I Was a Non-Blonde Cheerleader (34 page)

I so wished I could introduce her to Jordan Trott, my bff from Jersey. The two of them practically shared the same brain from a thousand miles away. Unfortunately, I hadn’t even talked to Jordan in days. We were both so busy lately, it seemed like all we had time for was prolonged phone tag. But I would
have
to get her on the phone tonight. Jordan lived for a juicy SDH update and she would know exactly what to say to make me feel better about the whole Daniel and Sage situation.

“Seriously, could you stop blushing for five seconds so I don’t have to hurl on Sage Barnard’s backpack,” she said, glancing up ahead. She frowned thoughtfully. “Actually . . . that could be interesting—”

“Be my guest,” I grumbled.

“Sweet,” Bethany said, rubbing her hands together.

“No! I’m just kidding!” I cried, grabbing her arm. “I’m not blushing anymore.” While I wouldn’t mind seeing Sage’s face if someone barfed on her, I wasn’t quite jerky enough to let it happen.

“Okay, so, I really want you to do an exposé on this whole nationals thing for the site,” Bethany said, unwrapping a Tootsie Pop and shoving it in her mouth. “You could go around and ask all the cheerleaders which is their preferred eating disorder of the moment and—”

“Bethany!” I said with a groan. “I thought we were working on our stereotypes!”

Her dark eyes widened. “I am! I just—”

There went that flashbulb again, going off like a strobe light in my face. I squinted and instinctively raised my hands. Before I knew what was happening, I heard a scuffle, and when I was able to focus again, Bethany had a tall, skinny guy in a blue polo shirt pinned up against the chain-link fence that ran all around the football field. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Maybe it was the look of terror in his eyes that was throwing me off.

“Bethany!” Jaimee gasped, jogging up from behind us.

“Somebody’s been working out,” the kid said.

Bethany ripped the camera out of his hand and let his neck go. “Ever hear of personal space?” she asked.

He looked and smirked. “Ever hear of small claims court? ’Cause if you break my camera, that’s where we’ll be.”

“No need to sue,” I said. “Bethany, give the nice boy his camera back.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes and offered up the digital camera. The kid checked it over quickly, making sure nothing was broken. He looked at me and sort of half smiled, and suddenly I knew why I knew him. This was the guy. The guy who had taken the most humiliating picture of my life. I
hated
this guy.

A few weeks back, during my very first pep rally at Sand Dune High, I had gotten overzealous and missed the foot placement on one of our pyramids. Thanks to my supreme klutziness, the whole stunt had gone down and this kid had snapped a picture of me with my skirt up and my briefs on display. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he had slapped it on the front page of the school newspaper, the
Weekly Catch
, for all the world to see and save.

“Annisa, this is Steven Schwinn,” Jaimee said with her ever-present bright smile. “Steven is one of my best friends. We’ve known each other since we were about five years old and he knocked on my door and asked my parents if he could swim in our pool. He already had his swimmies on and a mask and everything. And he was, like, breathing through a snorkel. I thought he was going to faint. It was so cute. So anyway, when he said he wanted to meet you, I told him I would introduce you, natch. You don’t mind, do you?”

Did I mention that Jaimee is a natural babbler? And she asks permission for basically everything. I wonder if her parents are really strict.

“It’s a pleasure, milady,” Steven said. He lifted his camera and snapped a picture of my undoubtedly ill-looking face.

“Did you just call her ‘milady’?” Bethany said, amused.

“You have a problem with chivalry?” Steven asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it was very chivalrous when you took a picture of me with my skirt over my head and published it for the entire school to enjoy,” I said flatly.

“That was one of my favorite shots of all time,” Steven said proudly. He looked into his viewfinder and adjusted some knob or other. “I have it blown-up on the bulletin board in the
Weekly Catch
office. You know, you should autograph it for us!”

Unbelievable. I looked at Bethany. “Him, you can barf on.”

“Annisa!” Jaimee said, wide-eyed. She looked at Bethany like she thought Bethany was actually going to stick her finger down her throat.

Steven lifted his free hand. “I was just doing my job!”

“You have to take that picture down,” I told him. “I’ll beg if you want me to.”

“
Real
-ly?” he said with a kind of suggestive grin.

“Okay, you don’t know me well enough to look at me like that,” I said.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Steven said. “Consider me shamed.”

“I’d like to consider you invisible,” Bethany said, rolling her eyes.

“I second that.”

Bethany and I shook our heads and rejoined the crowd. I couldn’t believe Jaimee was friends with this nutcase. But then again, Jaimee was one of those super-nice people who could be friends with anyone. You had to love that about her.

I noticed that Sage, Whitney, Tara, Bobby and Christopher had stopped up ahead to chat. I had no idea where Daniel had disappeared to, but my guess was he was being interviewed by those reporters who had corralled him after the game. My maybe-boyfriend the celebrity.

