P.S. I Loathe You (9 page)
C) Pretending soccer has cheerleaders so your BFF can stalk a player COOL!
C) All of the above COOL!
Then sure, this was gonna be great!
TABLE 18
Monday, September 28th
4:01 P.M.
Massie mounted her bamboo eco-chair and clapped twice. “Qui-eeeeet!”
Fifty-eight cheerleader-wannabes stopped gossiping at once.
“Good.” Massie grinned, pleased that the glitter-dusted hopefuls honored Rule No. 1 of her audition contract—
Obey What I Say
.
The rest of the Pretty Committee sat on either side of her,
American Idol
style, pens and stacks of purple paper laid neatly in front of them. They were wearing their cheerleader uniforms, which, thanks to Massie’s purple hair streak, had been designed and delivered by Stella McCartney in less than forty-eight hours. And, thanks to Massie’s explicit directions, they looked nuh-thing like cheerleader uniforms.
Black sequined off-the-shoulder minidresses with
THE SOCC-HERS
spelled in gold-stitched letters were sure to be envied, even from the cheap seats. Underneath, the Pretty Committee wore black leather short shorts, because no one wanted to stumble on a mid-flip crotch shot of herself on the Internet. And, in keeping with the Tomahawks’ American Indian theme, they wore knee-high metallic gold moccasins with festive bells dangling off the fringes. Butt-sweeping ponytail extensions took care of their hair—bronzing gel and MAC took care of the rest.
The Massie-quin stood proudly at the end of the judges’ table, dressed in one of the three remaining uniforms.
“As I mentioned in my weekend e-mail blast,” Massie began, already feeling very captain-ish, “you will approach the table, recite your two-line cheer, and tell us in one word what you think you’d add to my squad.”
An anxious murmur was building among the dense crowd. Massie suddenly realized it would take hours to get through everyone. By then, Pinkberry would be closed, Bean would have peed her doggy Diesels, and Dempsey would be logged off for the night.
She lifted a finger, informing the wannabes to wait one more minute.
“Change of plan,” she whispered to the PC. “Each one of you gets to handpick one person to audition. The rest will have to go.”
The girls opened their mouths in protest. Massie silenced them with a palm.
“Look for stocky ones who look like they could hold a lot of weight on their shoulders. The more they look like Chicken McNuggets, the better. ”
“McNuggetttttts,” Dylan burped.
Massie elbowed her in the McRib. “Lady behavior!” she hissed.
“I already told you.” Alicia tugged her long ponytail in frustration. “Pyramids are out!”
Massie lifted her palm again. “TCHS.”
“What?”
Alicia snapped.
“The Captain Has Spoken.”
Alicia rolled her eyes and sighed while Massie made a mental note to eliminate pyramids from her routine. Then she made a second mental note: Convince everyone it had been her idea.
They spent the next ten minutes walking the line and making their selections. Five lucky girls and one thin boy were invited to the table. The remaining fifty-two stormed off in an angry huff—leaving behind a sandstorm of multicolored glitter and a howling gale of lawsuit threats.
“First in line, please approach the judges.” Massie restacked her stacked paper as a short-legged baby-faced girl with light brown eyes and a sea blue Juicy sweat suit marched forward. “Who selected you?” Massie tapped the cap of her purple metallic pen against her teeth.
“I did.” Kristen lifted her hand from the far left side of the table. “This is Ripple. She’s very athletic and totally available after school and—”
“Like
six
years
old!” Massie snapped.
“Point!” Alicia lifted her finger.
“Nine!” Ripple corrected.
“Do you even
go
here?” Dylan twirled her ultra-thick, half-straight, half-curly ponytail.
“Not yet, but I will.” She beamed. “And when I do, I’m going to start my own Pretty Committee and cheerleading squad and surf team and—”
“Um, Ripple, are you asleep?”
Ripple peered at Kristen, hoping for clarification. Kristen lowered her eyes, offering none.
“No.” She giggled nervously. “Why?”
