Killer Spirit (11 page)

CHAPTER 15

Code Word: Boyfriend

“It was like the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“And then this teacher was all ‘get a room,’ and I was all ‘yeah, please do.’”

“I hear they’re going to be on
Survivor: Couples’ Edition.
”

“Really? I heard they’d already accepted an offer from
Real World: Bayport.
”

“I soooooo wish I was Toby Klein.”

By lunchtime, Jack and I were the primary topic of conversation in the cafeteria, and bits and pieces of conversations assaulted my ears as I made my way toward the central table. I was beginning to feel like I couldn’t sneeze without making front-page news:
God Squad Member Toby Klein Sneezes; Allergies Are IN!

Of course, some of the whispers were less than flattering. Jack was the number-one hottie at our school, and Chloe (Jack ex number two) wasn’t the only one whose hackles were up at the thought of a Toby/Jack pairing.

“She is such a slut.”

Yup. Jack was the only guy I’d ever kissed, and we hadn’t done anything but, so clearly, I was Slut Girl. Of course, given the fact that the person who was slinging the s-word around was in fact much “friendlier” toward the opposite sex than I was, the insult didn’t carry much of a punch.

“And her technique is total crap.”

At first, I thought they were talking about my kissing technique—WHAT WAS WRONG WITH MY KISSING TECHNIQUE?—but then I realized that when junior varsity cheerleaders say “technique,” they mean one and only one thing.

“I mean, did you see that back handspring?”

Insults were one thing coming from Chloe; whether or not we were friends, we were teammates, and that meant something, but these JV girls didn’t know me, and I was getting damn tired of people picking on my handsprings.

“You know,” I said, sauntering up to their group and inserting myself into their conversation. “Maybe you’re right. The other girls on varsity think my standing back tuck is much cleaner than my back handspring, and even my back handspring back tuck has a little more oomph, so maybe I just shouldn’t bother with the easier stuff at all.” I paused and looked at each of the JV cheerleaders in turn. “This morning, Bubbles was teaching me how to do a layout. Maybe next year, we’ll start requiring more advanced tumbling skills for new recruits.”

The girls shut their mouths one by one. As jealous as they were, and as much as they hated me, I’d just reminded them that I held their futures in my hands. There were four seniors on varsity this year, which meant that we’d have four open slots on the Squad next year, and as far as these girls knew, the remaining members simply voted in new ones on whims. None of these girls had made varsity as sophomores, but they were still pretending that they stood a chance junior year, and some of them might have.

If they managed to go that long without really pissing me off.

“Go ahead and up the tumbling requirements,” Hayley Hoffman sniffed. “My back handspring back tuck is flawless.”

“But your personality,” I said, “well, let’s just say that they invented the term
fatal flaw
for a reason, Hayley, and as far as the varsity squad is concerned, you’re dead to us.”

Okay, so it was cheesy, but I wasn’t used to issuing popularity threats. It must have been potent enough, though, because all of the other girls gasped a little and took a step back. It was so over the top and ridiculous that I couldn’t believe it was really happening, let alone that I was an integral part of it, but these days, suspension of disbelief was my forte.

“If you’re still on the God Squad next year,” Hayley said, “I wouldn’t want to be. Being varsity used to mean something, but apparently, they’ve lowered their standards.”

She looked to the others for support, but they remained quiet.

“Kiki,” Hayley hissed, and one of the girls cleared her throat.

“Ummm…yeah,” she told me. “Unless…do you think if I could stick a back tuck that maybe…”

“Kiki!”

“Never mind,” the girl mumbled. Since April had joined the Squad, Hayley had surrounded herself with new minions, and it looked like at least one of them was taking orders, albeit clumsily.

“Well,” I said, “I should go eat lunch. With my boyfriend. And the rest of the God Squad. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. It’s not like anyone who matters is listening.”

I turned on my heels and walked toward the central table. And that’s when it hit me…

I was turning into one of
those girls.

It wasn’t pretend. It wasn’t just a cover. I’d just threatened a bunch of girls with cheerleading annihilation. I’d referred to Jack as my boyfriend and thrown it in their faces. I’d told Hayley she was “dead to us.”

What in the name of all that was good and holy was the matter with me?

This wasn’t me. I didn’t take crap, but I didn’t play games, either. I didn’t care what other people said about me, and I certainly didn’t think the fact that I was going to homecoming with Jack gave me the right to use him as a weapon against lesser females.

