by Kieran Scott
“Shhhh!” Señorita Marquez and the elderly librarian behind the counter hissed in unison.
“Sorry!” I whispered at them. I reached down and rubbed at my shin. “Ugh. That’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Sorry,” Bethany said, pressing her lips together. “I thought I was kicking him.” She gestured at Daniel with her lollipop stick and a wad of pulpy, mashed stick plopped onto the table.
“Ew,” I said.
“Might as well have.” Daniel took my hand and squeezed my fingers. “You kick my girl, you kick me.”
Awww. Pain erased. I loved it when he called me “his girl.” Bethany noticed my goofy grin and made a gagging sound.
“I need to be constantly mainlining Alka-Seltzer around you two,” she said, slamming her book closed. “I’m gonna go ask Marquez. Don’t be swapping saliva when I get back,” she said, pointing her black-gloved finger from me to Daniel and back again.
I sat back in my chair and sighed as Bethany loped away. “Where did she get this psycho idea to have us translate songs?” I asked, staring at the blank page in front of me. All I had so far was the title of mine, “Señorita Independiente,” a Kelly Clarkson classic. I was having a hard time concentrating, considering the ten billion other things on my mind. Like the fact that I had to tell Daniel about this weekend’s slumber party before he found out through the grapevine. The last thing we needed right now was another “why didn’t you tell me?” conversation. I wasn’t sure either one of us could take it.
“I think it’s kinda cool,” Daniel said, lifting a shoulder. “Better than another in-class conversation about where the bathroom is and how to find the post office.”
I smirked. Sometimes, in the middle of the school day, I just wanted to reach out and run my fingers through Daniel’s hair. But I restrained myself. Most of the time.
“So, are you going to K.C.’s match on Saturday?” Daniel asked, reaching out and toying with my heart bracelet. “I was thinking maybe we could hang out.”
Gulp. Saturday. I guess it was about time to tell him what was going on.
“Actually, I don’t think I can,” I said, sliding my butt back on the smooth wooden chair to sit up straight. “Listen, Daniel, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“Oh. This doesn’t sound good,” he said, swallowing hard.
“Oh! No! It’s not big deal,” I whispered. “It’s just . . . Tara’s having a slumber party for the squad this weekend.”
For a split second his eyes lit up. I had a feeling that visions of half-dressed girls and pillow fights danced through his head.
“Girls only,” I added firmly.
And the eyes went dead.
“What? Seriously?” he said.
“Yeah. I know,” I told him. “It’s just after the fight yesterday, she kind of thought it would be a good idea for the team to bond.”
“Uh, right. And me and Joe and Steven are on the team too,” he said. “At least we were the last time I checked.”
“Well, it’s just something we always do,” I told him, trying to put a positive spin on it. “Slumber parties are like a tradition. But we can’t exactly have guys there . . .”
“Right, so maybe we should start a new tradition,” Daniel said tersely. “Something the whole squad could do together. Did she ever think of that?”
I bit my bottom lip and slumped again. The guy had a point. Of course he did. I had thought the same thing myself. But Tara had made up her mind. And we all knew that when Tara made up her mind, you couldn’t change it without a lobotomy.
“She just wants us to do something fun together. You know, to kind of erase the whole fight thing,” I said. “And to be honest, part of me agrees with her. I mean, it’s bad enough that the guys and girls can’t seem to get along, but now the girls aren’t getting along with the girls. If this keeps up, the whole squad is going to self-destruct.”
Daniel took a deep breath. His eyes were like swirls of blue-green seawater. “This really means a lot to you, huh?”
“Yeah. It kind of does,” I said, touched that he understood.
“It just sucks,” he said, though with slightly less venom now. “Like we didn’t feel enough like lepers already.”
“Well, it’s just one night,” I told him. “And then maybe next week we can figure out something we can all do together.”
Daniel forced a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Just then Bethany stumbled back toward the table, one hand over her eyes, walking into chairs and bookshelves as she went. History books teetered from their displays and fell; a stand full of pamphlets on the importance of reading slammed into the floor and fanned out over the carpet. Señorita Marquez rolled her eyes closed and sank down in her seat as the librarian went ashen.
“I’m back. You can stop making out now!” Bethany announced.
“Shhhhh!” the entire class scolded her as she slammed hip-first into a book cart.
“Miss Goow. Do I have to give you a detention?” the librarian asked.
“You don’t have to do anything in this life, Ms. Gruber,” Bethany replied. “That’s why they call this America.”
