I Was a Non-Blonde Cheerleader (26 page)

When I came downstairs on Sunday morning, my parents were fully clothed and sitting in the living room, talking in ominously hushed voices. After dropping a resigned Phoebe back home the night before, they had sent us to bed and said they would deal with us in the morning. I was already sick with anticipation, but my insides took a turn for the worse when I saw that sitting on the coffee table between them was my geometry notebook. And right on top of my notebook was my first and only quiz, the one with a nice, fat D in the top right corner.

I turned to go back to my room, but my father heard me when I tripped up the stairs.

“Come on down, Annisa,” he said. “Have a seat.”

“Hey,” I said tentatively as I padded over to them. I swallowed hard and sat down on the edge of the chair-and-a-half that was caddy-cornered from the couch. There was a huge lump in my throat. Let the sentencing begin. “About the D—”

“Annisa, what is going on with you?” my father interrupted.

“It’s just one grade, Dad,” I said. “They’re way ahead of my class back home. But I have a test this week and if I do well on it, I’ll be fine.”

“Good. You’re going to do well on it,” he said, slapping my books into a pile.

“Yeah . . . I am,” I said, uncertain in the face of his obvious ire.

“Because you will do nothing but study until the test is taken,” my father said, pushing the books toward me. “That means no hanging out with your friends, no cheerleading, no nothing.”

I was overcome by sudden and intense panic. “But regionals are this weekend!” I protested.
If they let us compete.

“In fact, your mother and I are going to have to think long and hard about whether you should be cheering at all anymore,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Dad, come on. You can’t do this,” I said.

“Annisa, your association with these people landed you in jail.”

“But Dad, last night was just—”

“The most horrifying night of our lives!” my father shouted, standing. He walked away from the couch, pushing his fists into the pockets of his slacks. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to get a phone call from the police in the middle of the night? Do you have any idea what went through our minds?”

I felt like I was about to cry. I felt awful all over again. I already knew what I had put them through. I had heard all about it on the car ride back from the police station. Did he have to keep rubbing it in?

“David,” my mother said. “Is this really necessary?”

Thank you!
I thought, with a rush of sheer gratitude.

“Yes, I believe it is!” my father said. “Our daughter was incarcerated.”

“Yeah, but Dad, I didn’t do anything,” I said, standing as well. “Mom believes me!”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Annisa,” my father said. “Maybe some kids pressured you into going, maybe you’re
just trying to fit in. But sweetie, we’ve moved many times over the years, and I’ve never seen your behavior take such a radical shift. This isn’t like you, Annisa.”

The disappointment on his face practically broke my already aching heart. Why does it hurt more when they hit the nail right on the head than when they’re accusing me of stuff I didn’t do?

“Now, I want you to go up to your room and think about the way you’ve been behaving since we moved here,” my father told me. “We’ll discuss the future of your cheerleading career later.”

I could tell the conversation was over. And there were so many things running through my mind at that moment, I wasn’t sure I could sort out what to say anyway. Instead, I grabbed my books, stormed upstairs and slammed the door as hard as I could. I threw my geometry stuff on the floor and flopped down on my bed.

I was so angry. Angry at my father for not listening to me. Angry at my mother for barely participating. She could have defended me more. She could have said that taking away my cheerleading was punishment above and beyond the crime.

But he’s not worried about last night
, my more rational side pointed out.
He’s worried about you.

“I’m fine,” I protested feebly. So feebly,
I
didn’t even believe it.

I rolled over on my side and stared at the red D sticking out the top of my notebook. A D. I’d never gotten a D in my life. And yeah, maybe I’d been behind from day one, but I could’ve studied. I could’ve spent time working instead of cheerleading and shopping for Sand Dune–worthy clothes and trying to fit in. My dad was right. This wasn’t like me.

I was starting to feel thoroughly depressed.

I sighed and rolled onto my back again, staring at the ceiling.
My parents hated me, I was screwing up in my classes, I missed Bethany and hadn’t talked to her in two days, I’d spent the night in jail and now I was going to have to tell Coach that I was going to miss two pre-regionals practices and maybe even have to quit the team.

My eyes began to burn and I felt a single tear slip down the side of my face. What the heck was I going to do?

Monday morning, the vibe in the halls of Sand Dune High was totally erratic. There was a sort of hushed, funereal feel after the travesty of the game, but it was shot through with the excitement of the biggest gossip-worthy story of the year. Anyone who wasn’t talking about the evil refs was talking about was the big jock incarceration. As I walked down the hall to my locker, people whispered and shot me curious and awed glances. In one weekend I’d gone from klutzy, brunette nobody to party-throwing criminal. I wasn’t sure I preferred the new status.

