Chapter 5

5

Friday is the start of Homecoming weekend. I wake up early, straighten my hair, and pull on the Fighting Reindeer shirt I’ve had since freshman year. Daphne hogs the bathroom mirror, painting bright red GE letters on her cheeks. The middle schoolers are always more excited than anyone for the Homecoming game.

In a twist of irony, this is the earliest I’m ready to leave all week. If I was picking up Irene today, there’s no chance she’d beat me to her driveway. I almost wish she needed a ride just so I could rub it in her face. And maybe so I could apologize for what I said yesterday.

Instead, I use the extra time to pick up coffee for my friends. Sweet Noelle’s, the best coffee shop in town, has painted its windows for the game tonight. When the barista sees me in my Fighting Reindeer shirt, she grins and gives me a free chocolate muffin. I stuff my face with it when I get back in my car, relishing in the privacy of driving alone again.

But when I pull into school a few minutes later, alone hits differently. People glance at my car, but when I’m the only one to get out of it, they turn away. I guess they don’t care about me unless I’m shuttling Irene around.

I’m back to being a nobody, and I hate to admit it stings.

“Hey, happy Friday!” Gunther says when I show up with the coffee tray. “Why the special treat? Is it just because you love us?”

“Because I love you, and because I’m free.” I drop my backpack and lean against Danielle’s locker. “No more carpooling for me.”

I thought it would feel euphoric to announce that, but surprisingly, I feel kind of bereft.

“Ding-dong, the witch is dead,” Kevin says. He passes the coffees around, checking to see their descriptions first. “You sure you want this, Gunther?”

Gunther grimaces. He’s on a black coffee kick because he thinks it makes him more sophisticated. “I guess. Send thoughts and prayers.” He swallows the first sip like a kid taking medicine.

“And hazelnut with extra espresso for Danielle,” Kevin says, passing her the cup. “What’s the extra shot for today? The AP Lit test?”

“Yeah, ’cause I have to beat you,” Danielle says, hiking her eyebrows at him.

Kevin laughs. “It’s not a competition if you’re the only one in it, Danielle.”

“Still gonna leave you in the dust.”

“We get it, you guys are smart,” Gunther says, rolling his eyes. “Can we focus on the topic at hand? Scottie’s back to being one of us.”

Kevin and Danielle laugh. “I have to admit, I’m kind of bummed,” Danielle says. “I was getting used to our cheering section.”

“Yeah, I was ready for the cheerleaders to start cheering at your games,” Gunther says. “Which means I’d get to, too.”

“They’d never switch to cheering for us,” I say.

“They might. I heard a bunch of the cheerleaders talking about how good y’all are.” Gunther pauses, and for some reason his cheeks flush pink. “Honey-Belle said you’re her she-roes.”

Danielle and I laugh, but before we can respond, my phone chimes with that dreaded tone.

Tally Gibson:Glad to see you’re free of her.

“How does she know these things?” I whine, showing my friends the message.

Danielle huffs as usual, but Kevin pulls out his phone. “Damn,” he mutters. “Gino needs to get a life.”

He shows us Gino’s Instagram Story: a video of Irene and Honey-Belle getting out of Honey-Belle’s Jeep. The caption says No more Uber service, back to riding with the elites!!

“The ‘elites’?” Danielle says with disgust. “God, they practically parody themselves.”

“Weren’t you just saying you enjoyed their cheering section?” Kevin teases, and Danielle shoves him.

I don’t say anything. A hot wave of embarrassment flushes over my body. I’m mortified that Gino would write that. I’m even more mortified that Tally saw it.

---

During first period, we have a special extended schedule so the video journalism kids can broadcast their latest news segment. It’s Homecoming-centric, with a choppy story about the football team’s practice regimen and interviews with the student gov kids about their decorating plans. The last segment is about Homecoming Court. Ten people from my grade are nominated for the King and Queen spots, and one of the Cleveland triplets, who have their hands in everything that goes on here, nabbed interviews with them.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s an honor,” one guy says.

“I’m so excited, just so, so excited,” a peppy girl grins.

Charlotte Pascal is up next. “To get this kind of recognition from your peers, it’s just—what more can you ask for?”

And then Irene’s face pops up, and I squirm uncomfortably in my seat.

“Are you so excited?” the Cleveland triplet asks.

“Yeah, it’s a trip,” Irene says with a casual flick of her hair. She sounds like she couldn’t give two shits.

“Are you nervous?”

Irene blinks. “For the game, yeah. I’m concerned about getting our routines right. We’ve been working our asses off, and right now I’m splitting my time between football and basketball cheerleading, with different sets for each—so I want to make sure we do everything right on Friday night.”

“Why didn’t they bleep out ‘asses’?” my civics teacher asks. “And what’s with this girl’s answer?”

“She’s cheerleading captain,” one of my classmates says.