Oh, no.

I’d just mentally referred to someone as a lesser female.

It was too much. This wasn’t what I signed up for. I wasn’t supposed to actually change. That was never part of the deal. I’d agreed to pretend to be a cheerleader, pretend to play the popularity game, but it was just supposed to be that: pretend. Make-believe. I was still supposed to be me. I wasn’t supposed to become the kind of girl I’d always hated.

That was the thing, though. Being around the other girls had made me realize that I didn’t hate them, not even Chloe, and I’d done a complete one-eighty on my views of cheerleading in general, so maybe that was why I’d changed. I’d learned to respect them. I even liked them for the most part, and now…

Was I doomed to become another Chloe? Two years from now, would I look at some new girl on the squad and snip at her the way Gadget Girl did at me?

No, I thought. No way. The next time someone called me a slut, I was going to do one of two things. If it was a girl, I was going to ignore her—who cared what people said or thought? The old me certainly hadn’t. Gossip was nothing more than a minor annoyance, and
that
I could deal with, especially if it kept me from having these identity crises on a regular basis.

And if a guy called me a slut? Well, then I’d be forced to take him down. I couldn’t in good conscience beat the crap out of someone smaller than or as small as me, but football players were fair game, especially if they didn’t respect women. And, to be quite honest, I kind of missed bringing the odd football player down every once in a while. Call it a hobby.

“Hey, Toby. If you’re done with your inner rant/identity crisis, you might want to join us. Everyone’s talking about you and Jack, and I want the inside scoop.” Zee put her arm around my shoulder and guided me to our table. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that she knew exactly what was running through my mind. Same old, same old.

“There is no inside scoop,” I told Zee as we took our seats. “We’re going to homecoming together. He kissed me in the hallway. End of story.”

Luckily, before the others could pump me for more information, Jack sat down at our table, and the topic of conversation turned away from our social lives and toward our chances of beating Hillside on Friday. The amount of enmity the people at our table showed for the Hillside Bobcats made the cool, detached way we dealt with terrorist threats look like rhythmic gymnastics.

“We’re going to massacre them! Those SOBs won’t know what hit ’em.” Chip waxed poetic about Hillside’s impending doom. “We’re going to demolish them. They won’t even see it coming, those…”

“They’re totally going down,” Lucy chimed in.

“They’ll forego the rest of their season out of sheer embarrassment.” That one was from Tara.

“We’ll crush ’em.” Chip again.

“Kill them?” Bubbles asked, not quite sure if that was the appropriate response.

“Yeah,” Chip agreed. “And you girls will put their cheerleaders to shame. Next to you, they’ll look like dogs.” Chip was losing a little of his steam now that he wasn’t speaking in terms of violent metaphors.

“Really ugly dogs,” one of the Chiplings assured us.

“So their cheerleaders are ugly, their football players are wimps, and they’re our archrivals because why?” It was either ask the question, or try to join in with the rabble-rousing by making some kind of comment about crushing our enemies’ bones to powder, and I opted away from the melodrama.

Everyone at the entire table paused at my question, and I realized this was one of those times when I just should have kept my mouth shut. Forget orders not to engage the TCIs. I should have adopted a strict No Engagement policy with the football team.

“She’s right,” Jack said, and I got the distinct feeling that I was the only one who could hear the sarcastic undertone to his voice. “We’re going to beat them so badly that next year, they won’t have the cajones to call us their rivals.”

The Chipling sitting nearest Zee, who I inferred was probably her homecoming date, spoke up then. “That’s right, son,” he said, pounding his fist into the table. “Bayport High doesn’t have a rival. Nobody can touch us.”

Eventually, the conversation tapered off, and once I’d actually managed to ingest my food, I decided to make a quick exit before somebody brought up me and Jack again, or before I became possessed by enough school spirit that I felt compelled to actually insult the collective manhood of the Hillside football team.

“I’ll be back.” I lied through my teeth, knowing as I did it that there wasn’t a girl on the Squad who I would fool. “Just going to run to the bathroom real quick.”

