Radiate (30 page)

Tuesday is “Lasso the Lemurs,” so all of the classes are decked out in cowboy attire with big Stetsons, jeans, boots, plaid shirts, overalls, and suspenders. I found a pair of soft camel-colored high-heeled boots in the hall closet that used to be Gretchen’s. Surprisingly enough, when I wear them, the heel elevates my foot and I don’t limp as much. Who knew?

Wednesday is “Fake a Jeff Davis Lemur Injury Day.” I like this one because all I have to do is put my Ace bandage back on my leg and use my crutches. Anthony Ricketts wears his head in a fake vice, and David Avery in the freshman class actually makes himself an oxygen tent to sport around in. (The teachers make him come out of it for each class period.) Lora and I use makeup to put fake bruises on our faces and arms. Marquis Richardson and Scoop Dogg got their hands on some pre-Halloween fake blood that they keep squirting on everyone. Even Mr. Parish, the principal, gets into the spirit by driving around the school on a Rascal scooter all day.

Thursday is “Trash Jeff Davis” day. Students are encouraged to fashion clothing from garbage bags. Fortunately, the cheerleaders planned ahead on this one. Ashleigh Bentley’s mom made these vests and skirt covers out of Hefty cinch sacks to go over one of our uniforms so that we could all match. They’re actually pretty fashionable, if I do say so myself for polyethylene.

And, of course, Friday is the day to show your true Patriotic spirit. Red, white, and blue regales the hallways, and every student and teacher at PHS sports the school colors. We in the squad wear our navy blue sweater with the white and red stripes around the waist and the small “Polk” lettering over the right breast. I’ve been waiting all season to don this outfit.

It’s an exhausting week because the cheerleaders not only help to keep the school spirit high and people motivated, but we’re also responsible for overseeing the door competition. Each class decorates its homeroom door in the theme of “passion for the Patriots.” Each homeroom competes to come up with the most creative, positive, and original door decoration using any items that don’t “disrupt the learning environment.” (Gotta love rules from the school handbook.) The cheerleaders get to score the final pieces from one to five on creativity, theme, originality, positive attitude, attention to detail, and school spirit.

The last thing we get to help out with is the shopping cart displays. Since we’re such a huge school and we’re trying to go green, lawn displays and parade floats were voted down as waste. (I heard that three years ago, the senior class used four hundred sixty-two rolls of toilet paper in the lawn display.) However, in order to have something in their place, the student government came up with the idea of shopping cart displays. The local Food World loans us carts for whatever groups, classes, cliques, or individuals want to participate. The carts are decorated to represent patriotism and school spirit and will be paraded around at the pep rally on Friday. Then, they’ll be placed at the front of the stadium Friday night, and attendees of the homecoming game will vote by putting money into each of the carts. Proceeds will go to the local food bank in the name of the school.

It’s totally a win-win sitch all around.

We really go all out. Each day at lunch, there are activities, as well. Monday, there’s a special hot chocolate fountain to “Scorch Jeff Davis Prep.” Tuesday, there’s a dance contest where all the hip-hop kids face off in amazing action to the sounds of a DJ. Everyone in the lunchroom gathers around, cheers, and then votes. It’s our own version of homecoming
American Idol.
Wednesday is PHS trivia day, Thursday is karaoke and also the roller chair races.

The race traditionally uses rolling chairs from the teachers’ office. The chairs are placed in a row in the caf with teams of two racing around the obstacles of chairs, tables, the food court, and trash cans. One rides; the other pushes.

Gabriel and I partner up for this event since Daniel’s off doing something with Coach Gaither. He’s been a little distant all week, but I chalk it up to this being a mondo-big game tomorrow night. Rumor has it even some college scouts will be there.

“Ready, Hayley?” Gabriel asks. He cracks his knuckles and assures me we will win.

I plop down into the large chair that could only be Mrs. Quakenbush’s. She’s quite... um... rotund and has to have a special chair for her... er... girth. I sit in it cross-legged and hold on to the arm rails.

Gabriel gets all scientific on my ass. “This one’s got a light mesh to the back, so air will flow through as we race around.”

I giggle and shake my head. “Just run
fast!
”

Our cheerleader sponsor, Mrs. Ingram, blows the whistle, and we’re off.

