Busted (18 page)

35

T
he closer we get to room 225, the slower Spud walks. By the time we're passing 224, he's practically immobile.

“Come on, Spud. It's going to be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I lie.

“Um, okay.”

We nudge forward a few more feet until we're looking through the window in the door of room 225. Morgan is sitting on the teacher's desk, chairing the emergency session of GRRLS. I hope that she'll be the one to see me, but no such luck. Instead, Kayla catches a glimpse of me, and within seconds the classroom is rattling with boos. Morgan turns around, gives a curt nod, and then I pull Spud away.

“I thought you said it'd be fine?”

“They weren't booing you,” I say comfortingly.

“They're going to lynch us.”

“Probably.”

“Geez, Kev. Like, why don't we just go back and take our chances with Brandon?”

“We still might.” I drag Spud along the corridor and down the main staircase. “Listen, Spud, do you trust me?”

“No, of course not. Why the hell would I trust you?”

“So what was all that stuff about my speech changing your life?”

“It doesn't mean I trust you.”

“Great!”

At the bottom of the staircase, I hesitate by the double doors leading to the Quad. I have serious misgivings about this part of the plan, but Spud seems to be reading my thoughts—he mumbles something about his counselor and then clomps onto the thick lush grass, while I follow close behind. Then he turns around expectantly, and I point to the doors. Almost immediately the entire contingent of GRRLS comes pouring through, all death stares and hands on hips and concentrated estrogen.

“Um, hello,” I say, once they've fallen into silence. “So you're probably wondering why Morgan told you to come down here, huh?”

Actually, they just look like they're waiting for a chance to pummel me, but I pretend they've answered in the affirmative as it makes it easier for me to continue.

“Yeah, so the reason you're here is that—”

“I'm really sorry,” babbles Spud, like they've just threatened him with thumbscrews. “I wholeheartedly apologize for any part I have played in the offensive endeavors of the so-called Graduation Rituals.”

There's a lengthy silence as they process this impressive oratory display, then they're all staring at me again. But it's clear that Spud has softened their resistance, and as I resume my speech I'm not so afraid that this will be my last day on earth. I even catch Abby smiling at me reassuringly, which really helps.

“Yeah, so I … oh, the hell with it,” I shout, pulling the book from my bag. “This is the Book of Busts. I'm sorry I ever made you care about something as meaningless as this. And since the information in it belongs to no one but you, I hereby return it to you, to do with as you please.” I throw it on the grass with a flourish.

“And this is the Alternative Yearbook,” adds Spud, “which … well, actually, I never got around to filling it in, but if I had it would have been pretty offensive as well, and I'm sorry for that.” He throws it on top of the Book of Busts.

“And now,” says Morgan solemnly, stepping forward to join us, “I think it's time to free ourselves from the influence of bad literature forever.”

Everyone holds their breath as she pulls a bottle of perfume and a lighter from her purse. She douses the open leather-bound books with Calvin Klein Euphoria, then flicks her lighter. Instantly the worn pages are devoured by flames, and the air fills with smoke and cheering.

Abby points to a row of windows running along one side of the Quad. Behind them, the remaining proponents of the Graduation Rituals are staring at us with seething hatred.

Without hesitation, Morgan takes charge. “Sisters,” she cries, “I want you to make a note of each of those boys. Wha
tever happens, they won't have a dance at the prom. Agreed?”

Suddenly everyone is cheering again, and Zach comes out to investigate. The sight of Taylor applauding wildly probably didn't sit too well with him. He ought to realize he's vastly outnumbered, but he doesn't seem to have a firm grasp on the situation, so he strides forward until he's surrounded by GRRLS.

“What are you doing here, Taylor?” he asks with a bemused expre
ssion. “You're not a dyke.”

Taylor just shakes her head. “Isn't it time you crawled back to your cave and played some more drinking games?”

“Screw you, bitch.”

There's an eerie silence. Taylor looks like she can't decide whether to laugh or scream or punch Zach.

