So I'm a Double Threat (Double Threat Series) (2 page)

“Oh, my gosh, did you slip something into his drink, Meg?” Steph is quite the jokester.

“Shut up.” I giggle. “He just came over here and started talking to me.”

“That’s cool but really, don’t even think about it.” She stares me down like I’m about to get scolded. “He’s a SENIOR.”

“He’s a senior? Really? As in twelfth grade?” I try to sound serious, and she knows I’m not. “That’s all you’ve got, huh? How about the fact that he’s going out with your sister?”

“Yeah, I guess I should have something to say about that, but I don’t. Lydia is on her own when it comes to guys. Alex is way too good for her anyway,” Steph responds. “But he’s a senior. Let it go now, so you don’t get hurt later.”

“Don’t even trip. Besides, who cares what grade he’s in? Look at us. We’re at one of their parties. We’re in high school now. We’re in ASB. We’re in honors. We’re
double threats
.” I put my hands on her shoulders and shake her.

“What? Huh? Double threats?” Steph is obviously confused by my new high school terminology.

“Nevermind. Let’s hit that beer bong.” I guide her toward the house. “I bet I can win.”

“The contest or Alex?”

I wink at her, and declare, “Both.”

––––––––

C
an someone please tell me who in the heck gets to school early? Seriously, who does that? Apparently, me. I do. But not by choice. Since I’m going to be in ASB, I’m required to get to school early for Freshmen Orientation. Why? I mean...I
am
a freshman. What do I know about the campus, classes, teachers, where the locker rooms are...whatever? How am I supposed to give other freshmen a tour or answer questions? I’m the one who’s supposed to be a guest at this thing.

All I know is, here I go, decked out in my new school clothes that are probably not good enough, about to walk to school in the hot August heat, hoping I’ll run into the football team. They’re practicing today, so one can only hope.

I haven’t seen Alex since the big party a few weeks ago. It’s not like I haven’t thought about him though. I’ve seriously dreamed about him. I go to sleep picturing the grin he flashed me at the party. The image is forever burned into my retina. He was so hot, with an eyebrow hiked up and a half smile.

I can’t stop thinking about the party. Our conversation plays over and over again in my mind like the reels of a hot romantic movie of the summer. We play the Hollywood couple who can’t be apart from one another. It’s the perfect story. But alas, of course, it is only a dream.

I grab a granola bar (no more Pop Tarts in this house), a bottle of water, and I’m out my front door on my way to Freshmen Orientation. Today is the day. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to see him. Even though I had to wake up early, the idea of being at school is not so bad after all, with the possibility of seeing Alex.

I feel like such a loser hoofin’ it in my beat-up Converse, while carloads of students whizz past me on my way to school. I recognize many of them, mostly upperclassmen, from the party. I wonder if they’re in ASB too. They must be. Why else would they be going to school, today of all days, if they aren’t freshmen?

This campus is huge. I feel like I’m being swallowed by its enormity. I slowly approach the student store—one meager step at a time, stalling—trying to shorten the length of time I wait by myself for my friends to show up. I check my cell. It’s eleven o’clock already and my girls are nowhere to be found. I knew I’d be the first one here, waiting like a dumbass for everyone else to arrive.

I sit down on a concrete bench to wait, impatiently. My knee bounces up and down. I scan the quad. Still, there isn’t anyone coming. I stand up. The blistering sun beating down on the benches made them scorching hot. The heat had pierced through my jeans and practically singed my skin. It’s a good thing I didn’t wear my jean shorts, or I might have gotten first-degree burns on the backs of my thighs.

I flip open my cell, again. Only five minutes have passed, and still no friends. Just when I start to break a sweat, feeling moisture in the most undesirable places—my upper lip and straight down my butt crack—the football team decides to take a break and pass right by me. I happen to be standing next to the vending machines where they all stampede for a drink of water.

Oh crap.

Oh...
my
God.

There he is. Full lips, mysterious green eyes, perfectly shaved head, and oh my. The sweat dripping from his bronze, tanned body makes his shirt cling to all the right spots. Damn. His chest is broad, muscular...and those abs...I can see his chiseled six-pack right through his flimsy shirt. It’s like my own private
Thunder From Down Under
. My mom couldn’t stop talking about the Vegas show with male dancers, when she got back from a weekend trip with her friends. Now, I know why.