“So?”

“So that’s all she ever talks about. Her friend Honey-Belle says she’s running for Student Athlete of the Year.”

“As a cheerleader?” someone sneers.

The shot changes to another nominee, but I stop listening. An unwelcome feeling stretches over me, like I’m starting to understand Irene Abraham even if I don’t want to.

---

Practice that afternoon is dead. The whole team seems to understand that our short-lived glory is over. When we finish for the day with no one in the gym but ourselves, the mood is sour and defeated. Googy tries to lighten things by asking me to hit Irene’s car again. Nobody laughs.

When Danielle and I walk outside, my irritation spikes. There’s a number of fans already tailgating by the football field and I’m bitter to realize they’ll never show up for one of my games in the same way. No wonder Tally wanted to transfer.

Danielle and I swing by her house to get ready for the game. During dinner with her family, my mood finally brightens. Mr. and Mrs. Zander ask about basketball, about the dance tomorrow night, about college applications. Teddy sits at the table with his legs knocking excitedly, dressed in a reindeer onesie that he insists on pairing with an alien headband.

“Hold on,” Mrs. Zander says when we’re about to leave. I think she’s about to compliment our homemade Grandma Earl T-shirts, but instead she eyes Danielle’s makeup with suspicion. “Who you dressing up for?”

“Nobody,” Danielle says, too casually. “It’s the Homecoming game, Mom.”

“I used to love Homecoming weekend,” Danielle’s dad says, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between his wife and daughter. “Everyone was so distracted with the pomp and circumstance that my friends and I were finally able to play Dungeons & Dragons in peace.”

“I’ve never seen you try a smoky eye,” Danielle’s mom continues. “Scottie, who’s she trying to impress?”

I shake my head. “Nobody. As far as I can tell, Danielle’s just in love with basketball.”

Danielle hikes her eyebrows as if to say Ha, see?, but I know her well enough to pick up on the nervous way she’s messing with her jacket zipper. She’s probably thinking about seeing Kevin on the field when marching band performs during halftime.

The stadium is swelling with people by the time we join the admission line. The drums are booming, the sky lights are bright, and the air smells like hickory. I remember Tally squeezing my hand last year, promising we could escape to her car if we got too cold. Candlehawk’s Homecoming game is tonight, too, and she’s probably loving the thrill of a bigger stadium, the brighter lights, the news crews planted on the field to film their student body.

It’s cold on the metal bleachers. The band is stationed behind us, blasting their trumpets and pounding their drums. The cheerleaders are down on the sidelines, calmly going about their warm-up stretches in the midst of the building excitement. If I squint, I can just make out Irene, a dark ponytail directing the rest of the team. She’s obviously in her element. Not that I care.

The game starts a few minutes later. Our players sprint onto the field through a handmade banner of an old lady in a football helmet. The cheerleaders dive straight into their routines, amping up the crowd until we’re in a full-blown frenzy, and I hear the echo of Irene lecturing me about cheerleaders’ emotional intelligence.

A few minutes before halftime, the other team fumbles the ball and one of our guys runs it back for a touchdown. The crowd is roaring, riding the wave of the play. The cheerleaders pop up to run a victory routine. Irene is at the front of their formation, directing the pyramid before she goes to take her place.

I look away, watching the football players switch out the offensive and defensive lines. Then everyone gasps.

The cheerleader at the top of the pyramid has fallen off.

There’s a prolonged pause, followed by a rumbling of anxiety from the crowd, as the cheerleading coach and sports medicine team rush to the sidelines. The cheerleaders break out of their pyramid and hover around the girl, blocking everyone’s view. The announcer’s voice wavers as he says, “Hold on here, folks, looks like we’ve had an incident on the sidelines…”

After a long, suspended moment, the huddle clears and the girl hobbles to her feet. Irene presses close to her, talking to her as the sports medicine guys heave her forward on one foot.

“And thank goodness, it looks like she’s okay,” the announcer says, his voice hearty again. “Sprained ankle, from the looks of it. Yet another sacrifice these cheerleaders make to support our young men.”

“Sprained ankle, shit,” Danielle mumbles.

“They’re not cheering just to support the ‘young men,’” I say, annoyed.

“I mean … yeah. But the point is, I hope that girl’s okay.”

I don’t answer. Irene has disappeared, leaving the cheerleaders in disarray on the sidelines. I don’t see her again until the Homecoming Court parades onto the field during halftime. She glides along between her parents, easily visible because of her long dark hair. I wonder if her mom has been here all along to watch her routines, or if she only came to escort her for Court.

When they announce Homecoming Queen, no one is surprised to hear the name Irene Abraham. She smiles as she accepts the crown and flowers and poses for pictures with her King. To anyone else, it must look like she’s radiant with happiness, but my instincts tell me she’s berating herself for the cheerleading stunt gone wrong.