Immediately, Lucy and Bubbles stood to follow. Over the past few weeks, I’d come to accept the fact that it was a law of girl nature that for reasons I couldn’t quite grasp, going to the bathroom required as much backup as even the most dangerous reconnaissance maneuvers. The three of us passed Noah’s table on the way to the bathroom, and I knew better than to hope that he wouldn’t notice. Noah’s cheerleader radar was more advanced than anything the government could possibly develop. Zeroing in on the incoming hotties, he stood up. For one horrifying instant, I thought that he might have more Toby for Homecoming Queen shenanigans up his sleeve, but ultimately, his flirting impulse won out, and I was left trying to decide which of the two was a lesser evil.

“Hello, ladies.” Noah grinned in a way that he probably thought was suave, but that actually made him look like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Goodbye, Noah,” I said, trying to put an end to this interaction before he could proposition one of my Squadmates.

Bubbles and Lucy, however, either didn’t catch or chose to blatantly ignore my not-so-subtle hint that we were leaving. The two of them looked at each other and then at me, and before I could stop her, Bubbles offered Noah the same greeting she’d given me the first time we’d met.

“I can put my feet behind my head.”

Noah’s mouth dropped open, and for a moment, he was speechless.

Quick, I thought, while he’s still recovering! “Come on, guys,” I said, grabbing their arms and pulling them forward. “Let’s go.”

“You can put both feet behind your head,” Noah repeated, his voice full of reverent awe. “There is a God.” And with that pronouncement, he fell to his knees and raised his arms heavenward. “Hallelujah!”

Beside me, Lucy giggled, and even though I half expected her to match Bubbles’s overture, just to tease me, she didn’t. Instead, she did something much, much worse. She smiled shyly at Noah, and he grinned goofily back, both of them eerily subdued compared to their normal selves.

“Hi.” Noah climbed to his feet, and instead of dishing out one of his many standard pickup lines (none of which were effective; most of which were severely idiotic), he just offered Lucy an earnest smile.

“Hi,” Lucy returned, ducking her head a little and matching Noah’s grin with another of her own.

My brother and our resident weapons expert were officially having a moment. No good could come of this.

“We have to go,” I said again. I tightened my hold on Lucy’s arm and pulled her forcibly toward the bathroom. Bubbles trailed after us, leaving Noah in our wake. When we made it to the sanctuary of the girls’ room, I turned my full-force glare on Lucy.

“What?” she said innocently.

“You know what.”

“Yeah,” Bubbles said, and then she frowned, utterly lost.

“What?”

I took a deep and cleansing breath and prepared myself to patiently explain to them that phrases like
do not engage
were specifically invented with little brothers in mind.

CHAPTER 16

Code Word: Flirt

My reward for making it through the rest of lunch and Mr. Corkin’s class without making any kind of scene (or being sent to the office) was my sixth period: computer science, also known as free time on the net. The administration at Bayport High was somehow completely unaware of the fact that all of the students were members of the computer generation. I’d hacked into the Pentagon at the age of thirteen, and though my classmates were significantly less skilled in that department, they were connoisseurs of MySpace and Facebook, so a lot of what this class professed to teach us, all of us already knew. Our first few weeks had been devoted to Microsoft Office. Now, we’d moved on to the ins and outs of designing websites.

Really, they shouldn’t have even called the class “computer science,” because “how to use a computer” would have been a much more appropriate title. Not that I was complaining. I’d finished my website the first day and had been able to spend the past week surfing the net and accessing the high school’s most guarded databases.

Leaning back in my chair, I swiveled side to side, debating how best to spend my free time today. What I really wanted to do was dig up more information on the TCIs, or hack into the Big Guys’ mainframe to see if there was anything they weren’t telling us about yesterday’s explosion, but I knew better than to give in to temptation on that front. I was good, but I was also smart enough to know that using a public computer to do that kind of thing wasn’t the best idea. High school computer labs aren’t exactly the most secure places for any kind of data transfer. This is especially the case when the heir apparent of the Law Firm of Doom is sitting at the computer next to you.

I glanced at Jack’s monitor, wondering what he was working on, and his website assignment stared back at me. Between the moving graphics and the handmade font, it was definitely a step up from what most of our class was making. In fact, given that he’d actually put some effort into it, there was a distinct chance that it was better than mine.

And—be still, my heart—the site appeared to be dedicated to classic rock, proving once and for all that Jack was not afflicted by musical tastes capable of causing me massive amounts of psychic pain.

JackOfDiamonds:
Like what you see?