“Gooooo!!!” I shout.

Gabriel pushes me past the Future Farmers of America kids, a group of freshmen, and Skipper O’Rourke, who is hanging off his chair. We zip past the computer science geeks. I duck low in the chair, hoping to cut wind resistance as we round the lunch tables at the end. We certainly don’t have to worry about hair from either of us slowing us down. In the home stretch now, Gabriel avoids an overturned lunch tray of splattered yogurt. The FFA kids aren’t as fortunate, and they slide out of play. Lora and Lauren run beside us as we’re racing for the finish line, cheering us on. We cross the toilet paper string before anyone else and are declared the winners.

Gabriel spins my chair around and around until I think I’ll be sick from laughter.

Honestly, school shouldn’t be this fun.

The lunch bell rings and we disperse back to our afternoon classes. I settle into my desk in journalism class, but I know we won’t be talking about press releases, media ethics, or the power of the press just yet.

It’s time to vote for homecoming court.

My journalism teacher, Mr. Wannstedt, places a lock box on his desk at the front of the room and then hands the ballots off to Amanda Leftkowitz to pass around. Once I have mine, I flip over the paper and read the names. Tamping down the desire to feel sorry for myself for not being on the list, I let out a sigh and decide who’ll get my vote. Freshman attendant is a no-brainer for me, and I check the square next to Madison Hutchinson’s name. Lauren Compton gets my vote for sophomore attendant, Tara Edwards is my pick for junior attendant, and, in the section for the seniors, I find myself staring for a moment at the names.

I swallow hard to dispel the lump in my throat at seeing the proof in writing that I’m the only cheerleader missing from the list. For one nanosecond, I’m half-tempted to write my name in. I squash that idea immediately as I have nothing to prove. If my classmates left me out because I’m bald... well, the hell with them. If they left me out because they’d rather have me on the field cheering... well, that’s easier to live with.

I know who I’m going to vote for.

I also know who I’m
not
going to vote for.

Each PHS student gets two votes in the seniors section. The one with the most votes will be the homecoming queen and the second-most vote-getter will be the attendant. I check mark my friend, Ashlee Grimes, and, of course, my partner, Lora Russell, and then limp up to the front of the room to add my ballot to the lock box.

When sixth period starts, I head to the gym and don my workout clothes. The football players are practicing in the gym on drills and strengthening. I try to catch Daniel’s eye, but he looks right past me. One of his teammates smacks him on the arm and then points at me. I wave and smile. He nods back.

Ohhh-kaaaay.

“He’s thinking about the game,” Gabriel insists, obviously seeing the exchange.

“Yeah. We haven’t talked a lot all week. Mostly texts and IMing at night.”

Gabriel scrubs his hand through his growing, thick hair. “It’s a big game tomorrow night. Then you guys can celebrate at the dance, right?”

I hiss a quick intake of air. While it’s been
assumed
that Daniel and I would be homecoming dates, we haven’t exactly formalized it. It’s not like we can sit with each other at the game and hold hands or anything. I don’t even need to buy a special, fancy outfit because I’ll be in uniform. There is a school dance afterward, and nothing would thrill me more than being in Daniel’s arms and letting him move us around the parquet to whatever the DJ is spinning.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, and then move away to attack the leg press.

For thirty minutes, I concentrate on giving the heave-ho to the weights and extending my left leg as far as it will go. Under Gabriel’s tutelage, I try something new. I bounce the apparatus up and down in small beats with just the balls of my feet. The muscle burn runs all the way up my body.

“You’ll really feel it in the back of your legs,” Gabriel instructs.

“I do... I do... but it doesn’t hurt as bad as it usually does.”

“It’s because your muscles are strengthening, Hayley. You’re getting there.” Gabriel’s face grows all serious for a moment. “I’m really proud of you,” he says with a soft smile. “You’re handling all of this like a champ.”

I smile back. “What choice do I have?”

“You could be a royal bitch like some people. Or, you could be like Bridgette Sandusky.”

“Who in the world is Bridgette Sandusky?”

“A girl I knew in Ohio.”

“At your last school?”

