Authors: Shannon Greenland

Tags: #Suspense

The Winning Element (11 page)

BOOK: The Winning Element

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Coach Capri didn’t even seemed fazed. “Now hair.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Coach picked up a bottle of color. “You can’t look like a skunk if you want to fit in at America’s Cheer.”

Beaker dodged for the door.

Coach intercepted her. "GiGi, lock us in from the outside.”

I rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation. “All right. You two have fun.”

Beaker cursed.

I left, locking the door from the outside at the same time someone tapped softly on our bedroom door. Bruiser tiptoed over and peeked out.

“Shhh.” She put her finger over lips, shushing whoever stood on the other side.

Cat and I exchanged a “what’s up?” look.

Bruiser widened the door a little, and in crept Wirenut, Mystic, and Parrot. The guys spread out in the room: Mystic cross-legged on the floor, Wirenut next to Cat, and Parrot stretched out on Beaker’s empty bed.

A muted crash came from the bathroom, followed by a stream of curses.

Bruiser suppressed a giggle.

Coach Capri was one little woman I did
not
want to mess with. I was scared of her, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. If she snapped an order, I hopped to it. Beaker, on the other hand . . . They went head to head over everything. Literally. From Beaker’s clothes, to her oh-so-pleasant demeanor, to her gum chomping, to the way she walked. Coach Capri got in her face about everything.

A bang rattled from the bathroom, shaking the door. Another stream of curses followed.

Everyone in the bedroom exchanged an “oh no” look.

Beaker was going to be so upset when she found all the guys in here. I almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

More banging, rattling, and yelling came from the inside, while my teammates giggled on the outside. A half hour later, a blow dryer kicked on and minutes after that the bathroom door opened.

Coach Capri emerged. Clearing her throat, she smoothed her short hair into place. “Well, everyone’s here. Good.” She smiled a little
too
sinisterly. “
Real
good.”

In the short time I’d known her, I’d gotten the impression she enjoyed her battles with Beaker.

“You can come out now,” Coach Capri called.

Nothing.

“You can come out now,” she called again, her voice a bit harder.

Nothing.

“Get your butt out here,” she barked. “Now.”

This time
I
held in a giggle.

The bathroom door slammed open, and Beaker stomped out.

My jaw dropped. Beaker had gone through a complete transformation. Like an I-wouldn’t-recognize-her-if-she-walked-up-to-me-on-the-street kind of transformation. Her hair was colored dark chestnut brown, and it lay in short, layered, loose curls.

She wore very little makeup, and I noticed for the first time her clear blue eyes. With all the overpowering dark eyeliner she usually wore, I’d never seen beyond it to her natural color.

No nose or eyebrow jewelry existed. And even though I couldn’t see, I was sure Coach Capri made Beaker take out her tongue stud and belly ring.

I couldn’t believe I was looking at the same person. Beaker looked . . . sweet—a word I never thought I’d associate with her.

Her red cheerleading vest, the same as mine, stopped right above her belly button. Her red-and-white miniskirt came to her upper thighs, revealing white legs, and red-and-white tennis shoes completed the outfit.

Other than her pale legs and the frown on her face, she looked beautiful—another word I never thought I’d associate with Beaker.

She scowled at each of the guys, and then her gaze immediately narrowed in on Bruiser.

Bruiser blinked innocently.

Coach Capri slapped Beaker on the back. “It’s a good thing everyone’s here. You’ve got to get used to being around people in your new identity.”

“Hey, Beak.” Wirenut popped a piece of candy in his mouth. “Chin up, babe. You’re hot. Who would’ve thought you had all those goods under your Goth getup.”

With a laugh, Cat poked him in the ribs.

Beaker blushed. Actually blushed. I’d never seen her embarrassed before.

“Sissy,” Coach Capri addressed Beaker by her real name. “Cheerleaders never frown. Smile, please.”

“What’s Sissy short for?” Bruiser asked, getting off topic.

Beaker shot Bruiser another scowl. “Priscilla. My mom was an Elvis fan.”

Elvis fan? Huh. I hadn’t known. I was sure there was a lot about Beaker that I didn’t know.

She pointed her finger at Bruiser. “But call me Priscilla, and I’ll poke your eyes out.”

Bruiser held up her hands.

“Cheerleaders never frown,” Coach Capri repeated herself. “Smile, please.”

Beaker’s ever-present scowl became scowlier, if possible.

Coach Capri arched a blond brow.