The message popped up on my computer screen. I looked from the screen to Jack. He kept his eyes locked on his own monitor, but even from a limited side view, I could tell that he was biting back one of those smirky smiles.

How in the world had Jack Peyton gotten my IM name? Besides the rest of the Squad (all of whom had obtained it from the file the Big Guys had developed on me before I’d joined up), no one at school knew my IM name. I could count on one hand the number of people I’d given it to
ever,
and none of them were Jack.

JackOfDiamonds:
Speechless, Ev?

I snorted and let that serve as my answer, since he could hear me perfectly well. Meanwhile, I angled my computer screen away from him so that he couldn’t see what I was doing, and then I set to work. Somehow, he’d figured out my instant messenger name. I planned to do him one better. I had his screen name. Now, I was going to figure out his password.

JackOfDiamonds:
You liked what you saw so much that you need some privacy? A little alone time? I’m flattered.

I leaned around my computer screen and glared at him again. He pretended not to see me.

JackOfDiamonds:
Come on, Ev. Talk to me.

You know you want to.

I was too busy trying to hack into his account to put much thought into it, but lest he get suspicious, I shot off a quick reply.

TaeKleinDo:
Do I?

It was short, it was cryptic, and it poked holes in that annoying “I’m so charismatic” confidence of his.

JackOfDiamonds:
You probably shouldn’t, but you do.

I hadn’t had any luck guessing his password yet, which meant that Jack was significantly savvier than certain TCIs I could think of.

TaeKleinDo:
Why shouldn’t I want to talk to you?

I was still going on autopilot for my side of the conversation, so I didn’t even realize I’d asked him a question until he answered it.

JackOfDiamonds:
Because you’re you and I’m me.

That sounded vaguely like an insult.

JackOfDiamonds:
And you deserve better.

Now this was a side of Jack I’d never seen before. Smirky confidence? Sure. Subtle self-loathing? That was new.

TaeKleinDo:
Most people would say you’re the one who deserves better.

Including, I thought, about a dozen JV cheerleaders I can think of.

JackOfDiamonds:
Most people are idiots.

I totally couldn’t argue with that sentiment. And he knew it.

“Mrs. Hanson?” A high-pitched voice next to me broke me from my thoughts. “Can you come help me with the thingamajig?”

I quickly straightened my screen and minimized the chat window. By the time our computer science teacher was standing behind us, I appeared for all intents and purposes to be diligently working on my web page, which, unlike Jack’s, wasn’t so much a tribute to classic rock as it was a page dedicated to encouraging Bayport High spirit.

Can I tell you how much that wasn’t my idea?

“Kiki, what seems to be the problem?”

The girl next to me frowned, and I recognized her as Hayley’s poor excuse for a minion from lunch.

“I can’t get this centered,” she said, pointing to a piece of text on her screen. “And it’s not big enough.”

Considering the fact that we had a handout with the HTML codes for font size and centering on it, Kiki’s statement went a long way to explaining how it was that she’d come to be following Hayley Hoffman’s lead. Obviously, she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Or, to put it in cheer terms, the puffiest pom in the JV set.

I waited for Mrs. Hanson to answer the question and marveled at her patience. Five minutes later, she was gone, and I went back to my attempts to hack Jack’s IM.

JackOfDiamonds:
Miss me?

I looked at him out of the side of my eyes, but if Jack noticed, he didn’t give any visible reaction.

JackOfDiamonds:
Check your email.

I’d just about concluded that Jack was the one person in this entire school who used a random assortment of numbers and letters for his password when I registered the content of his last IM. My email? Why did he want me to check my email?

Somewhat warily, I entered the URL of my Bayport High email account, half expecting some kind of elaborate, sardonic Jack Peyton gesture, but instead, I discovered that I had five new emails, all of which were from Noah.

Beside me, Jack snickered.

I opened up the first email and found a picture of the world’s most adorable puppy wearing a sign around his neck that said
VOTE FOR TOBY. SHE LOVES PUPPIES
. As best I could tell from the “to” section of the email, Noah had sent this delightful piece of Toby promotion to the entire student body.

Dreading what would pop up next, I hit the next button and waited to see just how badly my brother wanted to die.

Email number two had a kitten. I didn’t get past email number three, which was a public service announcement from the Toby Saved Our Lives Club. If my brother was looking for a way to make me regret ever having defended him and his equally goofy buddies from jock-wielded violence, he’d found it.

