Girls That Growl (5 page)

Nancy squeezes her well-manicured hands into fists, her face bright red, but doesn't reply. Probably trying to fire up her brain for a really good comeback. Which, I realize, could take a while.

"Look," Shantel continues, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder as she walks over to where I'm still sprawled
out
on the gym floor. "We're a team. And team-mates stick together." She offers her hand. I take it and she boosts me to my feet. "Come on, Rayne. Let's go to the other side of the gym and
I'll
work with you on the cheers."

"Whatever," Nancy growls. "Far be it for me to stop you from wasting your time."

Shantel ignores her and looks at me. "You ready?" she asks.

Shocked and grateful, I nod and then follow her down the court, away from the other cheerleaders. I can't believe she's being so nice to me. Does she have some ulterior motive? But no, what could she possibly have to gain by helping me?

"Thanks," I say when we're out of earshot. "That was really great."

"Don't mind Nancy," Shantel says, rolling her eyes. "She can be a real bitch. Gives us all a bad name."

She shakes her head. "Most of the squad isn't like her though, I promise. And we all had to practice like crazy when we first joined. If you're willing to put in the work, I'm sure you'll be up to speed before our first game." She claps her hands together. "Ready?"

I am. And after about an hour of private practice, I start to catch on. Okay, I'm not ready to take part in an international competition or anything, but I haven't fallen on my face again. Shantel's a good teacher.

Good at ex-plaining things. Doesn't get annoyed when I mess up the same thing four times in a row. Uh, not that I did that. Really.

She's also a terrific athlete, I realize, as I watch her demon-strate a particularly impressive jump she calls a "Herkie." Great stamina, flexibility, and strength. She could probably play any sport and do well. I wonder why she chose cheer-leading. Does she have some kind of deep insecurity that makes her want to wave pom-poms? If she does, she hides it well. On the surface she's, like, the most confident girl I've ever met.

"Thanks," I say when our session is over."Ithink I'm get-ting it."

She grins. "No problem," she says. "See, it's pretty easy once you know what you're doing. And," she adds pointedly, I "you practice."

"Yeah, yeah.I'll practice, don't worry." I laugh. "After all, I don't want to fall flat on my face come game time."

Shantel smiles. "It's all good. If you do, we'll pick you up again." She swings her arm around my shoulders and we head back to the main group. "You're one of us now, Rayne McDonald. An Oakridge High Wolf."

And for some strange reason, I'm suddenly okay with this.

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7

The night of our first game is beautiful. The temperature perfect—mid-seventies—and the moon full and shining down on the field, almost bright enough to outshine the stadium lights. There's a crackling of electricity in the air as we exit the locker room and bound down to the sidelines of the Oakridge High football stadium dressed in our blue and white uniforms and carrying pom-poms.

We line up on the track, a blue gravel strip, in front of the home-side stands. I get into position, third from the left, and set my megaphone down on the pavement. It's then that I look up at the audience for the first time. There's got to be a million people up there. Or at least a hundred. Kids from school, parents, random townspeople. I had no idea so many people attended these things. I thought school spirit was only something you found in the movies.

What's worse is all these random citizens of Oakridge are all staring down at me. Watching me, probably judging me, waiting for me to fall flat on my face. Which, I fear, is very likely, judging from my track record.

I freeze in fear and almost drop my pom-poms. It's as if Medusa from
Clash of the Titans
is sitting in the stands and just struck me down, turning me into a stone rendition of my former self.

OMG, I can't do this.

I start to slowly creep out of position, hoping no one will notice my surreptitious exit. After all, I'm not really an essential part of this team, right? I'm only here on reconnais-sance. They don't need me. Well, except for that one special pyramid, but they can forgo that one tonight, right? Find something else to do at halftime—

Shantel grabs me by the back of my sweater and yanks me back into position. "Where do you think you're going?" she hisses.

"Uh, I think I left my flatiron on," I mumble, my cheeks burning. "I have to go—"

"I don't care if your flatiron burns down the entire school. You're not leaving the field during a game."

