Brunettes Strike Back

by Kieran Scott

  “Mom, I’ll have to call you back,” Phoebe said. She reached behind her and hung up the phone.

  “All right, before anyone says anything, I want you all to know I’m ready to do the right thing,” I said, raising my hands. “I’m sorry for skipping dinner and for lying about it. I’m sorry if I haven’t been there for you the past couple of days,” I said, glancing at Phoebe. “I’m sorry if I’ve complained.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “But I also know that ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t always cut it, so I want to prove to you guys that this squad is important to me. That I am dedicated to you guys, no matter what.”

  Don’t do it! a little voice in my mind shouted. Don’t, Annisa! Don’t!

  For once, I couldn’t tell if it was the angel or the devil, but I bit back the advice and took the plunge.

  “So I’m going to do it,” I said, closing my eyes. I swear I almost choked on the words. “I’m going to dye my hair.”

  “Yes!” Tara cheered, standing up.

  “No!” Mindy wailed.

  “Annisa, you can’t!” Autumn intoned.

  “Yes, I can,” I said, sticking to my guns. “If that’s what you guys need me to do to prove myself, then I’m going to do it.”

  “You heard the girl! Let’s go!” Tara said.

  “But I will be dyeing it back first thing tomorrow,” I told Tara firmly. “After we win nationals.”

  This cocky proclamation was met with some automatic cheers from the group. Meanwhile, my brain was hyperly listing all the things that could go wrong. What if the bleach destroyed my hair and made it frizz? What if I couldn’t dye it back and was rendered blonde forever? What was my mom going to say? What if I looked ridiculous as a blonde and I was ridiculed and mocked and people threw stones at me?

  Okay, so I have an overactive imagination. Especially in times of crisis.

  “Fine,” Tara said with a tight smile. “Nationals are what’s important anyway.”

  “Tara, this is crazy,” Whitney said, standing up. “Give it a rest already.”

  Thank you, thank you, thank you! I thought.

  “No, Whitney,” Tara replied, putting her arm around me. Odd. The girl had never voluntarily touched me before. “If this is what Annisa wants to do to show us how much she cares, then we should let her do it. I, personally, think it’s the perfect way for her to make everything up to us.”

  Everyone in the room looked at everyone else. They were all gauging the situation, weighing the options. They could either stand up and defend my right to brown hair, or they could make Tara happy. Unfortunately, I could see the vote wasn’t swinging my way. And it wasn’t like I could blame them. I was volunteering. Why rock the boat when there was no reason to? We were all seasick enough after the last couple of days.

  It was really going to happen. No one was going to step in and save the day. I was going to dye my hair. I had made a decision and it was time to be brave. Time to grin and bear it.

  “Okay,” I said, clapping my hands. “Let’s do this.”

  Five minutes later, I was sitting in a chair in front of the sink, a towel wrapped around my shoulders. Chandra, the only person with publicly acknowledged hair-dyeing experience, had been elected to do the deed. She pulled on the clear plastic gloves and reached for the dye bottle. I gulped as she twisted the top off. As many people as possible had crammed themselves into the primping area, and the rest of the squad was whispering just beyond the door. The anticipation was thick.

  “Oh, that stuff stinks,” Whitney said, holding her nose as the peroxide stench assaulted our nostrils.

  “You put that on your hair?” Autumn said, wrinkling up her face. “That cannot be healthy.”

  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” Chandra said with a shrug.

  Sage twittered with glee.

  “You sure about this?” Chandra asked me, looking doubtful.

  I eyed her hair. The roots, the shagginess, the split ends. Then I stared at my reflection—at the dark hair I’d gotten from my dad. What the hell was I doing?

  “Uh . . . yeah . . . I guess,” I said.

  This is not an Extreme Makeover. It’s just hair. It’s just hair! People change their hair all the time. Look at Renée Zellweger and Xtina and Cameron Diaz and Mandy Moore and—

  But this was not a professional Hollywood color. This was a five-dollar box of chemicals from CVS. Who knew what kind of uncategorized subset of freak I was going to be when it was over?