If I had dollar bills, fives, even twenties, I would tuck them in, in all the sexy places to see more. I would lick the sweat from his body so clean he wouldn’t need to shower for a week. Okay, so I wouldn’t literally lick his sweaty body, but I wouldn’t mind touching it. Hmm, hmm.

Okay, hold on. I know that’s not the way an
honors
student is supposed to talk, or think, right? What would my mom say? I know, sometimes I can get a little carried away.

Just a little.

As I try not to stare at Alex, I catch a glimpse of two long toned and tanned legs making their way across the quad. I don’t need to look up to see whom they belong to. Amy. She is the first of my friends to show up. And boy did she show, or should I say, show off? I swear, for as much money as her mother pays for her designer clothes, one would think there would be much more material involved. She catches a glimpse of me gazing at Alex, as drool is about to start dripping down my chin.

“Wipe your mouth, loser,” Amy says, with a snicker, as she prances over to me. “It’s only obvious you’re checking him out.” She rolls her eyes, while shaking her head.

Why does Amy have to get here right now, when all the guys are still around? Ugh.

The football players had all started gawking as she had sashayed across the quad, like she was on a freakin’ runway. Of course, she gets the looks, the nods, the “mmm hmm, fresh meat” leers. Seriously, they sure as heck didn’t look at
me
that way. I doubt they even looked at all. But then again, why wouldn’t they stare at the tall blonde blue-eyed bombshell? Maybe if I plastered on as much makeup as Amy does, they’d be gawking at me too.

I’m surprised Alex even notices me. He shoots a wave and a casual “what’s up” my way, after a lingering stare at Amy. Ugh. I wish he hadn’t talked to me at the party. Now I’m obsessed. He invades my every thought, my dreams, and even my nightmares when I stop to consider he is dating Steph’s sister. Dang, this perfect guy is taken. Big deal, right. Like my size nine ass has a chance at him anyway.

But oh, can’t a girl dream? Fantasize? Here comes that
Thunder
again.

“Heeeeyyy,” Stephanie shouts, ripping me from my dreams, letting
everyone
know she has arrived. She has to be a good twenty feet away, but sounds like she is right in front of my face.

I begin to feel better now that Steph is here. I don’t have to feel so...poofy standing next to Amy. Steph makes me look supermodel thin. I feel bad for thinking this way about her, but I can’t help it.

We all give each other hugs, as if we haven’t seen or talked to each other in years. In reality, we were at my house last night watching chick flicks, planning out our weddings to all the hot celebs.

It’s not as if we didn’t spend the whole morning on the phone either, discussing what to wear. We didn’t want to be too dressed up or too dressed down. We have a rep to protect. Not just anyone can get into ASB as a ninth grader. You have to be one of the “in” kids in junior high. You have to know people who can put your name on “the list.” We were the
shit
in junior high. We know people. So we have to get this right.

The guys are long gone by the time Keesha gets here.

“Dang, Keesh.” I snap at her. This heat is getting to me.

“It’s about time.” Amy finishes my thought.

“It’s not easy to look this good,” she slides her hands down the sides of her curvy body, “...
all
the time.”

“Are you ever on time to anything?” I swear it takes her like five hours just to pick out a pair of underwear. As if it matters which thong you wear when it’s going to go straight up your ass. I don’t get it. I spent my whole elementary and middle school years picking out wedgies. I can’t understand why some of my friends act as if starting high school requires throwing away your hip-huggers or boy shorts in exchange for dental floss. I will definitely have to pass on the chafing feeling of thread between my cheeks.

“We’ve only been friends since kindergarten. Have you ever known me to be on time?”

“All right, all right,” I say. She has a point.

Amy and Steph have been watching us talk, turning their heads from Keesh to me, then back to Keesh like they’re watching a tennis match.

Amy’s the first to jump in. “Well, I guess it was worth the wait...you look good, Keesh.”

“Thanks, Amy.” Keesha looks stunned by the comment.

That is a huge compliment, coming from Amy. She doesn’t give them out often. Keesh does look good, though. With her tight jeans and cute fitted top, her dark skin contrasts nicely with the hot pink colors. She has this classy way of being cute without looking like a hoochie mama.