“Then why are you dreaming?” Massie glared at Kristen, reprimanding her for making such a ridiculous choice. With a name like that, she
had
to be related to Dune.
“Don’t you want to hear my cheer?”
Everyone shook their heads no.
“What about my one word?”
They shook their heads again.
“It’s
youth
,” Ripple tried. “I will bring youth to the team.” She stuck out her flat chest with pride.
Massie stood and put her hands on her sequin-covered hips. “Opposite of please stay or I will make sure everyone knows to love you when you go here.”
“Huh?” Ripple tugged the zipper on her sweatshirt.
“Leave!” Massie hissed.
“But she’s wearing my brother’s necklace,” Ripple whined. “You
have
to pick me.”
“I
knew
it!” Massie stabbed the table with her purple pen.
“You better go,” Kristen mumbled.
“I’m telling my brother!” She stomped out in last summer’s J. Crew flip-flops.
Massie was about to scold Kristen for putting the team at risk to further her crush-life, but thought better of it when she saw the next person on line.
“Step forward,” she mumbled.
Layne and the tall, thin, redheaded boy Massie had nicknamed Twizzler approached the table. They wore matching white unitards covered in black hexagons, looking like two soccer balls that had been flattened by a steam-roller.
“Our word is
flair
,” Layne stated.
“Nice pick, Kuh-laire,” Alicia muttered.
“I didn’t pick them,” Claire whispered back.
“Did you?” Alicia whisper-asked Dylan.
“Puh-lease!”
Dylan rolled her eyes.
“You?” she asked Kristen.
“I did,” Massie barked. “Now let her finish.”
“Thank you.” Layne nodded. “And now for our cheer.”
Layne unrolled two blue gym mats while Twizzler rubbed chalk on his hands. Once the mats were down, he lay on his back and lifted his limbs like a dog playing dead. Standing above him, Layne clasped his feet with her hands while he clasped hers with his. In a show of tremendous physical strength, they fused together into a giant letter O and began rolling down the mat chanting: “Juggle, dribble, kick. The Tomahawks are slick! Juggle, dribble, kick. The Tomahawks are slick! Juggle, dribble, kick. The Tomahawks are slick. . . .”
The other wannabes jumped out of their way.
“I once saw six midgets do that in Cirque du Soleil,” Alicia gasped.
“Cirque du No Way!” Dylan giggled as they rolled past her.
“Are they supposed to be a soccer ball?” Claire’s blue eyes were wide with amazement.
“More like a
psycho
ball.” Alicia cracked up.
Kristen jumped to her feet. “Look out for the—”
They smashed into the juice kiosk with an audible yelp.
“Opposite of an option, right?” Alicia knit her dark brows.
“Congratulations, Layne and Twizzler,” Massie announced as two Chicken McNuggets helped them to their feet. “You’re official Socc-Hers.”
“What?” Alicia snapped.
“We need
flair
,” Massie insisted, hoping she sounded sincere. “And everyone loves a guy in a dress. All in favor?”
Massie, Claire, and Kristen raised their hands.
“Majority wins.”
Layne and Twizzler jump-hugged.
“Check your in-boxes for a rehearsal schedule,” Massie stated, then waved them off. “Next.”
“Wait, are you serious?” Alicia asked, clearly unable to let it go.
Massie avoided her pleading dark eyes. But the inability to lie was her only flaw. “I am.”
“How? Why?”
“Because.” She rolled her eyes. “Layne ah-bviously
likes
Dempsey. But if I keep her busy in Socc-Hers rehearsals, she won’t have time to hang out with him.”
“Fine, but do we need the guy?” Alicia muttered under her cinnamon-scented breath.
Massie inhaled slowly to avoid losing her patience in front of the squad. “Yes, we need the
guy
. If Layne rolls around with Twizz every day after school, maybe she’ll forget all about Dempsey and—”
Alicia grabbed Massie’s sequin-covered shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “You don’t hawnestly think
Layme
is competition.
Do you
?”
Massie stepped out from under her grip. “Dempsey used to be an LBR, remember?” she whispered.