  “Well, here goes nothing,” Chandra said.

  Mindy and Jaimee clutched hands and closed their eyes. Whitney turned around and walked out of the primping area. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the smelly goop to hit my scalp. Would it burn? Would it be cold? Would it drip into my eyes and blind me for life?

  Oh, God . . . Oh, God . . . Oh . . .

  “Stop!”lay

  My eyes flew open. Tara grabbed Chandra’s arm and yanked it away from me. She took the bottle of dye out of her hands and dropped it on the counter. I wouldn’t have been more surprised if she had just bulldozed the hotel down around us.

  “What?” I asked. “What happened?”

  “I can’t believe you were actually going to do it,” Tara said, looking flummoxed.

  “What?”

  I was so confused, I think that was the only word left in my vocabulary.

  “I appreciate it, Gobrowski, but I can’t let you do it,” Tara said. “I can’t let you destroy your hair for us.”

  “But this is all you’ve talked about for, like, a week!” I blurted.

  Shut up, Annisa! Shut up!

  “I know, but I changed my mind. It’s too extreme,” Tara said. “I mean, that stench! That can’t be good for anyone. Just look what it’s done to Chandra’s head!”

  “Hey!” Chandra protested.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but the girl is right,” Whitney said, rejoining us. “You have more splits than the U.S. gymnastics team.”

  Chandra grumbled and ripped off the plastic gloves.

  “And besides, you were right the other night at Chandra’s. We can’t make this big of a change the night before the competition. We could totally jinx ourselves,” Tara said. “What was I thinking?”

  “Oh, man,” Sage said, throwing her hands up and walking out. I guess the show was really over. I felt faint with relief.

  “You really were going to do it, weren’t you?” Tara said, looking at me in awe.

  “Yeah, I was,” I said.

  Tara grinned. It was the first genuine smile I had seen on her face in days. “Well, that’s good enough for us, right, girls?” she called out.

  “Yeah!”

  Everyone shouted and cheered and Mindy threw her arms around me, hugging me so tight, I had to hold my breath. I whipped the towel off and stood up, looking at my reflection in the mirror—at the reflection of all those happy faces around me.

  It was a close call, but I was still a non-blonde. I was still me! And for the first time in days I was sure that I was right where I belonged.

  That night I smiled at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. As quickly as everything had fallen apart, it was put back together again. Dinner with the squad had been all kinds of fun. The Black Bears kept trying to hit us with their mind games—talking smack about us and everyone else in the room—so we just kept talking louder and louder and louder until we were so loud, we drowned them out. Finally they gave up and left before dessert.

  Score one for the Fighting Crabs!

  After we finished eating, I pulled Phoebe aside and we walked out to the pool to talk. She told me that her parents were officially getting divorced. It was all a big mess and they weren’t speaking anymore. As a result, each had ditched the competition, concerned that they might bump into the other. I didn’t have much in the way of words of wisdom for her, having never been through anything like this myself, but I listened to everything she had to say and in the end, she assured me she felt better.

&nbs
p; Especially after I promised never to ditch her in a moment of need again.

  Now she was snoring in her bed, emotionally and physically exhausted. I hoped she would feel even better in the morning.

  “Hey,” Mindy said, joining me by the sinks. Her long hair was back in a shiny ponytail and she was wearing light blue pajamas with Oreos drawn all over them. Sweet dreams!

  “Hey,” I replied. A little sizzle of discomfort crackled through me. Mindy and I hadn’t talked much since the hissy fit to end all hissy fits.

  “I’m sorry about before, Annisa. I don’t know what happened to me,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “In case you didn’t notice, I went a little nuts,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever lost it like that before. I’m thinking it was nerves.”

  “You’re apologizing for that?” I said. I spat out my toothpaste and rinsed my mouth. “I kind of thought I deserved it.”

