Nevermore

22 Cheer Up

“Hold up!” Gwen piped, pattering after her through the empty hall, Varen’s Tupperware container in one hand, the half-eaten bag of pita bread flapping around in the other. “Wait for me!”

“Come on, hurry up. The bell’s going to ring soon, and I don’t know if she’ll give me a note.”

“Who? Isobel, listen, they broke up!”

Isobel stopped. Skidding to a halt, Gwen nearly toppled into her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Varen and Madame Cleopatra,” said Gwen in a low, drawn-out voice, flicking her fingers dramatically over fluttering eyes. “Happened this morning. I heard it from Trevor, who heard it from Sara, who heard it from Ellen, who said she saw them arguing.”

Gwen leaned against a row of lockers, arms folded. “Apparently, though,” she said, “they were only pseudo girlfriend-boyfriend to begin with anyway.”

Isobel narrowed her eyes on Gwen, then whipped around to stalk through the hallway again. “Sure looked like they were broken up.”

She could hear Gwen bustling after her again. “Okay, so I don’t know what that little moment was all about, but I do know for a fact that they’re not together. Didn’t you see his reaction when she came over? So obvious he wasn’t about her.”

“And I care because?”

“Whatever!” Gwen said. A huge smile sprang to her lips, making Isobel feel even worse. “As if. You so got it for him. I mean, can we say, ‘Uhm, urh, durh, Sloppy Joe’? Psh. Please.

Can’t hide it from me. I know all— hey, what happened last night, anyway? Are you ever going to tell me? And oh my God, Brad’s car. Any idea who could have done it? And what’s this stuff about the ice cream shop? What happened at the ice cream shop? C’mon, Isobel, you’re gonna have to fill me in here—hey, why are we going into the gym?”

Isobel came to a halt outside the double doors and pivoted to face Gwen. “You can’t tell anybody.”

“What? That we’re going to the gym?”

“No,” she said. “I mean . . . about Varen.”

“What? You mean . . . that you like him?”

“Swear,” Isobel pleaded. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Gwen’s expression turned coy. “What, you don’t think he likes you back?”

“You do?”

Gwen’s smile grew. “You kidding? I mean, did you not see the way he kept sneaking looks at you? No, I guess you didn’t. He was very good at it. Kinda makes you wonder what else he’s good at.” She elbowed Isobel and beamed. “And why else do you think little Miss Morticia Addams came prancing over? But don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Gwen thrust a fist between them, her smallest finger extended. “Pinky swear.”

Isobel paused, an eyebrow raised, but then hooked her own pinky with Gwen’s. They shook.

“Come on,” said Isobel. Turning, she pushed through the gym doors. Gwen hustled in behind her.

Isobel found Coach Anne in her office, listening to the oldies station and poring over paperwork. She looked up only when Isobel tapped on her open door.

“I want back on the squad,” Isobel said.

Coach’s curiosity over Gwen faded in an instant; her eyes flashed, then narrowed and locked on Isobel. She leaned back in her chair and tossed her pen onto her desk. She rubbed her face like she was too tired to hear it. Isobel stood her ground, determined to do or say whatever it took to get back into the air.

“You walked off the squad, Lanley.”

“And now I want to walk back on,” she said. “I was wrong. And stupid. I want to go to Nationals. I want to see us win.”

Coach Anne pursed her lips, considering.

Behind them, the bell ending lunch echoed through the gymnasium.

“Get your keister back to class, Lanley,” Coach Anne said. “You’ve got two more hours to prepare your formal apology to the squad, and I want it in cheer format, is that understood?”

“Yes!” shouted Isobel, jumping.

“Go on,” Coach Anne said, waiving them toward the door. “I’m not writing any notes. Get your butts back to class.”

“Come on!” said Isobel.

Together they hurried out of the gym and took a shortcut through the courtyard, their footsteps crackling through strewn leaves.

“Isssobel.”

She stopped and whipped her head around. A breeze washed past them, carrying with it a rush of crisped leaves, the singed smell of autumn.

“What is it?” Gwen asked, jogging up to meet her.

Isobel’s gaze darted toward the cafeteria Dumpster, where she thought she’d seen someone. Her eyes snapped to the oak tree in the courtyard’s center. She caught a dark blur of something just as it vanished behind the trunk. She heard a low rustle. A group of nearby pigeons, pecking at a pizza crust, took off in a flurry.

She tilted her head back to follow their scattered flight. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she caught a glimpse of several dark figures peering down at her and Gwen from the ledge of the roof.

That couldn’t be right.

She dropped her gaze, stepped back to a better angle, and looked again.

What she had first taken for the silhouettes of people’s heads, Isobel could now see were crows. They all sat on the edge of the roof, beaks rifling through feathers, heads turning in small jerky movements.

Someone snickered.

“What was that?” Isobel whispered.

“What was what?” Gwen asked. “And what are we looking at?”

Isobel revolved in a slow circle, her eyes scanning the empty courtyard and the vacated cement tables strewn with stray pieces of trash. “Nothing. I just . . .”

Inside, the bell rang.

“Now look what you did. You made us late. Y’happy?” Gwen said. Taking her by the wrist, Gwen led her toward the doors. Isobel followed. Confused, she stared back at the courtyard and up along the building. When they reached the doors at the opposite end, Isobel could see around to the other side of the oak tree and behind the Dumpster.

But there was nothing there.

She was already dressed and ready by the time she walked into the gym that afternoon, wearing a dark blue sports bra and her pair of short shorts with the little yellow megaphone in one corner.

Coach Anne gave her whistle a sharp blow. “Okay, gang,” she said, raising her hands for silence, “find a seat, Isobel has something she wants to say.”