Daniel and I laughed and just like that, the tension was broken. I’d have to thank Bethany later. And maybe add a swift kick to the shin.
That afternoon half the school huddled inside the lobby, staring out the normally sun-drenched glass doors and windows at the monsoon that raged outside. The buses had already lined up at the curb, their headlights on and their windshield wipers thwap, thwap, thwapping away. One brave soul lifted his denim jacket above his head and shouted as he dove into the rain and ran for his car. We all watched with interest. By the time he got there, he looked like he’d just gotten off a waterslide.
“I thought the weather guy said it was going to be in the mid-seventies and sunny,” Autumn said, shivering as another intrepid senior opened the door and let in a burst of cold air. We were both dressed for practice in the cafeteria and goose bumps had already broken out on all my exposed parts.
“He did,” Bethany said, fishing in her bag and pulling out a half-mangled umbrella. “The loser.”
“It’s like something out of a disaster movie,” I said. “The Storm That Ate Sand Dune.”
“I think I’m gonna be a weather person,” Bethany said. “I just decided.”
“Why?” Autumn and I asked in unison.
“It’s, like, the only job where you can be totally wrong every single day and still keep your job,” she said. “I like that kinda gig.”
I could just see Bethany up there in front of the weather board with her thick black eyeliner and rainbow-color-of-the-day hair. She’d probably make shadow puppets and have her fingers devour the Midwest or something.
“Wish me luck,” she said, heading for the doors.
“Luck!” we both shouted.
The door to the cafeteria opened and Chandra waved manically at us. “You guys! Come on! She already started stretching!”
Autumn and I looked at each other and sighed. We both knew that the only reason we were still standing out here among the masses was that we were dreading practice. By now all the guys had heard about the slumber party and we just knew it was going to create new and different forms of tension.
“Guess we can’t avoid it forever,” I said.
“If only we could find a rift in the space-time continuum,” Autumn said.
I nodded. “If only.”
Together we trudged our way through the crowd and into the relative emptiness of the caf, taking our spots in line.
“You’re late!” Coach called out.
“Sorry, Coach!” we both replied.
As Tara led us in stretching, the rain pelted the cafeteria windows. I could barely hear her counts over all the weather-related noise and we kept flinching every time there was a loud gust of wind or a clap of thunder. We were all doing hamstring stretches, standing on one foot like a flock of skittish storks, when the door to the cafeteria squealed its wa
y open. Sage actually fell sideways and almost took Karianna out in the process when Terrell walked in, a scroll of white paper tucked under his arm. Everyone dropped their feet and Tara turned around to see what had made us all blanch. A flash of lightning blinded the otherwise dim room, followed by a low rumble of thunder.
“Truluck! What are you doing here?” Coach asked.
“I thought you quit,” Tara put in.
Bring on the drama.
“What’s going on?” I hissed at Daniel.
But I knew from the stunned look on his face that even he hadn’t expected this visit. He lifted his shoulders and we all took a discreet step forward, trying to hear over the storm.
“I came to apologize, Coach,” Terrell said, his voice firm and clear as a bell. He must have spoken very loudly for his words to reach all of us. Always mindful of his audience, that Terrell. He cleared his throat. “I’m hoping you’ll let me back on the squad.”
Coach was seriously nonplussed. For once she looked like she had no idea what to say. No matter, though. Seemed like Terrell was more than ready to take center stage and hold on to it with all his might.
“I made this,” he told her.
He took out the scroll and unfurled it on the floor at Coach Holmes’ feet. Instantly everyone broke formation and gathered around Coach Holmes, no longer trying to hide our curiosity.
“Whoa,” Chandra said softly.
Jaimee snorted a laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth when she drew a bunch of scathing stares. I understood where she was coming from, though. It was kind of hard not to laugh. Terrell had made a brand-new banner for the lobby. At least he had tried to. He had copied Jaimee’s original design, but his artwork was seriously hurting. Like my three-year-old second cousin Tristan could have done a better job. But his lettering was pretty solid and it was clear he’d put a lot of effort into it. Plus, he’d probably had to shop for the paper and the paint after leaving practice yesterday, and as far as I knew, most guys didn’t even have a clue where to buy that stuff, so it probably took some time. Once everyone got past the Picasso-esque dolphin and crab, I think we all understood the amount of pride Terrell had forced himself to swallow to do this. He’d even signed his work in the corner, announcing to the world that he was ready and willing to take whatever ribbing the guys of the school chose to throw at him.
Maybe there was hope for Terrell yet.