  “You did?” Mindy said, wide-eyed. “Well, maybe you did. A little.”

  I laughed. “You know, maybe you should freak out more often. It’s not good to keep everything all bottled up, you know? If you do, then you end up—”

  “Spewing all over one of your best friends like a shaken soda bottle?” she finished with a smile.

  “Exactly.”

  “You know, it was kind of cool, saying what I actually thought for once,” Mindy said, running her purple toothbrush under the tap.

  “See?”

  She picked up her toothpaste and knocked over the little bottle of conditioner that had come with the hair dye. We both looked at the kit, which was still laid out on the counter, the gloves in a ball by the bottles and packaging.

  “I didn’t even realize that was still here,” Mindy said. She placed her toothbrush and toothpaste down and reached out her hand to me. “Garbage can?”

  Grinning, I picked up the little plastic garbage container and gave it to her. She held it just under the lip of the counter.

  “Wanna do the honors?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  Feeling giddy, I reached out and used the back of my arm to swipe the whole kit into the trash. Mindy tossed it back under the counter and we high-fived.

  “I think I’ll take this out to the Dumpster,” Mindy said, yanking the bag out of the garbage can and slinging it over her shoulder. “When it comes to Tara, you can never be too careful.”

  “Thanks, Min,” I said.

  “You know, I have a feeling we’re going to kick a little butt tomorrow,” she told me.

  I grinned in response. “I hear that.”

  21

  The next morning, I came downstairs for breakfast in my blue SDH shorts and white Crabs T-shirt—just like the rest of the squad. Mindy, Autumn and I were bringing up the rear, playing Who’s Hotter? (we were on Orlando Bloom vs. Ashton Kutcher), when suddenly the rest of the team stopped in its tracks.

  “Oh, God,” Whitney said under her breath.

  “What happened?” Jaimee asked.

  And suddenly, they were all looking at me.

  “What?” I asked, my smile quickly fading. “What’s going on?”

  That’s when I saw them. Two guys up on tremendous ladders, working on the “Congratulations, Finalists!” banner. They were painting big red letters over the Northwood High School Beavers. Big red letters that spelled out DISQUALIFIED. Steven stood underneath them, snapping pictures.

  “That’s a little uncalled for,” Whitney said.

  Of course, she didn’t know what had happened the night before. Suddenly all I could think about was finding Jordan. Was she okay? Had anyone gotten hurt? What had happened?

  Steven raced over and got all up in our faces, capturing our reactions on his camera. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away.

  “Uh, now’s really not the time, Schwinn,” Chandra said.

  He lowered the camera. “Actually, Annisa, I was kind of hoping we could talk.”

  Wow. So not what I want to do right now, I thought.

  Luckily I was saved by the bell. The elevator behind us pinged and the doors slid open. Half the Beavers squad jostled their way out with their bags, their heads sunk so low, they looked like hunchbacks. Jordan wasn’t there. My squad parted to let them through and everyone blatantly stared. Even Gia looked chagrined. I didn’t think that was possible.

  Everyone in the lobby grew hushed as the Beavers did their walk of shame to the front door. It couldn’t have been more humiliating.

  The second elevator opened and Jordan trudged out with the others, adjusting her bag strap on her shoulder and clutching her black winter jacket. Forgetting all about Steven for the moment, I fell right into step with her.

  “Hey. . . . Everything all right?” I asked.

  “Not exactly,” she replied. She noticed the disqualified sign and averted her eyes. “We’re going home, obviously.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “We got caught,” she replied flatly. “One of the Black Bears came back to the room for her body glitter and the rest is history.”

  Ugh. Snagged by a body-glitter girl. Could there be anything more tragic?

  “Look, I’m sorry about . . . everything,” she said. “I’ve been acting like a total jerk.”

  “No, you haven’t,” I said automatically.

  “Yes, I have. I was up all night thinking about it,” she said. “I just . . . I thought it would be like old times, hanging out with you down here. But then I saw you with all your new friends and everything and you seemed so happy. . . . I just felt like a total loser.”