"But ..." I swallow hard, looking up at the humongous crowd and then back at her. My mind races, trying to come up with a good excuse, but I find myself too frazzled to be clever. "Argh! I can't do this!" I blurt out instead. The truth hurts.

She turns me around to face her, hands on my shoulders, her violet-colored eyes (contacts much?) staring into mine.

"You
can
do this. You've trained hard all week. You know the cheers. You know the pyramids. You're just suffer-ing from stage fright."

"No, I'm not!" I retort, offended beyond belief. After all, I'm the Slayer. I vanquished an evil vampire and saved the world, for goodness sake. There's no way I'm afraid of some stupid humans at some stupid football game.

AmI?

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"Those people?" Shantel continues, gesturing up at the throng in the stands. "All the girls want to be you.

They want nothing more than to be standing on this very field wearing a cute skirt and sweater just like you. And the guys? They all want to be with you. They'd hook up with you in a second just so they could claim they dated a cheerleader. So no matter what you do, no matter how badly you screw up, they'll still worship you and want you." She grins. "Or if that doesn't help, you can always picture them in their underwear."

That I can do, in fact. For real. X-ray vision is one of the few vampire powers not gimped by the blood virus. I decide to give it a try, concentrating hard, finding the power within me. I let it rev up in my mind as Jareth taught me to do. Then I look back up at the people in the stands.

And start to laugh.

Mr. Gordon, our nerdy science teacher, is wearing boxer shorts depicting cupids and hearts. The French teacher, Mademoiselle Dubois, who all the boys are in love with? She's wearing very unsexy granny panties. And is that Miss Robinson, our more than pleasantly plump cafeteria lady, up on the last row, wearing a very tiny thong? Gross.

Shantel's right. I feel better already.

"Thanks," I say to her, after taking in a deep breath. "You're right. I feel better already."

Shantel gives me a thumbs-up. "No prob," she says. "First-nightitis. It happens to everyone."

The whistle blows and the game begins. They kick the ball. We kick our legs. They make a goal. We wave our pom-poms. It's kind of fun, in a weird way. And exciting, too. Es-pecially when we're tied, 21/21 at the last few seconds of the fourth down (see, I've been studying!) and one of our players is set up to make the game-winning field goal.

"Go, Trevor, go!" the cheerleaders cry, nearly breathless in their enthusiasm. They really do seem to care about the outcome of this game. Crazy. Though, at this moment, truth be told, I've got my fingers crossed for the home team as well.

"Too bad Mike Stevens isn't here," Cait whispers to me from my right. "He's the best kicker."

I'm about to say Mike Stevens can go kick himself where it counts for all I care, but then I remember my mis-sion. "Where is he these days?" I ask. "Haven't seen him around."

Mandy shoots me a sharp look. "He's nowhere. Don't worry about him," she scolds. "Just concentrate on the game."

Hmm, that seems a bit of a harsh answer to a very simple question. MaybeTeifert's right. Maybe the cheerleaders are holding some kind of secret. Or Mandy could just be a rude, no-mannered bitch.

Actually, that seems more likely.

The players line up and Trevor gets ready to make the kick. I watch as he backs up, then runs forward, foot making contact with the ball and sending it soaring. The pigskin flies through the air. Everyone (including me) holds their breath.

It's . . . It's . . .

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It's good!

The crowd goes wild. The cheerleaders bounce. I bounce, too, an electric excitement sparking through my body. I can't believe I'm this revved up over the outcome of a football game. After all, I'm not exactly the high school football type. Maybe this skirt/sweater/pom-pom combo is slowly sucking brain cells from my head.

But whatever. We won. That's all that matters at the moment.

+++

After the game we head to the locker room to change out of our uniforms. I've never been one to change in front of others, but the cheerleaders all whip off clothing like it's prom night. Soon, the room is filled with bra and lacy thong-clad girls, talking animatedly to one another. I guess if you have perfect bodies you don't need the modesty gene.

I notice across the room that Cait is the sole exception to the exhibitionism displayed in the locker room.

