by Kieran Scott
We stepped into the airy center of the hotel, which was once again filled with people milling around, shouting and squealing. With the stories-high ceiling and the huge dome skylight, the place had the perfect acoustics to make an already loud group sound even louder.
“Can’t you just think of it as a team-unity thing?” Phoebe suggested, tightening her own dark blonde ponytail. “Like those hockey player guys who all grow beards during the play-offs?”
“They do?” I asked.
“Totally,” Phoebe replied. “As long as they keep winning, no one shaves, no matter how grizzly they look.”
“Huh. Never would have pegged you for a hockey fan,” I said.
“I’m a very deep and complex person,” Phoebe replied indignantly.
“Deep and complex people do not have pink walls and lace duvet covers,” I deadpanned. “Actually, neither do hockey fans.” Phoebe hip-checked me into Chandra and we laughed. “Okay! I take it back!”
“Well, at least Tara’s not asking you to grow a beard,” Chandra put in.
“You’re not changing your mind now too, are you?” I asked her.
“Me? Change my mind? Have you not met me?” Chandra asked. “Stubborn is my middle name. I’m with you, kid.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “Besides, every guy on a hockey team grows a beard for unity, right?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Then why am I the only one who has to dye her hair?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
Phoebe and Chandra exchanged a look. “You should definitely go to law school,” Phoebe said.
“Oh, there are my brothers!” Chandra exclaimed, pointing at a pair of guys who looked just like her, but with shorter, darker hair. “Losers!” she shouted gleefully, running over to them and jumping into the arms of the taller one.
Steven, who was circling the lobby snapping pics of my teammates with their families, caught their reunion on his memory card.
“I thought she had four brothers,” I said to Phoebe.
“One lives in Santa Barbara and the other is always world-traveling,” Phoebe said.
“Right! The photographer,” I said, remembering.
“Lucky bastard,” Phoebe said under her breath. “Right now I’d like to be pretty much anywhere but here.”
I blinked, intrigued. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Hey, girls!” Autumn said, joining us.
“Autumn, hey! How’s my favorite earth goddess?” Phoebe asked boisterously. Clearly she was avoiding my question, but I didn’t give up that easily.
“Phoebe, if you need to talk about anything, you—”
“Hey! There’s your parents,” Phoebe said, nudging my arm. “And . . . is that . . . Gabe?”
We all turned to look. Sure enough, there were my mom and dad checking in at the front desk. Mom was wearing a black pantsuit with her red hair pulled back in a low ponytail, her makeup perfectly applied. Dad was looking frumpy as usual in a plaid shirt and wrinkly chinos. Next to them was a person I could only assume was my brother, although I had never seen his red hair that short or carefully coiffed in my life.
“I thought he was a surf bum,” Autumn said, confused. “What happened to the baggy shorts and the Tevas? I liked the baggy shorts and the Tevas.”
“I have no idea,” I said.
Gabe had topped a pair of trendy sneakers with flat-front chinos and a toggle belt. His white T-shirt bore not a wrinkle nor a stain and over that he was wearing a pristine lightweight brown suede jacket. He pulled off his aviator sunglasses to check out a couple of girls who walked by and they both grinned and giggled in response.
“Ladies,” I heard Gabe say with a smirk.
“Oh, God. He’s gone metrosexual on us,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Excuse me. Mom! Dad!”
I jogged across the lobby, pleats flying, and gave my mother and father both a big sweaty hug.
“Annisa! You look so sweet!” my mother said, stepping back to check out my ensemble. “Very retro.”
“Thanks,” I said.
My mom is a personal shopper and she is always taking note of people’s fashion statements. Too bad the Black Bears and their snarky captain weren’t around to hear her comments. I turned to Gabe and clucked my tongue, looking him up and down.
“Nice look, Gabe. Finally discover the Bravo network?”
Gabe is Mr. Chameleon. He changes not only his look, but his entire life philosophy about once every three months. Of course, I never thought I’d see him embracing the GQ lifestyle. He’s always been a little too chill to worry about such things as, oh, grooming and bathing.