Spud steps forward. “I think you need to leave, Zach,” he says calmly.

Zach blinks in surprise, then regains his composure. “Oh yeah? Why?”

“Because I'm feeling really tense.” Suddenly, Spud is doing a passable impression of Bruce Banner just before he becomes the Hulk. “And I don't think I can be held responsible for what I might do.”

Zach's eyes narrow, and in a rare moment of intellectual clarity he takes a step back. “Yeah, well … fine.”

Zach hasn't made it back through the double doors before everyone is laughing and cheering again. All except Taylor, who plants a kiss on Spud's cheek.

“My knight in shining armor,” she bubbles.

Spud blushes.

“Oh, the fire's gone out already,” says Jessica, directing everyone's attention to the sad pile of charred sheets on the ground. She proposes a moment of silence.

Morgan leans in toward me and whispers, “I'd have to say that went pretty well.”

“Yeah, it actually did.”

“You did a brave thing, Kevin. Everyone here knows that now. I'm proud of you. You should be proud of yourself too.”

I look around and see that Abby is smiling, and suddenly everything seems worthwhile. And I really do feel proud.

“Ah, wonderful,” cackles Principal Jefferies, appearing beside the double doors. “A bumper crop! So many punishments, so little time!”

36

N
o one says a word, but the air continues to hum. I look around and realize the excitement our activities have generated. Faces are glued to every window, watching as Jefferies steps out onto the Quad. They know they're watching the high-school equivalent of a train wreck, and no one wants to miss a thing.

Zach is conspicuously absent, and the other members of Brandon's posse have left their places behind the windows. Given his infatuation with the baseball team, Jefferies probably waited for them to make themselves scarce before pouncing.

“Well now,” he booms, trying to pretend that he's not enjoying this immensely, “who do we have here? Spud Beasley, naturally, and … Kevin Mopsely! Hmmm, didn't expect to see you out here, Mr. Mopsely. And on to the female contingent—”

“We're GRRLS,” interjects Abby, preempting the tedious process of identifying everyone by name.

“I can see that.”

“No,
GRRLS
,” says Morgan. She draws out the word as if it had three syllables and no vowels.

“What?”

“GRRLS—the Women's Studies group taught by Dr. Donaldson.”

“Oh. Well, that's nice, I suppose. You'll all be able to arrange a little meeting for your club this Friday evening, instead of attending prom.”

“What?” shrieks Taylor. “But that's not fair!”

“Oh, but I assure you it is, Miss Carson. In fact, it's supremely generous of me to give you such a mild punishment, all things considered.”

Taylor looks like she's ready to burst, but Morgan steps forward, a model of calm. She has a presence I've never noticed before.

“We understand your position, of course,” she says.

“Good.”

“However, I should remind you that three weeks ago you permitted the male participants of the Graduation Rituals to hold a similarly sized meeting on this very spot, and we demand nothing more than equal treatment.”

“And need I remind
you
, Miss Giddes,” sneers Jefferies, “that the boys you're talking about didn't set fire to the Quad.”

“Oh.” Morgan looks over at me for help, but all I can do is shrug; he's got us there. She takes a deep breath. “Well, never mind, we won't need to meet on Friday because we already have a meeting planned for Thursday evening … while the baseball final's being played.”

Jefferies seems to have trouble making the connection, but then he gasps. “B-But you … you're practically the whole cheerleading squad. You have to attend the game. It's your
duty
to cheer our boys on.”

Morgan sighs and wrings her hands. “What a pity. Such terrible timing, but the meeting absolutely can't be moved.”

“But you're the
cheerleaders
. It would be an embarrassment to the school if you weren't there.”

“Such a shame,” agrees Morgan.

“Well, if you don't attend this game, you can forget about making the squad next year!” he quips with an evil leer.

“We're seniors.”

The standoff between Morgan and Jefferies is all the more compelling because it's being viewed by almost half the school now, some of them hanging out of open windows to hear better. Spud glances at me and raises his eyebrows. I raise mine back.

