siobhan vivian - not that kind of girl (5 page)

Rosstitute. Autumn shook her head. "What the hell?" The girls passed, and I noticed that underneath each swishing ponytail tip, the name and number of a varsity player was printed across the backs of the shirts.

Domski 27 Phillips 4 And on the back of Spencer's: Hughes 14. Suddenly, it hit me. Like an SAT vocab word after breaking down the root.

Ross Academy + Prostitute = Rosstitute The realization seemed to trickle out of my head and through the crowd. I saw delight on the faces of the football team and sneers on the faces of the cheerleaders. Suddenly, the freshmen girls stopped on a dime. Spencer made the music go full blast. They changed formation, from two lines into a diamond shape, and then began to dance. Most of the girls looked painfully awkward. They were stiff and nervous, spinning at the wrong time, keeping their eyes on Spencer for cues. Spencer was different, and I could definitively tell that, yes, she was a good dancer. She confidently made her way through the routine, keeping eye contact with people watching her, even though her curls were swishing in her face. Her moves were simultaneously precise and sexy as hell. She was the star of this show. Ms. Bee reached out and grabbed Spencer by the arm. I had never seen her look so mad. A few people actually booed Ms. Bee for stopping the dance. Mostly guys, from the sound of it. Ms. Bee looked around the hallway, possibly for me. I moved my head so it was behind someone else's. I was that embarrassed, and I didn't want to get involved. The hallway got quiet, except for the music. Everyone was watching what was going to happen. I felt like I couldn't breathe. "These shirts are highly offensive, Spencer," Ms. Bee said. "Not to mention completely against school policy. You girls must change immediately." It was almost like slow motion, watching Spencer grin. I only saw it for a second, before her face got covered up. Because she took off her shirt, right there, in the middle of the hallway. Her bra was a pink gingham number, with a tiny rosette in the center, underwire working overtime to hoist and enhance a modest amount of cleavage. The grin returned, as a shirtless Spencer twisted the wad of material in her hands. "I'll turn it inside out, Ms. Bee," she said. "Problem solved." The hallway erupted again. It was pure energy, and the freshmen were drunk on it. The other girls grabbed at the hems of their shirts, too. But before anyone else could strip, Ms. Bee had their leader by the arm and dragged her down the hall. As Spencer passed me, she winked. CHAPTER ELEVEN "I honestly don't think it's going to rain," Autumn said, beaming her big smile up at the ominous sky, as if it could intimidate the storm clouds. "We just need to stay positive." "I'm positive this sucks."

"Aren't you having any fun in there?" Autumn hid a smile by puckering her lips around the straw in her Coke. "I mean, you look awesome." I rolled my eyes, forgetting that Autumn couldn't see my face through the small square patch of mesh. "As if this morning's Rosstitute parade wasn't humiliating enough, now I'm entombed in the bowels of a stuffed-animal carcass. Oh, and don't forget that all of the local weather reports neglected to mention the monsoon clouds threatening to obliterate my bonfire. This truly is the very definition of awesome. Seriously. Look it up and you'll find a picture of me." Though the wind was steadily picking up, it was still hot and itchy inside Ross the Eagle. The oversize head smelled like the very bottom of a laundry basket, where the underwear that doesn't fit anymore, or the socks that have holes, stay unwashed for a long, long time. I felt like I was going to barf if I didn't get fresh air, so I tried to get my wings underneath the rim of the eagle head. Autumn pinched my beak. "You can't take your head off on the sidelines! Look at all the little kids around! Remember how freaked out I was after we saw headless Big Bird smoking a cigarette in the Sesame Place parking lot? You're lucky I'm even standing this close to you right now." "What's worse? That, or having Ross the Eagle die on the sidelines from heat stroke? Come on, Autumn. I'm so thirsty." She guided the straw of her Coke through the mesh. "Here. The game's almost over anyhow." Just as I sucked up some soda, the crowd behind us roared. Autumn turned away, taking the can with her but leaving the straw dangling out of my mouth. I spat it out. "Since when do you like football?" I asked, spinning around to match the field up with the mesh window. Connor Hughes lobbed a pass that fell out of Mike Domski's waiting hands. A ref blew his whistle and a Saint Ann's player tore off his helmet and screamed at his teammates until his cheeks turned purple. Connor sank to the ground and pounded his fists on his thighs. He was mad, too. Madder even. Though I didn't get why. We were winning twenty-one to nothing. He'd thrown all three touchdowns. Our band kicked into the school fight song and I groaned. "How many times are they going to play this?" Autumn patted me on the back. "It's showtime." I shuffled the length of the sideline as mascot duty called for. I would have jogged to get it over with quicker, but the big yellow plastic eagle claws strapped over my sneakers made it hard to do anything fast. I didn't go the extra mile, like Nick Devito would, and ham it up for the crowd with cartwheels and pogo bounces and fist pumps. I basically just paced and flapped and prayed that the rain would stay away. On the upside, with every