She ducks into one of the bathroom stalls to change out of her uniform. And she emerges wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Which is somewhat weird, considering it's probably seventy degrees out.

I overhear whispers about an after party at Mandy's house to celebrate their victory, but no one invites me along. Not that I care. The last thing I want to do is go to some cheerleader party. Still, I can't help but feel a slight sting from being so obviously excluded. Stupid popular crowd.

I slip out of the locker room, ready to go home and back to my real life. Maybe I'll go see if Jareth's about. He's been acting kind of distant lately, and I'm hoping nothing is wrong. Maybe we'll go to Club Fang for a little dancing. Whatever. As long as I don't have to go home and face David, the now live-in boyfriend, and the toilet seat he forgot to put down. Being a Slayer Inc. operative, he'll want to know all about the cheerleaders and I really don't have any info on them except that they didn't want to talk about the missing Mike Stevens mid-game. Who knows, maybe they just didn't want to jinx the guy with the ball.

I've reached the gym exit. One push on the door and it's back to real life. But guilt gnaws at my insides and forces me to pause. A party is a perfect opportunity to learn more about the missing football player.

To do recon for my Slayer mission. How can I just go home now? I've worked so hard to become one of them. To gain their trust. Now I've got to use it to my advantage. After all, up until this point I haven't learned anything. We've been practicing so hard there's been little time to socialize and find out the 411.

Tonight's the perfect night to do some recon. Even if it does mean attending a cheerleader party at my archenemy's house.

I reluctantly head back to the locker room entrance, wrap my hand around the door handle, and give it a pull. It doesn't budge. That's weird. Why would they lock the door? Are they happy to be rid of me and want to make sure I don't come back? Nah, that's stupid, right?

I rap on the door. "Hey! Let me in!" I cry. There's no an-swer. I put my ear to the door, trying to figure out what's go-ing on. It's then that I hear a strange noise.

Almost like . . . growling.

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I leap back from the door. Isn't that what Teifert had said to look out for? Girls that growl? But why would the Oakridge High squad be growling? It doesn't make any sense. I put my ear back to the door to get a better listen.

Growling, snapping, howling. Almost like there's a pack of rabid dogs behind the door. What the . . . ?

I yank on the door handle again, but it's stuck fast. What if they're in trouble? Cait's in there, after all!

And Shantel! I bang on the door with both fists. "Let me in!" I cry. But there's no response. What if they're all being eaten by a pack of werewolves or something? Do werewolves even exist? I guess if vampires do, it's certainly possible . . .

Why, oh, why do I have to be a powerless vampire? My undead brothers and sisters would have no problem at all breaking down the door and rescuing those trapped inside. Me, I'd have to wait for a locksmith to show up before I could save the day. By then, everyone's likely to have been beaten to a bloody pulp.

Desperate, I send out a mental alert to any vamps in the vicinity. That's another one of the few powers I did inherit, go figure. Yup. I'm a supernatural creature of the night, whose superpower consists of . . .

well, calling for help. And unfortunately I can only send, not receive answers. So I have no idea whether anyone's even paying attention.

A smashing of glass from behind the locked door brings me back from mental telepathy land. I hear a shuffling of feet and the growling fades into the distance. Whoever—
what-ever
—it was making all that noise has evidently left the building. I've missed everything. I suck. Slayer Inc. is going to be so sorry they didn't get my replacement up to speed before doling out this latest gig.

"Rayne!" I whirl around and catch sight of Jareth striding across the gymnasium floor, an anxious look on his tanned face. "Are you all right?" he asks, approaching me and giv-ing me a once-over with concerned eyes."Iheard your call for help and came as quickly as possible."

I sigh. "Great. Just what I need. Another powerless vamp," I mutter. I'd so been hoping Magnus or one of the other uninfected vamps heard my call for help. "Now we can both stand here looking stupid 'cause we can't break down a simple locked door."

Jareth's face falls and I instantly feel bad for opening my big mouth. After all, the guy used to be all-powerful. The im-penetrable General of the Blood Coven Army. Until, of course, he willingly sacrificed all of his powers for the rest of eternity just to save my miserable little life.