CHAPTER 5
I coasted through my classes, then floated to my locker where Elise Lackland was waiting for me. Elise has had my sincerest admiration ever since she followed Chris Freytag into the boys’ bathroom just so she could dump him.
Jenny blogged about it, and the story became the scandal of the moment at school the next day. (Everyone sided with Chris, of course. He’s a Football God, and Elise is fifteen pounds overweight.)
“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?” I like Elise a lot. Whereas I consider Stacy an idiot for dating Chris, I think Elise is a freakin’ genius for dumping him. According to Elise, Chris used to be a nice guy before he made the team. I’m a grade behind them, and so I have to take her word for it. Since I really do like her, I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, even though I secretly think she’s delusional.
She pulled her precalculus text out of her backpack and held it up to me. “I’m so lost. I know we’re not scheduled to meet until next week, but please, please, please. If I fail, I’m going to be stuck taking summer school instead of going to London with my dad before college.”
I almost laughed. I mean, I would have helped her even without the sob story. I do tutoring for extra credit (it’s this whole complicated program the school set up a year or so ago), and the system is totally regimented. But like I said, I like Elise. If she was afraid of flunking, I’d totally help her out.
“Of course I’ll help,” I said. “But you were jamming the last time we got together. What happened?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Everything’s harder lately. I’d say it’s spring fever, but since it’s only November, I don’t think that works. I just can’t seem to stay awake.” She yawned, as if to illustrate her point, then did an elaborate neck roll. I noticed a bandage there, almost below her ear and slightly back, now revealed by the swing of her hair.
“What did you do?” I asked, nodding at it.
“Who knows? Some bug. I drenched it in cortisone cream, so thank goodness it’s not itching.” She yawned again. “Maybe it’s the time change. I don’t know. All I know is I have to nail math. You’ll help me, right?”
“I told you. Sure. When?”
“Now?”
“Um. Now is a little tricky.” Considering the Stacy-Chris-Elise thing, I wasn’t too keen on mentioning my upcoming cheerleader rendezvous. “How about lunch tomorrow?”
“Lunch,” she repeated. “But you always eat with Jenny.”
“Jenny can eat by herself,” I said.
“I can?” Jenny asked, coming up beside us. I looked up and saw Tamara walking by. She lifted her eyebrows and tapped her watch. I nodded, just a little, but I saw Elise taking the whole thing in. I stifled the urge to tell Elise that she was seeing things and that I was so not talking with Tamara. But the thing is, I was about to become associated with the Queen Bitch and her hive. I might as well get used to the idea.
“Why am I eating alone?” Jenny asked, leaning past me into my locker to grab the bag of Doritos I’d shoved there.
“I’m tutoring Elise.”
“Oh. Right. Whatever. So . . .” She cocked her head and I nodded.
“Listen, Elise—”
“You gotta go. Yeah. Sure.” She made a little face, then glanced off in the direction that Tamara had gone. “So lunch tomorrow, right? You won’t forget? The midterm’s coming up, and—”
“I won’t forget.”
“Okay. Great. Thanks.”
“It’s so unfair,” Jenny said, as Elise disappeared down the hall.
“What?”
“She does the right thing and dumps Chris because he’s being a total jerkoff. But even though he’s the jerk, she’s the one without any luck in the school. And meanwhile Chris and Stephen and Ennis and Stacy and Tamara and the lot of them are running around lording their popularity over everyone. It’s like the anointed can do no wrong or something. Like you and me and Elise and all the rest of us are just plebeians. Lowly parts of the masses who—”
“Wait!” I held up a hand. “I’m late.”
She clamped her mouth shut, then her expression turned serious. “Maybe you’re rushing into this.”
I blinked. “You’re kidding, right? You’re the one who told Tamara that I’d do it!”
She looked appropriately chastised. “Well, yeah. But everyone knows I jump into things without thinking. It’s practically my trademark. But your trademark is being smart. And I’m not sure you are. Being smart, I mean.”
Okay, I have to admit that I did know what she meant. I’d been blinded by ego and lust and even though I didn’t want to know it, I sort of did. Like Jenny said, I was smart. (Not smart enough as it turns out, which, frankly, was another nasty blow to my ego.)
“I haven’t said yes yet,” I pointed out. But that was only an excuse. We both knew I would. Ego and lust, remember?
“Yeah, but—” she began, but I was already gone, the common area floor slick under my sneakers as I sprinted down the hall.
The thing is, I’d had a thing for Stephen ever since my first week at Waterloo. I’d been a clueless freshman, unable to find my locker in the maze of hallways. I’d found Stephen, though. Plowed right into him, actually. He’d only been in school for two days (only in Texas for a week), but already, everyone knew that this sophomore was hot. The new football coach was already talking him up, and rumor was that Stephen would nail the varsity quarterback spot that was supposed to have been all tied up by Chris.