lap, I got to check out the pile of wood. I had to admit...Connor had really come through. There was a ton of logs and branches from his family's Christmas tree farm all propped together in a big pyramid that was practically as tall as the snack shed. A group of firefighters in yellow reflective gear, heavy black boots, and helmets stood nearby. They split their time between watching the game and the sky. As I reached the end of my lap, the floodlights turned on, and the last of the summer bugs swarmed in a fuzzy cloud under the glow. When I looked back down, I saw Spencer and her now-infamous pack of Rosstitutes returning to the bleachers, carrying trays of nachos. The punishment for their shirts hadn't come down yet; decisions and precedent needed to be considered. As upset as I was at Spencer, it was hard to say what should happen. What they did wasn't as bad as fighting or stealing or defacing school property. But the punishment still needed to make a statement. "I don't know why you're so mad," Autumn had said to me after the Rosstitutes had left the hallway. "This doesn't have anything to do with you." Autumn was probably right, but it didn't make me feel better. More than anything, I was disappointed. After all, I'd tried. I'd tried to help Spencer in the bathroom that day, I'd tried to get her involved with student council, and she went and ruined all that goodwill. Not to mention completely stole the attention away from my hard work with the senior hallway. It was kind of infuriating, the sorts of things that got you noticed at our school. I started to make my way back to Autumn when Spencer pointed at me and shrieked. The whole group of Rosstitutes veered away from the bleacher steps and surrounded me in a fit of giggles. "Is that you in there, Nick Devito?" Spencer cooed. I couldn't wait to tell her that it was actually me inside the eagle suit. I wanted Spencer to feel like a total idiot. I wanted to embarrass her, show her how ridiculous she was acting. But before I could get the words out, she grabbed one of my wings and started dancing, forcing me to be her partner. I stepped back, but Spencer stepped closer, grinding up on my leg. "Don't be scared of me, Mr. Eagle!" she cried. "I won't hurt you." As I wrestled to get away, I slipped on a bit of damp grass and nearly fell flat on my face. A few other Rosstitutes huddled around me, catching my fall. As I stumbled, I spotted Autumn a few feet away. She watched with stunned horror. "Someone take a picture of us with the eagle!" Spencer cried. I flapped my wings so they couldn't get too close, but the Rosstitutes closed in and pinned them to my side. I finally went limp just to get it over with. "Make sure you zoom in nice and tight," Spencer instructed Susan Choi, who was holding the camera. Before they could get a shot, I heard our principal's voice booming from behind. "All right! Settle down, girls! Go and have a seat." Principal Hurley waved his hands, dispersing the Rosstitutes. Principal Hurley was the oldest faculty member of Ross Academy. A bald man, stern and broad like an army officer, he wore a three-piece suit every single day. And he sounded more annoyed than I've ever heard him. Ms. Bee walked over. "Are those girls causing more trouble?" "I prayed that Martha and I wouldn't have daughters for this very reason." Principal Hurley sighed. Ms. Bee looked up at the sky. "Well, if you care for my opinion, I think the ones who just wore the shirts should get a week of detention. But the ringleader, Spencer, I think we need to make an example of her." "Three-day suspension?" Ms. Bee nodded. Whoa. Suspension. The anger I felt toward Spencer turned to pity. She wasn't a bad girl, just...misguided. A black mark like this on her permanent record might ruin her chance of getting into a decent college. All because she'd done something so incredibly stupid. And for what? To impress Connor? Principal Hurley nodded back. "I'll call them all into my office first thing Monday morning. I'd like you there, since this was partly a student council event." "Yes. Of course." I took off toward the fence, but Autumn was gone. I hoped she'd gone to get me a bottle of water or something. But I didn't want to stand there waiting by myself and risk getting accosted again. The only safe place was near the football team's bench. As I shuffled over, a roar erupted from the home bleachers. Mike Domski had dropped another one of Connor's passes on third down. Our offense headed to the bench and defense took the field. Some of the lesser players tossed around plastic bottles and towels to the guys who had returned. Bobby Doyle took off his helmet and stretched his arms over his head. "I'm ready for this game to be over." I've never seen someone stretch as often as Bobby Doyle. He wants to give people a peek at the Chinese characters snaking across his pelvis. He was so proud that he could get a tattoo without being eighteen, using his older brother's ID. I thought it looked corny, and I've heard most of those Chinese letterforms don't even mean what the tattoo places say they do. I wished I had a photographic memory. Then I could have researched them and told Bobby that his tattoos didn't mean Strength and Courage, but rather something ridiculous, like Shiny Fat Rabbit. Mike Domski fake punched Bobby. "You wouldn't be so tired if you weren't such a tub of lard. You're only allowed to drink light beer tonight." Bobby laughed. "Dude. Need I remind you that the party's at my house? And that the beer you're referring to, which is currently chilling on