Gabe put out his arms and executed a little spin. “I thought it was about time for me to mature my style a tad,” he said with a cocky little twist of the lips. “You feeling it?”
Clearly he had also ditched the “dudes” and “whoas” of his former persona.
“I’m feeling something,” I said, putting a hand to my stomach.
“Oh, Annisa!” my mother scolded. “I think he looks adorable.” She grabbed my brother’s chin between her fingers and gave him a good squeeze, puckering his face. Then she hit him with a big smacking kiss on the cheek. “My Gabe is all grown up!”
I laughed as Gabe squirmed. “Mom! Please! I’m a man over here!”
Suddenly, Steven was upon us with his camera. “May I?” he asked, looking at my dad.
“Since when do you ask permission?” I joked.
Steven blushed and shrugged. Apparently he was a parental kiss-butt.
“Annisa, don’t be rude,” my mother said.
“I wasn’t!” I replied.
“Steven! Nice to see you again!” my father added. He had finished up at the front desk and was now folding his wallet into his pocket. “Of course you can have a picture.”
He pulled us all together with his great wingspan and we all smiled for Steven’s camera. Everyone except Gabe, who struck a pout worthy of Details magazine.
“Thanks!” Steven said, then hustled off.
“So, back to this man thing,” my father said, turning to Gabe. “Will you be paying for your own room then, man that you are?”
Gabe paled slightly. Wait a second, was he wearing mascara?
“Uh . . . I haven’t exactly gotten my last work-study check, actually, Dad.”
I leaned forward, squinting at his eyelashes, and he quickly covered his eyes with his sunglasses. “Can we go check out the pool?”
“Good idea,” my mom said, slipping her arm through his.
“I hope that stuff is waterproof!” I shouted after them.
My father laughed and shook his head. “Are you girls having fun?”
“It’s been great, Dad,” I said, putting aside anything negative that had happened so far. My father really didn’t need to know that my friends were trying to pressure me in to dyeing my hair. He might actually kidnap me and take me home if he heard that. For a guy who moves all over the country for his job, he’s not big on change. “And guess what? Jordan is here with the Beavers! They’re competing too!”
“Jordan? That’s a nice surprise!” my father said. “Although I might have trouble deciding which team to support.”
“You’re hysterical, really,” I said.
“I try,” my father replied. “Hey, isn’t that your friend Bethany?”
I looked up and grinned. Bethany was trotting along with a group of the ESPN crew guys, her digital video camera poised as she peppered them with questions. One of the guys laughed, flashing an incredible smile, and Bethany actually blushed. I didn’t even think that was possible.
I guess everyone was finding something to enjoy on this trip.
“Phoebe! What’s going on with you?” Coach asked as we all hit the mats after another run-through. “You had that section down earlier.”
“Sorry, Coach,” Phoebe said, reaching for her towel. Some of the hair had fallen from her ponytail and was plastered to her neck and face. “I’ll get it back.”
“
All right. Make sure you do,” Coach said.
I glanced at Mindy. “What’s up with her?” I whispered.
“She’s looked like a zombie ever since break,” Mindy replied with a shrug. She stretched her leg out and leaned over to touch her toes. Phoebe covered her face with the towel and held it there for longer than was absolutely necessary. Something was definitely up with her. She was acting just like she had when I first joined the squad, back when her parents had separated.
“Maybe you should find yourself a good-luck charm,” Tara suggested. “Get your head back in the game.”
I wanted to smack the back of her head. Phoebe was supposed to be one of her best friends. How about saying something constructive?
“Yeah, thanks, Tara. I’ll get right on that,” Phoebe said sarcastically.
I resolved right then and there to talk to Phoebe when we were dismissed, whether she wanted to talk to me or not. Clearly she needed to get something off her chest.
“Well, all right, girls. I think that’s enough for today,” Coach Holmes said finally. “Let’s get stretched out.”