  “You could never be a total loser,” I said.

  “Except for right now,” she replied. We both watched as Coach Martinez walked by us, talking animatedly with a couple of the cheerleading association’s officials. Jordan sighed ruefully. “I guess I just let jealousy take over.”

  “I know what that’s about,” I said, thinking of Daniel and the Sage insanity. “But you have nothing to be jealous of. You are always going to be my best friend.”

  “Promise?” she asked, looking a little desperate for good news.

  “Promise,” I replied.

  “Trott! Let’s go!” Martinez called out. “On the bus!”

  “Oh, wait!” Jordan said, digging in her pocket. She pulled out the Derek Jeter pen and handed it over. “I won’t be needing it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my eyes welling with tears. I felt awful for the Beavers. They had worked so hard to get here and had made the finals, and for what? I knew it was their own fault, doing what they had done, but they were still my friends. It was heartbreaking watching them go. I wished we could just turn back time to last night and I could find a way to talk them out of it.

  “Love you,” Jordan said, hugging me tight. “Kick some ass.”

  “You know it,” I replied.

  I stepped back and waved as she shuffled through the lobby doors. Instantly, the lobby was peppered with voices, everyone speculating over what had happened. My squad gathered around me and I waited for the onslaught of questions, my heart heavy. On top of everything else, I had no idea when I would see Jordan again. Part of me wanted to run out there and get on that bus with her.

  “You okay?” Autumn asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine,” I replied.

  “Of course she will,” Tara said. “She’s a Crab.”

  “Let’s go get some breakfast,” Whitney said, slinging her arm around my shoulders. “I’m thinking something in the dough and maple syrup oeuvre.”

  I smiled as they ushered me toward the restaurant, making a protective shield around me in case any of the other squads got the idea to grill the last girl seen with the Beavers. It really was nice to have my friends back.

  A couple of hours later, we were all backstage in our competition uniforms, our makeup done, our hair slicked back, ready to go . . . and totally freaking out. I mean, we were straight-up hyper. Jaimee was talking a mile a minute about rules and regulations and
the importance of sticking our landings. Sage and Whitney were engaged in some kind of ridiculous sibling rivalry fight that, from the snippets I could hear, had something to do with a pair of purple underwear one had stolen from the other. Erin was pacing so quickly, she was a blur. Pretty much the only person who seemed calm was Autumn, and I think she had omed herself into a trance. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, repeating her mantra with her eyes closed, but they kept flipping up now and then, revealing the whites of her eyes.

  Not pretty.

  Steven was taking pictures again, but luckily he hadn’t tried to get me alone since that morning. I guess he realized that right before our finals performance was not the best time to discuss matters of the heart.

  “I can’t believe this is it,” Phoebe said, her hands clutched together. “I can’t believe we’re actually competing in the finals at nationals.”

  “Not if we don’t find Tara and Chandra,” Coach Holmes said, joining us.

  “You still haven’t found them?” Erin said, her voice hitting a higher octave than I had ever heard from her.

  “If Tara’s in her room, she’s not answering the door, and no one has seen Chandra since breakfast,” Coach said.

  “They can’t ditch us, can they?” Jaimee asked, all red in the face. Lack of oxygen will do that to you. “They wouldn’t . . . right?”

  “Are you kidding? Tara lives for this,” Phoebe said, reaching out to rub Jaimee’s arms. “She’s probably just performing some kind of superstition ritual.”

  “That’s all well and good, but we’re on in ten minutes,” Coach Holmes said, checking her watch. “We can’t very well go out there down two squad members.”

  “All right, who has their cell phones?” I asked.

  A dozen hands went up.

  “Okay, Phoebe, you try our room phone. Kimberly, you try Tara’s cell,” I said. “Mindy, you get Chandra’s cell number and I’ll try her room. Maureen, Erin, Jaimee, check all the bathrooms on the first floor. Maybe one of them is sick.”