By the time we finish exchanging “hellos” and checking out what each other is wearing, we’re no longer alone. Our new teacher, our ASB advisor, Mr. Mitchell, has arrived and corralled the class into the ASB room. The upperclassmen are all wearing school colors, orange and black, for the good ol’ Carver Bengals.

I’ve been waiting to meet this teacher, the one everyone talks about. He’s like a legend at this school. I hear he wears crazy outfits and dances around at rallies like a freak. The first chance I get, I take a good look at him. He is interesting all right, with bright orange pants and a cat tail coming out from his behind, and tiger ears peeking from the top of his head. Within seconds, he has the older students cheering, slapping hands, raising the roof, wooo-wooo-ing.

“This is your year, Seniors. We’re gonna make it happen. Rallies, dances, football games, track meets, whatever. This will be the most memorable year of your high school careers. Arrrrre youuuuuu reaaaadddy?”

“Yeah.” “Yes.” “Seniors, Seniors.” They all holler. The rest of us clap in amazement.

“But first, we’ve gotta welcome the newbies, this year’s freshmen class. Welcome, freshmen.”

“Booo.” “Seniors, Seniors.” “Booo,” the upperclassmen yell, while some point and laugh at the same time.

“Okay. Let’s be nice to the kiddos. Let’s not scare them away,” he shouts, smiling and laughing like the others. It’s all in good fun, but it’s still a bit intimidating.

Mr. Mitchell continues with his speech. The energy is intense. Steph’s parents, Carver alums, would be proud. The ninth graders, including me, have this kinda deer-in-the-headlights look on our faces, but we eventually catch on. We cheer. We yell. We clap. We yell some more. When we finally do start participating, Mr. Mitchell appears pleased. He quiets the class, starts giving out instructions, and delegating jobs.

The orientation itself is in the hot, stuffy auditorium. Without air-conditioning. I go to a super old school. Don’t get me wrong, the auditorium is gorgeous. I’d expect to see a Broadway show in a place like this. But today, students and parents shuffle in. Parents appear bright-eyed and nervous; their babies are in high school. The freshmen hang their heads low, humiliated they’re walking into campus with their parents.

Some freshmen are lucky enough to ditch the
parentals
and come alone, which is cool, because they don’t have go to all the lame presentations later on. They can take a quick tour of this
ginormous
campus, find their classes, and then just kick back and chill with friends. On the other hand, the suckers with parents are going to be stuck following the agenda minute-by-minute, making sure not to miss a thing. Hallelujah, my parents had to work.

Being in ASB has perks. We don’t have to listen to the principal drone on about rules and regulations. Instead, we sit in the back, making faces at each other, texting back and forth, and making each other crack up for no apparent reason. I can’t believe people actually come to these things. I feel like I’m being tortured.

The principal announces the counselors one by one. They walk on stage and just stand there, showing no emotion whatsoever. One counselor actually waves; the others look at her as if she’s crazy. These are the people who are supposed to “counsel” us? I hope I get the one who waved, she’s probably cool.

We all sit up straight and at attention when the cheerleaders are announced. They do a little spirit cheer, but the crowd is almost completely silent. The music starts to play and the rah-rahs begin to dance. They’re pretty good, but a few are stiff and don’t have any rhythm. It’s almost painful to watch. But the others are so peppy they get most of the attention. Amy, of course, wants to join cheer. You can see the desire burning in her eyes. She is smiling from ear to ear and clapping every time they complete a stunt. Seriously, she would totally fit in. She has the attitude for it. All she needs is the tramp stamp and she’ll be set. She already has the lower back tat picked out.

Keesha and I, on the other hand, get anxious as the dance team replaces the cheer squad on stage. We love to dance. We can sit in front of the tube all day watching music videos and practicing dance moves. The dance team is even better than I expected. They’re all in sync with each other. They get into so many formations and never skip a beat. It’s like watching a live concert.

I lean over to whisper in Keesh’s ear. “We’ve gotta try out for dance. They’re freaking awesome.”

“I know. I wanna jump on stage right now, but they don’t let freshmen on the team. We can’t try out till May for next year’s team.”