Tara got up to lead us through stretching. Feeling my heart rate slow to normal and my muscles quiver with pleasure as I stretched was perfection. Of course, it would have been a lot better if not for the presence of the Black Bears.
They had already started practice when we got back from our parental break and they hadn’t so much as paused since. They were like soldiers over there, shouting and tumbling and doing their jumps in perfect unison. It was clear that every other squad in the room was intimidated.
As I bent over for a calf stretch, the Black Bears’ captain went flying into the air, executing a perfect layout. It looked effortless. When she came down into her partners’ arms, she flew right back up into a liberty.
Whitney whistled, impressed. I saw a bunch of my teammates exchange wide-eyed glances.
“Don’t look at them! Look at me!” Tara ordered.
Everyone snapped back to attention. Still, we could see what was going on over there out of the corners of our eyes and it was far too pretty. By the time we were done stretching, we all wanted out of there.
“Nice work, girls! See you at dinner!” Coach Holmes called out.
Or some of us, I added silently, my stomach flopping. I still hadn’t told anyone I had decided to ditch for Daniel. Maybe it was about time I tried to talk to Tara.
“Hey.”
I glanced up to find Phoebe hovering over me, looking pale.
“Hey,” I replied. “You okay?”
“Not exactly,” Phoebe said, glancing over her shoulder. “Do you want to get some ice cream or something?”
“Sure,” I said, quickly gathering my things. It was clear that Phoebe wanted to talk. Before regionals she had confided in me about the problems her parents were having, and I knew that most of the squad wasn’t in on as many details as I was. If Phoebe wanted to borrow my ear above anyone else’s, it was probably about her family. I just hoped the news wasn’t too bad.
“Let’s go,” I said. We hoisted our bags onto our shoulders and headed for the door.
“Hey! Annisa!”
Becca jogged over to us and Phoebe looked at the floor. My pulse actually raced over the fact that Becca was talking to me. This was going to take some getting used to.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Do you think I could . . . uh . . . talk to you for a sec?” she asked, eyeing Phoebe.
“Um . . . actually . . .”
“Just for a second, I swear,” Becca pleaded, lacing her fingers together.
I glanced at Phoebe hopefully. I mean, this was Becca Richardson begging to talk to me. What was I supposed to do, turn her down?
“Just for a second?” I said to Phoebe. “Then I’ll catch up with you in the café?”
“Sure. Whatever,” she said flatly.
She turned and jogged off before I could say another word. Was it my imagination, or did she seem like she was on the verge of tears? I stepped to the door and glanced down the hall in time to see her catch up to Tara.
Okay. No harm, no foul. She had her best friend to talk to, after all. And meanwhile, Becca Richardson was hovering.
“Okay. I’m all yours,” I told Becca, trying to ignore the hollowness in my chest that Phoebe’s departure had left behind.
“Would you mind watching us do a run-through?” Becca asked as the rest of the Beavers caught their breath on the mat, watching us with interest. “We could use a few pointers.”
I almost pinched myself. Becca Richardson was asking me for advice? The Becca Richardson?
“Oh! Uh, sure. Absolutely,” I said, trying not to be too giddy.
“Fab! Thank you so much. Everyone! Annisa’s going to critique us!” Becca shouted, jogging over to the squad. “Let’s show her what we can do!”
A few of the Beavers cheered as they got into formation. I stood at the edge of the mat and placed my bag on the floor, rolling my tired shoulders back. Coach Martinez started the music, then walked over to join me.
“Your squad looks great, Gobrowski,” she said.
“Thanks, Coach. I miss you guys, though.”
She smiled. “We miss you too.”
The Beavers started their routine with a domino-style stunt line, one heel stretch going up at a time and to the beat. Already I couldn’t believe how far they had come. The last time we had tried a basket toss, Jordan had flown halfway across the room and the bases had to run to catch her. We didn’t attempt much after that. But these stunts were perfect.