ice, is mine? And the hot tub, that I turned on at lunch to be nice and toasty, is also mine?" Bobby Doyle's family was really rich, and had a separate guesthouse just for him. It was basically party central for our school, and it wasn't even nice, because he lived like a pig, with empty beer cans strewn all over the place and holes punched into the walls. Or at least that's what I'd heard. "I just hope this stupid bonfire thing is over quick," Mike said. "Hey, Connor--please tell us you soaked those logs in kerosene." Connor shook his head. "Fine. I guess it's up to me to save us." And then Mike started to hop up and down. He slapped his hand over his open mouth. A rain dance. I clenched my fists. If the football team left early from the bonfire, I swore I'd make a huge scene. I'd throw Ross the Eagle's head right onto the fire. Connor grabbed a protein bar from inside his duffel bag. "Come on, guys. The game isn't over. Can we please concentrate on the business at hand?" "Tell you what. I'd like to make that Spencer girl's titties my business," Mike said with a laugh. My mouth dropped open. Oh. My. God. James Rocker squirted some water in his mouth, swished it around, and spat it back out. "She's not that hot." Mike sighed. "Dude, it doesn't even matter, because she's eager. Did you see her dancing? I mean, she's practically a stripper." Coach Fallon jogged over with his clipboard. "All right, we've got two more minutes. Second string, get in there and try not to screw up." Connor looked like he still wanted to play, but ultimately he crashed on the bench and started pulling off his cleats without bothering to untie them first. "Come on, Connor," James said. "Spencer had your name on the back of her shirt, lucky bastard." Connor shrugged. "I thought that whole thing was pretty dumb." I could hardly believe my ears. Connor and I actually agreed on something. "Dumb, yes. But Spencer and those girls were trying to send us all a message. They want us," Mike said, matter-of-factly. "And if Connor isn't into Spencer, I'm next in line...." "She wants Connor, not you," James said. "You think a girl like her will turn celibate because Connor shuts her down? Trust me, man. The Domski will make it happen. And none of you guys better try and cock block me." My stomach rolled. The fact that Spencer actually liked Connor didn't matter. She'd made them all believe she was the kind of girl who'd take whatever she could get. "Fine. I call the short one with the dimples," James called. Connor laughed. "You have a girlfriend, dude." James acted like he'd forgotten this. "Biggest mistake of my life. No one should have a girlfriend in high school. It, like, completely defeats the purpose. Mark my words. This time next week, Melanie and I are done." I thought about poor Melanie Walsh in the bleachers, sitting next to James's mom. She practically worshiped James, and always wrote him these long, detailed notes with four different color pens during homeroom. Bobby looked off into the bleachers, shielding his eyes from the floodlights. "That skinny blond freshman would be cute if she weren't totally flat. I might as well feel up my little brother." James joined him. "I'd pick her over Mindy Polchek." Mindy was a sophomore. Her dad worked at the same architecture firm as my mom. "I mean, Mindy does gymnastics and shit. But you still have to look her in the face." I wished that I could have had a tape recorder on me, so I could show Spencer and those girls exactly what the guys they desperately chased after really thought of them. The Rosstitutes were just sluts, girls to use and cast aside. "What about Sterling?" Bobby asked. My entire body burned a thousand degrees. I didn't want to hear what they had to say about me. I didn't want to hear their jokes, their put- downs. But I couldn't move. I had to listen. Mike Domski stuck out his tongue and made gagging sounds. "She's the kind of chick who'd cut off your balls in the middle of the night. Wait, actually, I wouldn't be surprised at all to hear Natalie Sterling has a bigger dick than I do." I wanted nothing more than to walk over and give Mike Domski a kick between the legs. Only it was more embarrassing to let the guys know that I'd been standing there the whole time, listening to them say all these disgusting things. "She has a decent face," James said. I crossed my wings smugly. But really, what was I doing, feeling proud about some weak compliment? And who did these guys think they were, judging me? I wasn't like Spencer. I wasn't putting myself out there to be looked at, evaluated. I wondered how they'd like it if I talked about Mike Domski's overly hairy arms, or how James was so short that any girl who wanted to take him to a dance would have to wear flats, or the chicken pox scars dimpling the back of Bobby's neck. Connor lifted his head and made a scrunched-up face. "Whatever, man. You're still mad that Sterling kicked your ass in the election. And threw that pizza bomb at you, which was classic. That girl is seriously tough. I wouldn't mess with her." I felt a swell of something inside of me. Maybe it was shock, or pride, that Connor Hughes defended me. Just then, there was a huge crack of thunder, the kind that echoes in your chest. Some of the girls in the bleachers screamed. A second later, the sky opened up, pouring rain fast and hard. In a matter of seconds, my costume was soaked through. All I could think about was my bonfire. I had to get something to cover the wood, or else my first big act as student council president would be washed out.