I trashed emails four and five before reading them. I could only hope that Noah’s efforts would annoy the rest of the student body as much as they annoyed me. The way I figured it, the Irony Gods owed me that much.

“Mrs. Hanson? I need help with the—”

I cut Kiki off before she could get the rest of the request out of her mouth. “I’ll help her.” The last thing I needed was our teacher standing two feet away while I figured out a way to disable Noah’s Bayport High email account—an action which was now a much higher priority than hacking into Jack’s IM. In any case, whatever I was going to be doing on this computer, chances were it was the kind of thing the administration tended to frown upon, and I didn’t need a member of the faculty staring over my shoulder.

I turned my chair to the side and leaned over to Kiki. “What do you need?” I asked, my voice completely flat.

She gave me a tentative smile. “I like think this would look better in purple, but when I tried the thingy…”

“HTML code,” I corrected.

“Yeah, that. Anyway…”

“You want it to be purple?” I asked, commandeering her keyboard and fixing the code. “What else?”

“Can you show me how to put in a picture?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that pictures were just too hard for me to manage, but the desire to wreak internet havoc on Noah (and an equal desire to get back to my not-quite-a-conversation with Jack) kept me in check. “Sure,” I said. “Where’s the picture?”

She held up her phone.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d transferred the pictures from Kiki’s phone to her computer, and showed her how to upload them to a photo-hosting site. She blinked several times, as if she couldn’t quite believe the miracle before her.

“Which one do you want on the site?” I asked.

“That one.” She pointed, rather than identifying the picture by its number. “See, the site is for this mother-daughter book club, and that’s me and my—”

“Whatever.” I cut her off, but as I captured the URL for the picture in question, I realized that Kiki’s mother looked very, very familiar in a president of the PTA kind of way.

“There,” I said. “Done.”

“Wow,” Kiki said. “You’re really good at that.” She paused, and I flinched, preparing myself for some gratuitous hugging. Instead, Kiki looked down at her hands. “You…ummm…you won’t tell Hayley you helped me, will you?”

Some thanks. I practically built her entire web page for her, and she was afraid that her new BFF would find out that she’d talked to me. Then again, I vastly preferred her course of action to her mother’s reaction to everything, which was to go all touchy-feely and start talking about what a precious time this was in my life. I was, to say the least, grateful that such actions weren’t hereditary.

“Ummm…Toby?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Hayley and I aren’t really on speaking terms. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Cool.” She paused another beat. “So you know what you were saying at lunch about the tumbling requirements for varsity?”

I was officially never helping anyone ever again. I kept my brother from being beaten up, and he dedicated his life to torturing me. I helped a JV cheerleader build a mother-daughter book club website, and she took that as an invitation to grill me about her chances of making varsity. I kissed Jack, and he had the gall to come up with a password I couldn’t figure out on my own.

Okay, maybe that last one was stretching it just a bit.

“Toby?” Kiki prodded. “About the—”

“Hey Keeks,” Jack cut her off, leaning back in his chair to get a better view of the girl in question.

Kiki got really obviously flustered at the attention. Unlike most cheerleaders I’d met, concealing her emotions really wasn’t her strong suit.

“Yes?” she squeaked. Despite her squeaking, she made a masterful attempt at batting her eyelashes at
my
homecoming date.

“I like your sweater.”

Jack’s compliment left Kiki speechless. Five seconds later, a new message popped up on my IM.

JackOfDiamonds:
You’re welcome.

Apparently, I was supposed to thank him for flirting with another girl. Then again, I thought as I logged into my brother’s email account and began messing around with his settings, aforementioned flirtation had distracted Kiki from talking to me, which just confirmed my suspicion that Jack Peyton was the kind of guy who always knew exactly what to give a girl. Some girls liked diamonds. Some girls liked pearls. I liked having someone running interference between the rest of the student body and me.

And, as much as I really, truly, deeply hated to admit it, I liked Jack.

TaeKleinDo:
Shut up.

JackOfDiamonds:
Yeah, Ev. Love you, too.

When the bell rang a moment later, I wasn’t sure whether I was thankful or disappointed. In fact, the only thing I knew for certain was that I’d wreaked enough havoc on Noah’s email account that he wouldn’t be sending out messages of any kind for a very, very long time.