“Now listen here, Miss Giddes. I will not be blackmailed into renegotiating your punishment.”

“Of course not,” says Morgan, like the very implication offends her. “Can we go now, please?”

“But … I'm not finished. I mean, couldn't you reschedule your meeting? It's really important that we have a convincing display of Brookbank High spirit.”

“I see that,” agrees Morgan. “After all, it will look awful when all those TV cameras show that the cheerleading squad isn't even there. And when they find out that we've all been banned from our own senior prom … well, just think of the negative publicity. I'd be surprised if anyone joined the cheerleading squad ever again.”

It's clear that she's won. Now it's just a matter of how long Jefferies holds out before capitulating.

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, shuffling his feet. “On further consideration, I'm thinking it may be advantageous if the cheerleaders are able to attend prom.”

“And everyone else too, of course,” she says amiably.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh dear. I suppose we'll be holding our meeting as planned, then.”

Jefferies looks ready to explode. “Fine! Everybody present is entitled to attend prom.”

“That would be nice.” Morgan seems like she doesn't much care either way.

“In return, however, I expect the full cheerleading squad to attend the game on Thursday. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” says Morgan, a little too readily.

“The
baseball
game,” he clarifies.

“Yes.”

“And you'll wear your Brookbank High cheerleading outfits.”

“Yes.”

“And I expect to hear you cheering.”

“Yes.”

“Loudly.”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” Jefferies has clearly run out of legal fine print, so he huffs a couple of tim
es and turns to leave.

I notice that Ms. Kowalski is hovering in the doorway, and I wonder how much of the spectacle she's witnessed.

“So if we do all of the things you just said, we can attend prom, right?” Morgan asks just as he reaches the double doors. “We have your word on that?” She sweeps her hand through 360 degrees to indicate that there are a few hundred witnesses.

He looks around, becoming aware for the first time just how many students have been eavesdropping on the Quad performance. “Yes, Ms. Giddes,” he snaps. “You have my word.”

Everybody screams and cheers and hugs all at once. All except Morgan, who smiles like she finds the whole thing incredibly amusing.

37

W
on't it bug you at all to see GRRLS cheering on the group they've sworn to bring down?” I ask Abby as we approach the bleachers.

She doesn't say a word, just smiles enigmatically.

We're arriving late so we won't have to sit through too much of the game, but Abby actually seems quite excited to be here. As we round the edge of the bleachers, I look up and see that the score is already 5-1. Oh well, no surprise there.

“Pretty shocking, huh?” says Abby, pointing at the scoreboard.

I look again and realize that we're
down
5-1. Okay, that's shocking. And fantastic.

Brookbank is fielding, and they're arguing with one another, spewing obscenities like they're codes for defensive plays. Brandon flips Ryan the bird, and Ryan reciprocates, and I have a warm and fuzzy feeling about what I'm witnessing.

The opposing batter steps up and drives a routine ground ball straight at Brandon. He bends down and … bobbles it, and suddenly another runner has scored: 6-1.

A cheer erupts in deafening stereo and I look down toward the dugouts, where the opposition cheerleaders have been joined by Brookbank's own. Beside me, Abby laughs and gives her friends an appreciative whoop.

“What?” she says, as she senses me staring at her. “You didn't really think they'd cheer for
our
team, did you?”

“But what about the stuff Jefferies said?”

“Fine print's a bitch, ain't it? He told them they had to attend this game, wear the Brookbank outfits, and cheer loudly. I'd say they're doing all of those things. Wouldn't you?”

It's pure genius. All of the cheerleaders sport ear-to-ear grins as they applaud each miscue by Brookbank's team, and Jefferies has the good sense to stay out of their way as long as the TV cameras are rolling. Even Paige looks flushed with excitement—she edges her way to the front of the group and performs a sexy belly dance for the camera long after everyone else has stopped cheering.

