CHAPTER 4
“What?” In the space of two seconds I’d gone from violent anger to complete confusion. How could Tamara tell a teacher what to do? She had to be lying. I had no idea why she was lying, but I figured it probably had something to do with wanting her picture in the paper. Or maybe she wanted my help with chemistry. In the end, I was right—she did want something. But I’d been thinking way, way, way too small. She didn’t want me to do something for her. She wanted me. Or, rather, Stephen Wills did.
Right then, though, I didn’t know any of that, and so I just gaped and wondered and silently cursed, waiting for her to hurry up and explain what she was doing occupying space on my planet and breathing my air and generally making life miserable for nondivas everywhere.
“God, Beth,” she said. “You don’t have to look so pissed off. I was doing you a favor.” She looked to Stacy, who started bobbing her head like some bobble-head toy.
“You know what? Don’t do me any more favors.”
She rolled her eyes. “Drill team’s second string. You’re looking to pump up your transcript, right? Sloppy seconds won’t cut it.” She leaned in toward the mirror again and ran a thumb under her eye, removing a microscopic dot of mascara.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re an idiot to want to be in the faceless pep parade when you could be on the front lines as a cheerleader.”
Behind me, I could hear Jenny making choking sounds. “Excuse me?” I asked. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, but so far, I wasn’t seeing the punch line.
“God, don’t make me repeat it,” Tamara said.
I held up a hand. “Wait. You dangle some cheerleading carrot in front of me, but now you don’t want to talk to me about it?”
“She’s still getting used to the idea,” Stacy said, her Barbie-doll smile flashing a million watts my direction.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Not really feeling the love.” I turned back toward the door just as the warning bell rang. One minute left to get to class. I grabbed the door handle.
“Wait,” Tamara said, giving my arm enough of a jerk that she pulled me free of the door.
“Hey!”
“Look, we’ve never been the best of friends—”
“Best? We’ve never been friends at all!”
“But I’m serious,” she continued, as if I hadn’t said a word. “The squad could use you. We’re competing this year, and you’re good. Did you see Bring It On?”
I blinked, trying to follow the conversation. “Um, that cheerleading movie? Yeah.”
“Well, you’re like that girl. The one who played Faith on Buffy. You’re kind of a misfit, but you’re good. And we want to win. So we want you.”
“Gee. With all the warm fuzzies, how could I say no?”
Stacy’s lips were tight together and she was glaring daggers at Tamara. Beside me, Jenny was doing the exact same thing. Finally, Stacy spoke. “Look, Beth. We watched the drill team auditions because we need a replacement. Mary-Jo’s dad transferred to California, and our alternate broke her leg. So we’re serious when we say we want you. Aren’t we, Tamara?”
Tamara nodded. She even conjured a smile. I felt the warm glow of acceptance. Not.
Before I could say anything, though, she nailed me with a stare. “So? Will you do it?”
“I don’t know, I—”
“Of course she will,” Jenny said, sidling even closer to me.
“What?” I made a motion between her and Tamara. “You were just—”
“I know, I know. But this is cheerleading. I mean, she may be the queen bitch from hell”—at that, she smiled sweetly at Tamara—“but, Beth, come on. Transcript. Rank. The whole shebang. I mean, duh.”
Not the most articulate of persuasive speeches, but I got the message. Still, though, I wasn’t convinced. I mean, it was one thing to be a relatively faceless member of the drill team. I could handle that level of school spirit.
Sort of.
Maybe.
So long as I kept the dream of Tisch close to my heart.
But to be one of six girls, right out front, cheering my little heart out? Honestly, I wasn’t sure I could do that. Especially since I still haven’t gotten through my head why I give a flip about an oblong ball being chased up and down a field by guys in tight pants who slap each other on the butt.
Plus, I had to consider the companion factor. I mean, I’ve listened to enough of their conversations (the Tamara types, I mean) to know that my mind would probably turn to mush and seep out my ears after only fifteen minutes. I mean, it’s all “sale at Bebe” this and “new eyeliner from Sephora” that. I’ve never once heard them talk about anything substantive. Like, you know, whether George Lucas jumped the shark making episodes one through three. Or which is really the better show: Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Firefly. These are questions you can sink your teeth into. Not whether Nars or Cargo makes the better bronzer.
“Look,” Tamara said, possibly realizing that I wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to spend quality time with her every afternoon. “We really do want you.” She sounded sincere, even if she looked like she was sucking on a lemon. “But you don’t have to commit now. Why don’t you come to practice after school? Stephen Wills and some other guys from the team are going to be there. You can check it out and then decide. And we’ll probably go out for pizza or something afterward.”
“Oh, man,” Jenny said. “I am going to kill my mom for never making me take dance.”
I understood the sentiment. Stephen Wills was a legend at Waterloo. Hollywood handsome, he was also a total football hero with a scholarship to somewhere that cared about that kind of thing. I didn’t care. Like I said, I don’t get football. But I will confess that he looks really nice in those ridiculous tight pants. And he’s got the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen . . .
Honestly.
Here’s how bad I had it for Stephen Wills: even though I would never—ever—admit it to Jenny, I actually voted for him for homecoming king. And even though I kind of secretly coveted the spot myself, since voting for me would be a waste of a vote, I planned to cast my ballot for Stephen Wills as the Voice of Waterloo, too.
So, yeah, Stephen’s presence was a definite incentive.
Besides, I figured pizza with my man Stephen might be the one thing that could turn this crap birthday around. After all, everyone knew Tamara had the hots for him, but they weren’t dating. Not officially, anyway. At least not officially enough to have made it onto the Waterloo Watch blog.
So maybe if he and I shared a little pizza . . .
I let my thoughts wander off, then stood there, feeling ridiculous. Lust, it seemed, really could make people stupid. Even me.
“Great,” Stacy said, the second I breathed my agreement. “Meet us on the field after last period.” And then she and Tamara disappeared out the door without a backward glance.
I didn’t even have the mental energy to be irritated. I was too busy drooling on the floor and trying not to hit my head on the ceiling tiles as I floated on a little cloud of lust-filled happiness.
“Wow,” Jenny said. Then kept repeating it over and over again. “Wow. Wow. Wow.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Wow.” I looked at her sideways. “I thought you told your mom all this stuff was sexist and antifeminist.”
She shrugged. “Well, yeah, sure. But that was drill team. Cheerleaders are popular. And it’s Stephen Freakin’ Wills we’re talking about. I mean, the man is totally to die for.”
And, as it turned out, that was very, very true.