This was met with murmuring and even one or two arm crossings, but with another short blast from Coach’s whistle, the squad complied, piling with heavy footsteps onto the squeaking bleachers.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alyssa groaned.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Isobel marched forward to stand in front of her less-than-enthused audience. Alyssa, who’d found a seat next to Nikki, pivoted away with a noise that made her sound like a hacking cat. She leaned back against the bleachers, crossing her thin legs and draping her arms over her lap.

“Whenever you’re ready, Lanley,” said Coach. With that, she took a spot on the bleachers too. Leaning forward, she braced an elbow on each knee.

Isobel scanned the listless faces of her squad mates. Well, she thought, here goes.

She straightened, nodded, and brought her arms down sharply against her sides. “Ready? Okay!”

She fell into the movements she’d only had time to practice in her mind, trying to ignore how ridiculous she sounded shouting at the top of her lungs all by herself.

“Don’t mean to make a ruckus,

Don’t mean to make a fuss,

But there is just one thing

I think we should discuss.

“I shouldn’t try to meddle!

I shouldn’t try to fight!

’Cause pushing fellow teammates

Is simply just not right!”

She turned toward Alyssa now. With one knee up, one fist at her hip and one arm held high, Isobel brought a finger down to aim straight at the other girl. She beamed her hardest, putting on her biggest, brightest cheer smile. Wake up, Alyssa. Pay attention.

“I’m sorry that I shoved you!

I’m sorry that you fell!

I’m sorry that I nearly

Kicked your little tail!”

A chorus of “Oooh!’s” rang through the gym, drowned out only by the raucous laughter that followed. In an instant, Alyssa’s smug expression dissolved. Her face reddened. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel saw the gleam of Coach’s whistle as it rose to her lips. Before she could be stopped, though, she plunged forward, still smiling. She snapped into a T position, then hit into a toe-touch. She landed with a nod, pouring as much energy into the cheer as she would in any competition, knowing how infectious enthusiasm could be to those of the cheer persuasion.

“I want another chance,

I want to try again,

I want to go to Nationals

And win, win, win!”

Isobel delivered each “win” with a tuck jump, then threw in a double nine jump at the end just to show off. She finished with a clap, another tight nod, and a forward lunge, her arms extended in a high V.

Breathing hard and gritting her teeth now more than smiling, she awaited the verdict.

There was a general shifting on the stands and some lingering giggles and whispers. A few indecisive, perhaps even apprehensive glances were directed toward Alyssa, who sat glowering, muttering to Nikki, who looked utterly miserable.

Coach stood up. “Lanley, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that middle part,” she said, then turned to the squad and shouted, “Welcome back. You’re leading warm-ups.”

They’d been working on a pike basket toss when Coach blew the whistle for them to get into formation for the routine. After the run-through with music, Stevie came up beside her.

“Don’t worry,” he said, and leaned in to whisper, “they’re glad you’re back, even if they’re not showing it, Coach especially. Alyssa volunteered to take your spot, saying she knew all your stunts, but she couldn’t keep up.” He flashed a knowing smile. “Oh, and I think somebody’s out there waiting for you.”

Isobel’s brow furrowed. Her gaze followed the direction of Stevie’s nod. She narrowed her eyes at the empty archway. He wouldn’t, Isobel thought, picturing Brad standing there during their routine, watching her, waiting to give her a ride, like everything was hunky-dory.

After that, Isobel was only half-able to concentrate on the cooldown stretches as Stevie went through them.

Her eyes kept flashing nervously toward the door.

What did Brad want from her? Couldn’t he take a clue? Or maybe he was just there waiting for Nikki, she thought, though that didn’t really make the situation any better. Actually, it made it worse.

As soon as practice ended, Isobel threw on a pair of blue sweatpants over her shorts and pulled on her yellow Trenton T-shirt. Grabbing her gym bag and backpack, she stormed through the doors but stopped when she didn’t see anyone. Inexplicably, that feeling crept over her again, an echo of what she’d felt earlier that afternoon in the courtyard. She heard the sound of scuffling gravel and turned toward the patch of warm sunlight that leaked in through the parking lot doors, which someone had propped open. A cool breeze wafted in, and she glanced down as a few dead leaves swept inside, tumbling to a stop at her feet.

The patch of light on the floor flickered. A quick shadow flashed across. Isobel’s head popped up, her eyes wide on the open, empty doorway. Outside, she thought she heard a stifled laugh.

Isobel stepped into the door frame. “Brad?”

“Guess again,” came a voice from behind her, separate from the laughter.

She turned to find Varen standing with his back against the wall, her own stunned expression reflected in the pair of sleek sunglasses he wore.

“Jeez, you scared me” was all she could manage while trying to kick-start her breathing again.

“I’ve been told I have that effect,” he said in that deadpan way of his.

Isobel tilted her head at him, a new thought dawning on her. “Did you stay after school?”

His gaze fell to his boots before lifting again. He leaned his head back until it rested against the wall behind him. “I do,” he said. “Sometimes.”

Isobel couldn’t seem to help the small smile that edged its way along her mouth.

“Um, how long have you been out here?” she asked.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he shrugged.

“Hold up,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You weren’t . . . Were you watching me?”

It took him a full beat to respond. “I . . . prefer the term ‘observing,’” he said. “The connotations are far less voyeuristic.”

“So what, now you speak French?”

That got a smirk out of him.

“Sooo . . . what’s up?” she asked.

He said nothing for a long moment, only stared at her from behind those glasses that shielded from her sight the eyes that might have told her more. At last, he pushed off from the wall.

“Thought you might need a ride,” he said, brushing past her, walking through the open doors.

Doing her best to suppress her grin, she followed after him.