I glance down at the Brookbank dugout and see Spud. I figure he can't be impressed by Ryan's pitching tonight, but then he looks over his shoulder and winks at me. Although this is his team, I think he's secretly thrilled to see what's happening. While he's distracted, Taylor dashes over and gives him a quick kiss. Zach notices and yells an obscenity from
first base that's caught on camera, so Jefferies demands that the coach take him out of the game. Then Brandon mouths off at the coach for removing Zach, so he gets benched as well.

It's still only the fourth inning, but for the first time in my life I'll willingly stay until the end of the game. I wouldn't miss this for anything.

Brookbank loses 13-2.

Morgan insists that we join the cheerleaders at IHOP, so Abby and I crush together on the passenger seat of Morgan's Miata. I have a boner almost the whole way, but Abby either doesn't notice or prefers to ignore it. Can't say I blame her, really.

At IHOP, eight of us cram into a four-person booth. There's a lot of girl-bonding stuff going on, but girl-bonding stuff is kind of hot, so I don't mind being sandwiched in the middle of it all.

It's not clear if anyone really wants to eat, but a waitress appears expectantly beside the booth and immediately stares at me. For a moment I'm confused, but then it all comes flooding back.

“Um, hello, Keira,” I say.

Now everyone's looking at me weirdly, and I can't even make a hasty exit to the men's room because I'm squeezed in. Keira remains silent. I have a bad feeling about this.

“So Keira,” I gulp, “I'm really sorry about what happened the last time I was here—”

Keira shakes her head. “S'okay. You don't need to apologize. I know you tried not to order anything. I really appreciated it.”

“Anyone else wondering what's going on here?” Taylor asks.

Keira sighs. “Oh, a while back this guy came in with my ex, Ryan. And Ryan made me buy food for him and his friends. And they ordered a ton of stuff. All except this guy.” She nods in my direction.

“Aw, Kevin really is Brookbank's very own Renaissance man,” declares Morgan, which sounds especially good when there are six other girls to hear her say it.

We've barely finished placing our order when Keira glances toward the door and steps back skittishly. She thrusts her order pad into the pocket of her apron and rushes off toward the kitchen.

“What was all that ab—” begins Kayla, but then Brandon and the rest of the baseball team are standing in Keira's place.

“Hello, Mopsely,” spits Brandon.

For a few seconds he simply stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I'm trying to think of something to say when suddenly he sprawls across the table, grabs my T-shirt, and punches me in the nose. It hurts like hell.

Abby jumps up. “Get away from him, Brandon.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot … You're his ugly bitch, right?”

I wait for Abby to hit him, but she doesn't. She just laughs. “Um, let me get this straight … You just lost the city championship, and your own cheerleaders chose to support the opposition, but you still reckon you have the right to call me an ‘ugly bitch'? Don't you realize that right now you're the biggest loser in school history? And that's a truly monumental achievement. So pardon me if I say that being called a bitch by you doesn't exactly mean too much.”

Brandon's gearing up for another insult when Keira reemerges with the rest of the wait staff and a few knife-wielding chefs.

“That's him,” she says, pointing at Ryan. “That's the guy who made me give him free stuff. And he … he never even liked me that much,” she sniffles.

An elderly guy steps forward and prods Ryan in the chest. “Son, you and your buddies best get the hell out of my restaurant. And don't never come back, you hear me?”

“Or what?” snorts Brandon.

“Or I guarantee that everything you order will contain a few extra magic ingredients you never even asked for.”

Ryan's already edging toward the door. Reluctantly, the rest of the team joins him.

“So long, losers,” shouts Brandon.

We watch him leave and then erupt in laughter.

“Your nose is bleeding, Kev,” says Abby, looking concerned.

Taylor takes a peek. “Oh, I've got something to stop that.” She rummages around in her bag and pulls out a white cotton plug. “Just stay still.”

There's total silence as Taylor leans toward me and delicately pushes the plug up my nose. Then everyone relaxes again, giggling once more about Brandon's recent proclamations.

And even though everyone's staring at me, I laugh too, because Brandon really is the stupidest person I've ever met.