At any rate, even though he was so totally the man, he not only found my locker, he opened it, got my books, and walked me to class, asking me all sorts of questions about school and my friends and general life stuff. He was the first boy that hadn’t treated me like I was a brainiac freak, and the whole experience had been dreamy. I think I’ve been a little bit in love ever since.
All of which meant that I was blind to basic questions. Like why Tamara and her gang had decided to anoint me instead of a blonder, prettier girl. Instead, I focused on my good fortune. A cheerleading notation on my transcript just when I needed it. And pizza with Stephen Wills, the boy I’d lusted quietly after since ninth grade.
Remember what I said about coincidences? I should have realized. I should have known.
But I didn’t. Instead, I raced blindly over the well-waxed linoleum toward the double doors leading to the gym. I tried to slam through them, but hit something solid, then heard a yowl, followed by a sharp cry of “Shit!”
I cringed, pushed more carefully, and slid through the doorway to find myself face-to-face with Clayton Greene, his hand cupped over his nose and his face contorted in pain.
“Sorry!” I said, still cringing. “I didn’t see you.”
“I hope not. I’d be really pissed if you did that on purpose.” He took his hand down and poked gingerly at his nose, wincing a little as he did. Thankfully, there wasn’t any blood. I’d feel really bad if I’d injured him. Even though, honestly, I don’t really like him.
Or, it’s not that I don’t like him. I do. Well, not like that, but you know. He’s an okay guy. But he’s always dogging me. We’re in three classes together, plus he’s on my newspaper staff. Actually, he’s my assistant editor, which was Mrs. Shelby’s doing, and the one thing I’ll probably never forgive her for.
Clayton and I always seem to score within one point of each other on tests. It drives me crazy. And I know he wants to knock me off my valedictorian pedestal. And I’m so not letting that happen.
Still, I have to give him his props. I mean, he did stand up to Ennis earlier.
But the thing is, even though he’s really smart, he’s really stupid about some things. Like his clothes. Right then, for example, he was wearing a dark green flak jacket over a black T-shirt with some horrible looking monster design with fangs and a hatchet coming out of its head. I mean, gross!
Still, he’s not a bad-looking guy. He’s got really nice green eyes—but he wears glasses, not contacts, and the earpiece is usually attached with a glob of masking tape. And his hair is just a little bit too long, and always kind of shaggy. Like he’s a friendly puppy. The kind of puppy that girls like Tamara like to kick. He’s also got one tooth that sits kind of sideways. He gets teased about it, but I’ve always liked it. I think it makes him look like he’s always smiling.
The point is he stands out. Which is fine if you’re Johnny Depp. Which, of course, Clayton isn’t.
Anyway, I was thinking all of that as I stood there watching him poke at his squashed nose. Then I realized that I was staring and raised a hand in a wave. “Sorry again,” I said, “but I gotta go.”
“Wait!” I hadn’t gone but two steps. He took one long step and was right beside me. “I was waiting for you. I need to talk to you.”
“Me? Why?” First Tamara, then Elise, and now Clayton. I was turning out to be quite the popular girl today.
“Are you really going to do it?”
“Do what?” I asked, squinting at him.
“Join the cheerleading squad?”
“How did you know about that?”
One skinny shoulder lifted in a shrug. Except it wasn’t as skinny as I remembered. Not that I was really paying attention or anything. I wasn’t. Because I was too annoyed that he knew my personal business.
“Well?” I demanded.
“I hear things.”
“So?”
“So, don’t you think it’s a little weird that suddenly Tamara’s your new best friend?”
“What I think,” I said snippily, “is that it’s none of your business. And she’s not my new best friend.”
“That’s even weirder,” he said. “She’s got no use for you for three years of high school. And then suddenly she’s all hot for you to be a cheerleader? Give me a break.”
“I don’t recall asking your opinion,” I said.
“Don’t go.” His voice was flat, serious. And he sounded truly concerned.
And because of that, I swallowed my first reaction, which was to tell him to mind his own business and go build a computer model of the solar system or something. Instead, I said, “What is up with you?”
“I can’t—Just don’t go. Okay? If you go out there tonight, I swear, you’re going to regret it.”
“Are you jealous?”
That threw him for a loop. “Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”
“Because you’re breathing down my neck grade point- wise, and now I’m going to have a better range of extracurriculars on my transcript.”
“You are a total freak,” he said. “Even if that was true, why would I care about cheerleading?”
“Don’t worry about me, Clayton Greene,” I said. “Besides, you’re right. I might regret it. I mean, if my grade point average slides a little because I have to go to cheerleader practice, you might take my slot. So I’d think that you’d want me to join the squad.”
Actually, that was an interesting point. So why on earth was he trying to discourage me?
He held out his hands in a gesture that sort of looked like surrender, but might have been exasperation. “Look, Beth. Just don’t go, okay?”
Something in his eyes made me pause. Made me think that this really wasn’t about grades. In fact, he looked so worked up about my plans for the afternoon that I almost caved in. I might have, too, if Stacy hadn’t shown up.
But she did. And I didn’t. And the rest, as they say, is history.