All you’ve got to do is get through today
, I thought as I twirled my lock distractedly. It wasn’t exactly comforting, though. Today was the day I would find out the fate of the squad,
and
tell Coach Holmes that I couldn’t practice for two days. Maybe I’d be better off if we were banned from regionals. At least then it wouldn’t be as big a deal that I had to bail on my commitment to the squad.

I yanked at the locker door and nothing happened. The little arrow was pointing at the 30. I’d done it again. My old locker combo. I really needed to get my brain back before that geometry test.

“Hey.”

It was Bethany. I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d smacked me with an electric cattle prod.

“You’re talking to me,” I said. I carefully dialed in the correct combination.

“Yep,” she replied. “Heard about your night in the slammer. You were locked in a ten-by-ten with my brother and his friends for over an hour. That’s all kinds of evil. I think you’ve been punished enough.”

I smiled slightly as I yanked open my locker door. “Thanks.”

“Bobby told me you were still there when everyone else left. Did your parents go ballistic?” Bethany asked, turning so that her back was up against the wall.

“You could say that,” I told her.

“So, when you’re allowed to see daylight again, wanna write an article about police brutality for the site?” she asked. “Actually, I guess you don’t need daylight for that. I never do. So what do you think, a thousand words by tomorrow?”

She looked so stoked about the idea that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that somewhere around 1:00
A.M.
the cops had taken pity on my lonely butt and given me donuts and milk.

“Sure,” I said as I yanked a few books out of my locker. “But not for tomorrow. Not until after the geometry test and after regionals. If they even happen.”

“Hey, if you don’t want to do it,” she said, putting her hands up.

“Bethany, wait,” I said, stopping her before she walked away. She turned and looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “I’m just trying to be honest here. My parents are gonna slaughter me if I don’t get at least a B on the geometry test, and regionals are really important to me. I just don’t want to make promises I can’t keep anymore.”

Bethany looked at the toes of her platform Mary Janes
and hooked her thumbs around the strap on her messenger bag. “That’s fair, I guess,” she said finally.

I let out a sigh. “Good. ’Cause I really want to be friends with you, but if you’re gonna freak out every time I have to do something with the squad—”

“Hey, I was just pissed about the prank war,” Bethany said.

I blinked and shoved the last few books into my backpack. “Come again?” I asked, slamming my locker door. “I thought you were all
about
the prank war.”

“Yeah, until you took the idea and went running off to the blah-rahs with it,” she said, as if it were so totally obvious.

My mouth fell open and my gum almost came tumbling out. “
That’s
why you’re mad? Because you didn’t get to participate?” I asked.

“Well, that was why I
was
mad,” Bethany clarified. “Until you got your asses arrested. Which, by the way, would never have happened if I had been there.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Hey! I’m all kinds of stealth!” she said, looking hurt.

“Bethany! Why didn’t you just
tell
me? I would have brought you with us.”

“Please! And risk getting sucked into the popular crowd along with you?” she joked.

“Yeah, like you would ever let that happen,” I said, starting down the hall.

“Well, I’m over it, anyway,” Bethany said, falling into step with me. “I vented all about you on the website. It was very cleansing.”

She was starting to sound like Autumn.

“You did? What did you say?” I asked.

“Just how torturous it is to be friends with a cheerleader,”
Bethany said with a shrug. “I titled it
The Devil Wears Pleats.
How kill is that?”

“Very,” I said. “So, we are still friends, then?”

Bethany blushed slightly. “Don’t get all weepy on me,” she said. “I reserve the right to revoke the title if you ever diss me again.”

I nodded. “Sounds fair.”

“So tell me, did they beat you with a telephone book in there or what?” she asked, walking backward as we turned the corner toward homeroom. “Can you describe any of them? ’Cause I know a guy who’s great at composite sketches.”

I laughed and opened the classroom door for her. Maybe today wouldn’t be
all
bad.

The entire squad gathered in the gym bleachers after homeroom. The mood was grim. I hadn’t been surprised to hear on the morning announcements that Principal Wharton wanted to meet with us, but I had been shocked that he wanted to do it so quickly. I figured it would take him at least a day to figure out our punishment and write an appropriately devastating speech.

“I’m grounded for a month,” Mindy told me quietly. “But my parents are still going to let me compete. I mean, if we even are.”

“That’s good,” I said, deciding to keep my own punishment to myself for now.

“What do you think they’re gonna do?” Mindy asked.

“I think they’re gonna bury us,” I replied.

The door to the gym opened and Principal Buzzkill walked in with Coach Holmes at his side. I could practically hear everyone holding their breath. Neither one of the authority figures looked in the least bit happy to be there.

“Ladies, I’m gonna make this short,” Principal Buzzkill said.

And sweet?
I thought hopefully.

He stood right in front of us, legs spread, arms locked over his broad chest. Coach Holmes looked us over like we were sea slime. We were so very dead.