He nods and makes a pained face. I wonder if she was his girlfriend. He answers me immediately. “She was a cheerleader. She went in for a physical and had an... um... abnormal... you know... thingy that girls have . . .” His blush is endearing and completely adorable. Come to think about it, Gabriel’s kind of cute, too. He’s really grown up since the gangly boy I used to know. He’s all filled out and muscular and he’s got a sweet smile. I’m surprised he hasn’t hooked up with someone since coming back to Maxwell.

I shake away from my assessment of him and get back into the story he’s telling me.

“Oh, you mean an abnormal Pap smear?”

He shudders. “Yeah, one of those. She was told to come back in a few days to run more tests to see if it was cancerous or what have you.”

“Poor thing.”

“Not really. She was a chicken shit, Hayley.”

My mouth falls open, yet words don’t come out. I’ve never heard Gabriel be so rude. “How can you—”

“She went home, wrote a long e-mail to her parents about how she didn’t want to have cancer and get chemo and lose her hair and this, that, or the other, and then she chowed down her mother’s bottle of prescription valium. They found her a few hours later when her parents got home from work.

My eyes pop. “She killed herself?”

Gabriel bobs his head. “All because of a test... and needing to get more tests. She was too vain and concerned about her appearance and what people would think that she just checked out like that.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis.

I put my hands on my hips. “I’m sorry, but there is
nothing
so bad in this world that you have to take your own life.” I think for a second. “Okay, if you’re like a prisoner of war and are getting tortured for American security secrets, then I could see—”

“It was all for nothing,” Gabriel interrupts. “Her autopsy showed no sign of cancer. The abnormal test was just that—an abnormal test.”

My hands fly to my mouth. What a waste of a young life. Ended by her own ignorant, prideful hand. I glare at my workout coach. “Don’t you have any happy stories?”

He smiles a toothy grin at me. “You’re a happy story, Hayley.”

Now it’s my turn to blush.

All I can say is “Thanks.”

***

“That’s going to be one hell of a fire,” a man says behind me. I turn to see Lora and her Uncle Ross. She’s almost late for the pep rally and bonfire.

“I’m sorry! My car ran out of gas and I had to call my uncle.”

Ross smiles. “To the rescue.” He nods my way. “You’re looking good, Hayley. Working out? Taking those protein bars and shakes?”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “They’re really a huge help. Thank you so much.”

“Anything to help out. Let me know if you need anything else,” he says with a wink. “Before you know it, I’ll have you signed up at Game On to go on the hike to the rainforest in Costa Rica with us in the summer.”

As cool as that sounds, I certainly don’t see
that
happening. “Thanks, Ross!”

He waves us off to join the squad. “I’ll just hang back until this is over, okay Lora?”

“Sure thing.” She grabs onto me, and we hustle—as much as I can—over to where everyone else is gathered.

“You’re late, Lora,” Chloe says flatly.

“She’s here now,” I say in my partner’s defense, which surprisingly shuts up the captain.

At precisely nine p.m. on Thursday night, with Ladder Forty-Two and Engine Eleven of the Maxwell fire department standing by, the cheerleaders lead the students, fans, and football players out onto the baseball field where a fifteen-foot bonfire structure has been erected by the Pep Club.

Team captains Marquis Richardson and Skipper O’Rourke carry a large pole with a fake Jeff Davis Prep School football player strapped to it. The two of them dip it into the awaiting lighter fluid bucket, and one of the firemen steps forward to ignite it.

Fffffffoooooooof!

In the blink of an eye, the dummy is engulfed in flames, as is the wooden structure.

The crowd goes wild and the band plays the fight song as the players take their seats behind the fire. We cheerleaders slip into position in front of the blaze and begin leading the chants.

“Gimme a P! Gimme an H! Gimme an S! Whattaya got? PHS! Louder! PHS!”

My thin white turtleneck underneath my dark blue crisscrossed top is nearly choking me, and I’m sweating from the scorching inferno. I’m about to suggest that we’re too close to the fire, when everyone else on the back row starts moving forward toward the gathered crowd and away from the fire.

After a couple more cheers, Chloe takes the mike and introduces Coach Gaither, who gives a quick, inspirational speech.

“We’ve come a long way this season, and we still have a tough road ahead of us. But we’ve pulled together like no other unit I’ve coached. We’ve got the best fans in the conference and the most spirited cheerleaders—no one could ask for better ones. So, let’s go out there tomorrow night and show the Lemurs we mean business.”