Alicia nodded yes.
“Wellllllll.” Massie paused to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Even though he’s been cured, he may still have trace amounts of LBR in his blood. And hanging around Layne could activate those trace amounts. And once they’re reactivated, he’ll assume I’m out of his league and he’ll settle for her. Which rules
me
out.”
Alicia nodded her head while considering this, then lifted her finger. “Point.”
“Thank you.” Massie sighed. “Now can we
puh-lease
move on?”
Without waiting for an answer she shouted,
“Next!”
Olivia Ryan stepped forward. Her pleated white miniskirt, turquoise bikini top, and gray Capezio dance heels reminded Massie why she couldn’t stand the girl. Physically, she was a natural fit for the Pretty Committee. Her blond wavy hair, navy blue eyes, and perfect dancer’s body made the choice a no-brainer. Unfortunately, Olivia was a no-brainer with no style, and the PC had a strict “no airhead” policy. She was a B-lister trapped in an A-lister’s body.
“Hi, I’m Olivia Ryan and my one word is
people skills and dance training
.”
Kristen burst out laughing. “Her word should be
stoopid
.”
“I object!” Claire slammed her fist on the table. “I don’t want her on the team.”
“Why?”
Alicia stood.
“She stole Cam,” Claire whisper-hissed.
“You broke
up
,” Alicia countered. “Besides, she’s the second-best dancer in our grade. We need her.”
“Well, I can’t work with her,” Claire huffed.
“Then she’s gone,” Massie stated.
Alicia’s mouth opened like she was about to projectile.
“We made a pledge, Leesh.” Massie gripped the purple letters on her key chain. “PC support means we take care of each other first.”
“But—”
“Butts are for kicking. Now, do you want to kick her out or should I?”
Alicia shrugged petulantly.
“Fine.” Massie invited Olivia to step closer with the slow curl of her finger. She glared into the girl’s vacant navy eyes and grinned with devilish anticipation. “Do you have violent tendencies?”
Olivia shook her head no.
“Then why were you hitting on Cam Fisher?”
Claire giggled.
“What does this have to do with
Cam
?”
“Nuh-thing.” Massie rolled her eyes in frustration. “It has to do with
Kuh-laire
. Now leave before I have you arrested for attempted robbery.”
“That’s not fair!”
“If you want
fair
, look at your pasty face in the mirror. If you want to keep the ‘live’ in Olivia, leave now!”
The girl turned on the heel of her Capezio and clacked out of the café, the pleats on her skirt waving goodbye with every angry step she took. “You’re not a cheerleader, you’re a
fear-
leader!” she called, then slammed the door behind her.
“You’re an
I.Q.-of-a-deer
-leader,” Massie called.
Kristen burst out laughing.
“
Queer
-leader!” Dylan burped.
“Ew,
not-in-my-ear-leader
!” Kristen cackled.
Everyone laughed except Alicia.
“Thank you.” Claire smiled appreciatively.
“Yeah, thanks,” Alicia grumbled.
“Leesh, are you an LBR with a broken leg?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like a sore loser and let’s move on,” Massie insisted. She was about to summon the next wannabe when her left cheek started to burn.
She turned toward the heat. It was coming from Claire’s eyeballs. Or rather, from the “I adore Massie” love rays beaming out of them.
“What are you
doing
?”
“I can’t believe you stood up for me like that?” Claire effused.
Massie rolled her eyes. “That’s what friends do,
Kuh-laire
. They look out for each other. Right, girls?”
“Right,” they mumbled, almost like they didn’t mean it.
“Now stop
staring
!” Massie barked. And then her iPod chimed. “Ehma-
text
! It’s from Dempsey.”
Dempsey: Got squad?
Massie began typing, blurring the touch screen with her sweaty fingerprints.
Gawd, what was it about the ex-LBR that made her intestines undulate? Her palms dribble? Her heart stutter? Her lips hunger for gloss? And her brain think Layne Abeley was actually a threat?
Massie: Gimme a Y!
Dempsey: Y
Massie: E!