“You’re going to have to get used to me, Annisa,” Steven said, failing to take our not-so-subtle hints. He fell into step with me. “I’m going to be covering all of the squad’s events from now until nationals. You know, following you all on your road to glory.”

“He’s doing a retrospectacle,” Jaimee said.

“I think you mean retrospective,” Felice put in, walking up behind us.

“Yeah, right,” Jaimee said, blushing slightly. “Anyway, he’s even coming on the bus with us and everything. Coach Holmes said it was okay.”

“Great. Maybe you can get a shot of me snoring with drool coming out of my mouth,” I told him.

“Funny,” he said. He whipped out a digital planner and powered it up. “So I want to schedule a time to meet with you one day this week. What’s good for you? I’m free Tuesday.”

“Why do you want to meet with me?” I asked.

“To interview you for my piece,” he said, like it was obvious.

“Again, the question ‘why me?’ comes to mind.”

“Yeah, why her?” Sage added, jumping into the conversation as we passed her by. I saw Bethany’s fingers curl into fists. Sage’s very voice sent Bethany’s undies into a twist. Mine too, actually.

What was
really
irritating about her was that I had
thought
we were starting to become friends—or at least calling a truce. I mean, she had apologized to me for all the crappy stuff she had done to me in my first weeks on the squad. I had thought that meant something. But ever since regionals when Daniel had kissed me for luck instead of her, she had been back to her super-bitchy ways.

“Well, you’re the new girl on the squad,” Steven said, addressing me and ignoring Sage. Nice. Maybe I
did
like this guy. “You’re from New Jersey and I heard you never competed before. You’re the perfect human-interest piece.”

“Please! Her?” Sage said, pulling a disgusted face. “She’s
so
unphotogenic!”

How this girl is in honors English with me, I have no idea.

“Sage!” Jaimee scolded.

“I’m not sure that’s a word,” Felice said.

“Whatever, I’m just trying to be honest!” Sage replied. “Really, Annisa, your hair is, like, ripped from
I Love the 90s.
”

“You
sure
you don’t want me to barf on her?” Bethany asked.

“Ew! What are you even doing here?” Sage said to Bethany. “Shouldn’t you be under a rock somewhere?”

“And shouldn’t you be off getting your lip waxed?” Bethany shot back.

Sage gasped, brought her hand to her lip and scurried off. Good riddance.

“Does she really need a lip wax?” I asked.

“Please! Haven’t you ever seen her in natural light?” Bethany asked. “It’s like Chewbacca molted up there.”

“So, about the article,” Steven said.

“Look, I got dibs on Annisa’s story for my website,” Bethany told him, looping her arm around my shoulders. “So you can just take your little camera and go interview the water boy or something.”

“You can’t have an exclusive on her!” Steven replied, his jaw dropping. “I work for the official SDH newspaper. We take priority over your underground web crap.”

“Web crap? Oh, you are so dead!”

Omigod. The press was arguing over me.

“You guys!” I said, stopping in my tracks. “This isn’t about me! It’s about the squad!”

I was no different from anyone else on my team. Well, unless you counted the short brown hair and the occasional—
occasional
—pyramid-obliterating clumsiness. Besides, my relationship with most of my team was sketchy enough as it was. After all, I had made the squad only when two other members had been tossed over getting caught drinking—an event most of the team blamed me for, thinking that I had tattled on their fallen teammates. (Not true, but people believe what they want to believe.) The last thing I needed was for any of them to think I was trying to steal the spotlight or hog the glory.

“If anyone’s doing a story on nationals, it should be about the team,” I said firmly.

“That’s just it. I’m doing a bunch of pieces, so I need a lot of different angles,” Steven told me.

“That’s why they call it a retrospective,” Felice put in.

“Exactly,” Steven said. “You’ll just be one angle of many.”

“Come on, Annisa, you should totally do it,” Jaimee said. “I mean, if you want to,” she added with a shrug. “You don’t want to turn down your fifteen minutes, do you? I mean, unless you do.”

“If you don’t do an interview, I’m going to do the piece anyway,” Steven said. “I’ll just have to talk to your teammates instead. Sage Barnard seemed like she might have a lot to say . . .”

“You wouldn’t,” I said.

“Try me,” he replied.

Bethany stuck her finger in her mouth and tilted her head toward him suggestively.

“Come on, Annisa! You should do it! Free press!” Felice said.

I sighed in resignation. “All right, fine. I’ll do the interview,” I said, my shoulders slumping as I started walking again.

“Freakin’ mainstream press,” Bethany grumbled under her breath.

I smirked and kicked at a soda cup in my path. Maybe Jaimee was right. Maybe it was time for my fifteen minutes. Well, at least my fifteen minutes with my skirt on properly.

Kieran Scott was a non-blonde cheerleader in high school (though she experimented with Sun-In often and with psychedelic results). A graduate of Rutgers University, Kieran grew up in Montvale, New Jersey, and now lives with her husband, Matt, in Westwood, just a few towns away. She is currently working hard on her next novel. Visit her online at www.myspace.com/kieranscott.