“Wow, nice,” I said as they started their first dance sequence.
“They’ve been working really hard,” Coach told me.
“Obviously,” I said with a grin.
Gia was in the front of the formation now, grooving with everything she had. She had always been an amazing dancer—one of the best in the school—but she didn’t look quite right up front. Then I realized it was her face. She looked kind of bored and distracted. The judges were not going to like that.
Donnie Walker, the girl who had replaced me, hit a huge tumbling run and raced back to the formation to be thrown. Her energy was great, as were Jordan’s and Maria’s and Becca’s, but everyone else looked as apathetic as they always had.
“Everyone, stand up and shout ‘Beavers!’” the team chanted.
“Beavers!” Coach and I yelled.
“Everyone stand up and shout ‘Go, red-and-gold!”’
“Go, red-and-gold!”
They held up colorful, glittery signs that I could tell Jordan had made herself. She was definitely the artistic one on the squad. A queasy sort of uncomfortable warmth overcame me as I imagined her alone in her room working on them. I wished I had been there with her. It was so bizarre to think of her going about our old lives without me. And the team had obviously been fine since I left. Not that I expected them to crumble without me, but I guess I never thought they might improve. Especially to this level.
They launched into their final dance sequence and ended up in a dazzling pyramid. Everyone hit their places on the beat and they were all grinning at the end—even Gia. The music stopped and Coach and I cheered loudly. The Tennessee team applauded as well and Jordan beamed as they came down from their stunts. The Black Bears, of course, were completely focused on themselves.
“So? What do you think?” Becca asked, walking over to me with her hands on her hips.
The entire squad gathered around to listen to what I had to say. Gulp. My heart was suddenly in my throat. Did I tell the truth and risk the wrath of Gia and the others, or did I just say they were perfect and hightail it out of there?
“Come on, Goober. Dish it,” Gia said.
“Yeah,” a few others chorused.
“Uh . . . okay,” I said finally. “Well, it was really awesome. The stunts were amazing,” I said, earning a few appreciative grins. “But there was a little sloppiness on the dance sequences. A couple of you were off tempo,” I said. �
��And a few people need to work on their expressions, you know?”
The grins were rapidly fading. Gulp gulp.
“Like who?” Gia demanded.
“Like . . . you know . . . a few people,” I said, my throat going dry.
“Gia, you know you’re one of them,” Coach Martinez said. “We’ve talked about this a hundred times.”
“Coach, I’m not gonna bug my eyes out of my head,” Gia said.
“You don’t have to!” I told her. “Just . . . try smiling.”
A few of her teammates snickered as Gia scowled.
“Oh, and you could work on your high V’s,” I added finally. “Everyone seemed to be at a different level. Mostly they need to be higher. Like this.”
I put my arms up in a V. This was one of the first things Tara and Coach Holmes had drilled into my head when I first made the Sand Dune squad. I glanced at Jordan. Her mouth was set in a tight line and she instantly looked down at her feet. She jammed her toe into the floor a few times, pointedly ignoring me. I felt my spirits droop and put my arms down. What was that about?
“All right! You heard what she said, people! Let’s get our butts in gear!” Becca shouted, shooing them back onto the mat.
“Thanks for your help,” Coach Martinez told me, patting me on the back.
“No problem,” I said.
Jordan turned around without a second glance, and when Coach started the music again, she was staring straight off at a fixed point somewhere above my head. I tried to catch her eye, but she refused to look at me. I could see her concentrating to keep from looking my way. Was she mad at me? Why? She had heard Becca ask for my help, hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if I’d gone over there and critiqued them for fun. Feeling hollow, I picked up my bag and slunk out of there.
Jordan had never been mad at me before. Not once in the last four years. And I couldn’t even pull her aside and ask her what was wrong. She was in there with her squad and I was out here alone. Even though we had been living a thousand miles away from each other for the last few months, I had never felt so separated from her and I didn’t like the gaping hole that had opened in my heart. Not at all.
12