“I really am sorry, Coach,” Terrell said.
“Oh, please,” Tara whispered derisively.
“As a peace offering, it’s not bad,” Coach said with a thoughtful frown. “Okay, Truluck. Go get warmed up.”
“What?” Tara blurted, her voice pitched so high, it was earsplitting.
“Don’t start with me, Timothy,” Coach said, holding up a hand. “Not today.”
Terrell clapped his hands and grinned as Joe slapped his back. Uh-oh. Already the mischievous glint had returned to Terrell’s eyes, and the rest of the guys responded with gleeful smiles. How did Coach not see it? All the girls on the squad did. I could feel the trepidation permeate the room. Maybe Terrell had made the effort and the self-sacrifice, but now that he was back, who knew what trouble he would cause?
Lightning illuminated the room, accompanied by a tremendous clap of thunder, and we all jumped. Evil portent, anyone?
“But Coach—” Tara protested.
“I told Terrell what he’d have to do to make it up to the team and he did it. Therefore, he deserves a second chance,” Coach told Tara, cutting her off. “I’d do the same for anyone else on this team.”
Tara clenched her jaw, but said nothing.
“Now I believe you were in the middle of stretching?” Coach said.
“Yes, Coach,” Tara said.
“Good,” Coach replied with a nod. “Get back to it.”
As we all shuffled into formation, the guys welcomed Terrell back onto the squad with hand clasps and shoulder bumps. Daniel looked really happy, so I was happy for him. But at the same time, I couldn’t help feeling that the guys were a little too happy. As if they were looking forward to getting in line behind Terrell again. The villain in his billowing cape.
I just hoped I was wrong.
13
“What is this song?” I shouted to be heard over the blaring stereo at Tara Timothy’s house that weekend. I had just returned from a bathroom run to find most of the squad dancing on the furniture like possessed people. Tara, Phoebe, Felice and Kimberly were all bouncing on the ancient couch in Tara’s family room, their faces green from Autumn’s homemade avocado masks. Over the speakers some weird guy was shouting about june bugs and razorbacks to the tune of seriously funky music.
“It’s the B-52’s!” Phoebe shouted, doing an awkward version of the twist as the couch cushions shifted beneath her feet. “Come on! Dance!”
Chandra walked by with a bowl full of raw cookie dough, her head bopping up and down to the beat while she ate with a huge wooden spoon. Autumn sat on a cushy chair, braiding Sage’s hair in a zillion tiny braids as Sage kept the beat with her feet. Everyone else was getting down like we were in the middle of American Idol fifties night, doing the swim and flailing around.
“Um, we never did this last season. Were you guys just saving the really freaky stuff until after you completely sucked me in?” I asked as I allowed Phoebe to pull me up onto the couch. She started bumping my butt until I almost fell right back down.
“This is not freaky!” Phoebe protested. “It’s necessary!”
“How, exactly?” I asked as her bony hip smacked into my butt.
“The B-52’s are a therapeutic band,” Kimberly explained. “You can’t not be happy when you listen to them.”
“And if there’s one thing this squad needs, it’s guaranteed happy,” Felice put in, handing me a virgin piña colada with a crazy straw sticking out of it.
“Well, it appears to be working,” I shouted.
“Aw, yeah!” Chandra replied, earning a round of cheers.
I laughed and danced as I sucked down my drink. Time to get fully in the spirit of the moment. And the spirit was high, high, high. Tara’s slumber party was definitely doing the trick. We had been here for three hours already and there had been zero fights and zero snarky comments—that I knew about, anyway. Just a lot of junk food eating and stupid game playing and gossip sharing. And now that it was getting late and everyone was punchy and second-winded, the wacky dancing had broken out.
“Know who else is therapeutic? Liz Phair!” Chandra shouted.
“Yeah, but only for breakups,” Shira replied, dropping down onto her seriously faded Garfield sleeping bag as the song came to an end.
“No way! She’s good for anything!” Chandra protested, offering Lindsey the wooden spoon. “At least her old stuff is.”
“I’m a Fiona girl myself,” Wendy said.
“Please! Avril all the way!” Ally put in.
About a half dozen pillows and groans were launched in her direction and Ally laughed. “I was kidding!”
“What’s wrong with Avril?” Jaimee asked.
And thus, the girl-rocker debate began. I dropped down from the couch and grabbed a spoon to partake of the cookie dough while everyone else debated whether Madonna counted as either a girl or a rocker. It was all very enlightening, actually.
