God, I hate them,” Phoebe put in.

  “Well, technically, they did a good thing, making all that money,” Autumn said, chewing on a chunk of her white-blonde hair. “Right?”

  “Less work for us,” Sage said.

  “True. In the long run,” Felice conceded. Then, off Tara’s patented look of death, she added, “Oh, but I still hate them.”

  Tara groaned, grabbed up the lock box and stormed off. With a sigh, we all gradually got back to cleaning up.

  “Know what really sucks?” Chandra said, watching as the guys started to dance around in a little conga line.

  “That?” I asked, lifting my chin toward the guys.

  “Yeah, that,” Chandra said as she shoved a leftover chocolate cookie into her mouth. “But also . . . now I gotta buy a bikini.”

  8

  Here’s the thing about Christmas Day. It is hands-down the best day of the year. Even if it is eighty degrees and humid outside. Reasons Christmas rocks? Well, 1) Giving presents. I love making other people happy. Especially my brother, who, while he normally bites the big one, always has the best reaction to gifts. 2) Getting presents. I like new swag as much as the next girl. 3) Food. You get to eat. A lot. All day long. Pancakes and sausage for breakfast. Christmas cookies for lunch. Ham and turkey and mashed potatoes for dinner. Then more cookies. It sounds disgusting, but it’s actually heaven. 4) Singing all those fabulous classic Christmas songs at the top of my lungs in church. It’s the one day when even the people who never sing at a single service all year get up and belt it out. 5) Christmas specials. Rudolph, Ralphie, the Grinch, George Bailey, Olive the Other Reindeer. Perfect vegging material. Especially when you’re in a food coma. (See No. 3.)

  I love every minute of it. And this year, it was going to be especially perfect.

  Because this year I had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who was coming over after his family returned from his grand-parents’ in Boca so that we could exchange gifts. That’s right, I got to top off the best day ever with a visit from Daniel Healy.

  “Ugh! I’m never eating again,” Gabe announced, appearing in the living room doorway after finishing his third helping of dinner. He slumped against the door frame, looking ruddy and dazed. I could hear the sounds of whooshing water and clanking dishes coming from the kitchen as my parents cleaned up. This was the one day all year they didn’t make us h
elp out. (That should probably be No. 6 on the list.) Maybe they apologized to each other for all the decoration switching over a sink full of sudsy pots and pans.

  “What happened? Did you hit table?” I asked.

  “You’re a real comedian, you know that?” Gabe replied. “What’re we watching?”

  “White Christmas,” I said, my foot tapping nervously against the floor. I just wanted Daniel to get there already. I wanted to give him his present and see his reaction. And, of course, I was dying to see this big surprise gift he had for me.

  Unable to lounge around the table with the family over coffee and pie, I had long since bailed to coif for my romantic get-together. (Apparently anticipation of a boyfriendly encounter negates the food coma.) Once I finished applying my new shimmery lip balm (stocking stuffer), I retreated to the living room to sit by the tree, watch Christmas movies and try to stop looking at my watch. I kept giving myself challenges.

  Okay, when they’re done singing “Snow,” I can check my watch. . . . Okay, the next time the skinny chick shows her legs, I can check my watch. . . .

  “Oh . . . yeah,” Gabe groaned, dropping down next to me on the couch and unfastening his leather belt. He lifted his T-shirt and patted his tummy. I heard a distinct gurgle. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  I checked my watch. Two minutes until Daniel was supposed to get here.

  “Ew, freakshow. Do I want to see your gut right now?” I said, shoving his leg before he could put it up on my lap.

  “I have a gut?” Gabe cried, looking down at his flat stomach.

  “Made you look!” I teased.

  Gabe rolled his eyes and sat back. “Very mature.”

  “Hey, it’s Christmas,” I said, lifting my shoulders with a grin.

  Gabe looked me up and down and shifted over slightly so he could see me better. “What’s with the skirt? And why are you so perky?”

  At that moment the doorbell rang and I jumped up. Daniel was one minute early. “I got it!” I cried.

  I ran for the door and whipped it open. Daniel stood on the doorstep in a green V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt under it, his hair shiny with product for the occasion. He held a small red package in both hands. Holy heart palpitations.

  “Merry Christmas, Jersey,” he said with a grin.