Beaker huffed out a sigh. She stretched her lips away from her teeth, looking more like a dental patient then a smile.

Everyone in the room held in a laugh.

Coach Capri cleared her throat. “I said smile, please.”

“I am smiling,” Beaker hissed through her stretched lips.

Coach Capri bopped her in the back of the head, and Beaker’s forced expression curved into an actual smile.

Wirenut tossed another chunk of candy in his mouth. “Now if you could just stay that way and not open your mouth . . .”

Cat bopped
him
in the back of the head this time.

Beaker flipped him a black-polish-free middle finger.

Wirenut rubbed the back of his head. “There’s the mad chemist I know and love.” He winked.

Bruiser jumped up on her bed. “Let me see you do a cheer.” She lifted her left leg from behind, grabbed her foot, and brought it all the way above her head.

I grimaced. From all the cheerleading books I’d been studying, I knew that was called a scorpion—definitely a move I wouldn’t be doing on this mission.

“Give me a B!” Bruiser shouted.

Coach Capri arched a brow at me. I knew that arch. I didn’t mess with that arch.

Immediately, I pushed off my bed and snapped straight into a liberty, with my right foot on the inside of my left knee and my arms straight up. It should be called the stork the way it looked.

“Give me a B!” I shouted louder than Bruiser.

Coach Capri nodded her head once in a show of approval. Then she turned to Beaker and arched her do-it-now-or-else brow.

With slumped shoulders, Beaker slung her right leg into the same position as mine and flopped her arms up. “Give me a B,” she said with all the enthusiasm of a slug.

Coach Capri bopped her in the back of the head again.

I sighed. Here we go again.

A week later, david and I stood in Beaker’s lab. The large tables were filled with burners, beakers, and vials of various chemicals.

Beaker propped goggles on top her head. “I’ve been studying all the chemicals Eduardo has used in the past and what we currently know he will be smuggling in. I’m only one person, and I’m definitely going to need help diffusing things when we get to the final hour.”

She handed David and me each a thin pack of stapled pages. “I’ve put together all the various combinations I think will be used in making chemicals bombs. As you can see, I’ve detailed what to add to various solutions, what to take out, which to heat, ones to chill . . .”

As she continued describing her papers, I looked them over . . . and was suddenly intimidated. She’d used symbols I recognized from high school chemistry and thoroughly explained each one.

She’d expertly noted how many millimeters of this, what temperature of that. She’d organized which stir rods, whisks, and other things to use. But the brilliant detail overwhelmed me. I knew she knew her stuff—after all, this was her specialty—but the sheer magnitude of her knowledge boggled my mind.

Beaker nodded to the table in front of David and me. “Slip on those lab coats and goggles. I’m going to walk you through how to read my notes and defuse a chemical bomb.”

“Wh-what?” I blinked a few times. “D-did you say defuse a chemical bomb?”

She smirked a little. “Scared, GiGi?”

I narrowed my eyes. “No. I’m not scared.”
Yes, I am scared.

Beaker rolled her eyes. “Relax.” She pointed to the flasks of chemicals lined up in front of her. “We’re not actually going to make and defuse a bomb; we’re just going to go through the motions. So you know how to read my directions during the real event.”

David and I put on our gear while Beaker brought her goggles down to cover her eyes.

She turned on a flame under a flask of yellow liquid. “Refer to scenario one. We’ll use that for the purpose of demonstration.”

Beaker checked her watch, then turned the flame up a little higher. “Notice in scenario one you have a simple combination of creino and oteca.”

“How will we know if its creino, oteca, or any other substance? ” David asked.

“You won’t know. That’s my job. I’ll perform some quick tests, tell you what’s in the bomb, and you’ll refer to the outlined scenarios to defuse it.”

“What if there’s no time to do the quick test?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It’s no big deal, really. It won’t take me long to figure out what’s in the bombs. If you have any problems, I’ll be right there. Don’t freak out or anything.”

“I’m not freaking out.”
I am freaking out.
I mean, what happened if I didn’t defuse it correctly? Oh, yeah, it’s a bomb. It would
explode
!

Beaker checked her watch again and put two drops of a purple liquid into the now-boiling flask of yellow. “Okay, in scenario one, it says to do what to defuse this bomb of creino and oteca?”

My heart kicked a little. “I thought you said you weren’t making a bomb.”

With a sigh, David looked at me.

I returned his look. “What? I’m just asking.”

BOOK: The Winning Element

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