  If someone could package that and sell it this time of year, they could make a fortune. I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a big, fat kiss. Daniel almost fell backward in surprise.

  “Sorry,” I said, giggling. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

  “Me too,” he said. “Nanny and Pop Pop’s is cool and all, but it’s a lot less interesting when you’ve got Annisa Gobrowski waiting for you at home.”

  Oh. My. God. Had he been planning that speech all the way up here? And wait, who cared? He kissed me again and I almost melted.

  “Annisa! Who was at the door?” my father called.

  I sprang away from Daniel and hauled him inside. “It’s just Daniel! We’re gonna open our presents!”

  “Okay! Tell him to come in for some dessert when you’re done!” my mother called out.

  “Thanks, Mrs. G!” Daniel shouted back.

  We walked into the living room, where Gabe was now sprawled out on the couch, his hand still covering his bare stomach. He had switched the TV over to A Christmas Story.

  “Gabe!” I said through my teeth.

  Gabe slid his eyes toward us without moving his head. “Hey, man,” he said. “Wh’sup?”

  “Hey,” Daniel replied warily. Not that I could blame him. The last time he’d seen Gabe, the guy had been all Calvin Klein-ed out. “Uh . . . I think you have some mashed potato in your ’stache.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Sure enough, there was a white blob on the edge of Gabe’s facial fuzz. Where was a good death ray when you needed one?

  “Really?” Gabe said. He touched his fingers to his mustache, then licked them. Licked them! Why not just tell Daniel we were both raised in a barnyard?

  “That your bike out there, man?” Daniel asked.

  “Yeah. Sweet, isn’t it?” Gabe asked. “Wanna go for a spin?”

  “Oh, thanks, but no way,” Daniel said. “Those things are death traps.”

  “Ha! He gets double dessert!” my father shouted from the kitchen.

  “Thanks a lot, dude,” Gabe said derisively.

  “Gabe, do you think you could give us a few minutes?” I asked.

  “Why do you get the living room?” he asked, propping himself up, with some effort, onto his elbows.

  Uh, because you’re disgusting and embarrassing and should be locked up behind closed doors somewhere, reading Emily Post?

  “Because we want to open our presents by the tree,” I said.

  He let out a loud belch. God, I missed the metrosexual Gabe. He never would have let his bodily functions run amok like this.

  “Presents?” Gabe pushed himself up and squared off with Daniel. His T-shirt finally fell down to cover his pale skin, thank God. “What’d you get my sister, dude? That better not be a ring.”

  Daniel’s face nearly burned right off. Which would have been a tragedy of Shakespearian proportions.

  “Gabe! Just get out already!” I demanded.

  Gabe narrowed his eyes at Daniel before ever so slowly backing toward the door. “I’m watching you, man,” he said. He made a V with his fingers and pointed them from his eyes to Daniel’s. That was when I had to shove him out of the room. He almost toppled the sideboard in the hallway, but it was totally worth it.

  “Ooof!” Gabe shouted.

  “What was that?” my mother called.

  “I’m all right! We’re all good!” Gabe said before finally, finally stumbling for the stairs.

  “So! Where were we?” I said, turning to Daniel.

  “Is he gonna be okay?” Daniel asked.

  I waved my hand toward the hallway. “Don’t worry about him. Bikers have thick skins.” I picked up Daniel’s present from under the tree and sat down on the couch, pulling my feet up under me. Daniel cleared his throat and sat down as well, adjusting the pillows behind him. In the dim glow of the Christmas tree he was even more handsome than ever. My heart fluttered at his nearness. This was already the best Christmas ever.

  “So? Who goes first?” I asked.

  “Let me,” Daniel said. “I actually have two things for you to open.”

  Two things? Two things? But I only got him one!

  “Don’t worry. It’s nothing big,” Daniel said, seeing my pallor. He pulled an envelope out of his back pocket and handed it over. Crap. A card? I didn’t get him a card! “Go ahead,” he said.

  My excitement slightly rocked by guilt, I slipped my finger under the flap and opened the envelope. A small piece of paper fluttered out into my lap.

  It was a handmade coupon—one free “get out of bikini car-washing” pass.

  “Oh, very funny,” I said, whacking Daniel’s shoulder.