Harsh Pink with Bonus Content (11 page)

“Whatever.” I sigh in a tired way. “I just get so sick of all this, Jocelyn. Isn’t it possible we might all just end up being friends?”

She laughs. “I wish. But unfortunately, that’s not going to happen. I overheard Kendra making fun of me today. It was in the bathroom at lunch, and she didn’t know I was in the stall. Or maybe she did!”

“What did she say?” I ask in a way that sounds like I’m totally bored by all this.

“She said Chad was just using me at the party to have a good time and that he took advantage of me because I was drunk.” Jocelyn’s voice breaks a little. “She said he won’t give me the time of day once he gets what he wants from me.”

Now, that’s pretty harsh. But I wonder if Jocelyn really heard Kendra right. Or maybe she’s blowing it out of proportion.

“Well, that’s sort of true,” I point out.

“What?” Her eyes flash with indignation.

“I mean it’s possible that some guys will take advantage of a girl who gets drunk — can you deny that?”

“Well, no. But I don’t think Chad’s like that.”

“But you’ve been complaining about how he’s barely spoken to you this week.”

“Yeah, but don’t forget he was a little wasted too. Maybe he’s embarrassed.”

“Or maybe he was so wasted that he can’t remember who he spent the evening with.”

“Oh, Reagan!”

“Well, you don’t know, Jocelyn. And that’s probably what you get from drinking too much.”

She opens the car door now. “Thanks for the lecture, Reagan. I really needed that.” She shakes her head and frowns. “And I thought you were my friend.”

I sigh. “I am your friend. But friends don’t let friends act stupid.”

“Thanks.” Then she slams the door and I drive away. Okay, I’m thinking maybe it’s about time to cut this girl loose. The way things are developing with Kendra, I might do just fine without Miss Loose Cannon anyway.

When I get home, I notice that the front door is standing open and suddenly feel alarmed. Is it possible that Nana has wandered out? Is she fully dressed? Could she be wandering around lost? I quickly pull my car into the garage. As usual, Mom’s not home yet, which is a relief. She’s been hinting again that our setup with Nana is not working. And part of me thinks maybe she’s right.

I hurry into the house. “Nana?” I yell loudly. “Nana?”

“She’s in here,” calls a female voice from the direction of the bathroom. Okay, now I’m really worried. Is some stranger in our house? In the bathroom with Nana? I run toward the bathroom, then notice muddy footprints leading from the front door to here — is it possible that we had a break-in? I wonder if I should grab the phone.

“We’re in the bathroom,” calls the voice. And now it sounds a little familiar and not at all threatening.

“What is going on?” I demand as I push open the partially closed door in time to see Nana with her yellow sweatpants hiked up to her knees as she sits on a kitchen chair that’s situated next to the bathtub.

“Hey, Reagan,” says Andrea Lynch, my temporary class-C summertime friend. She looks up from where she’s bent over, washing what looks like a whole lot of mud from Nana’s feet. The bottom of the bathtub is brown.

“Hi, Reagan,” says Nana with a happy smile. “I got dirty.”

“I found her in my mom’s garden,” says Andrea as she rubs some soap into a blue washcloth.

“I wanted tomatoes,” explains Nana.

“Yeah.” Andrea rubs the soapy washcloth over Nana’s twisted old foot, then uses the European shower nozzle to spray it off until it’s almost clean. “Of course, the tomatoes are gone by now. But she was walking around in the garden without shoes and when I asked her if she needed help, she said she couldn’t remember where she lived.”

“I forget things.” Nana shakes her head sadly

“So I walked her home and then I asked if she needed help getting her feet cleaned.”

“She’s a good foot washer,” says Nana proudly. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Andrea,” I offer.

Andrea tosses me a look. “Oh, you do remember my name?”

I sort of roll my eyes. “Yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t know how to get her into the house without making a mess. The front door was the only one open. Sorry that the floors got a little muddy.”

“That’s okay,” I tell her. “If you have things under control here, I’ll go clean up the rest before my mom gets home.”

“That’s cool.”

“That’s cool,” echoes Nana, sounding like an elderly teenager. As I get out the mop and start working on the hardwood floors, I can hear the two of them in the bathroom just chatting away like they’re old friends. I don’t catch everything they say, but I can tell that Andrea is completely comfortable with Nana. And, judging by the way Nana’s talking, I can tell that she likes and trusts Andrea.

We finish up about the same time. Just as I’m pouring the bucket of dirty mop water out, Andrea and Nana come into the kitchen. Nana has on a big smile and her nonskid moccasin slippers.

“Andrea put lotion on my feet,” says Nana proudly.

“Good for Andrea,” I say in a less than friendly tone.

“Be nice,” says Nana.

I blink and look at Nana, surprised that she picked up on that. “I’ll go clean up the bathroom,” I say, wanting an escape from this strange pair.

“I already did,” says Andrea.

“Oh.”

“I told Andrea that we could have cookies and milk,” says Nana.

“We don’t — ”

“That’s okay,” says Andrea quickly. She gives me a wary glance. “I have to go now.” And before I can say anything, she takes off.

“My friend,” says Nana sadly. “You weren’t nice to my friend, Reagan.”

“Sorry,” I say. And the truth is, I really am. Still, I don’t know what to do about it. Why is everything so complicated?

***

The next day things get even more complicated when Sally asks Falon about the annual fall barbecue. “Isn’t it about time we started talking about it?”

Falon just holds up her hands. “You can talk about it all you want, but I really don’t care whether or not we have — “

“We always have it,” protests Meredith. “It’s a tradition. It’s our time to bond together.”

“That’s right,” says Sally. “We need to set the date.”

“Fine,” says Falon. “Set the date. But hurry up, okay? We need to get practicing.”

“Next week is homecoming,” says Meredith. “How about the Saturday after that?” Fortunately everyone agrees. Even Kendra, although she’s been uncharacteristically quiet today.

“But where will we have it?” asks Sally. She looks over at Kendra as if she expects her to help out now.

Kendra shrugs. “Well, if I wasn’t just an alternate cheerleader, I’d offer to have it at my place. But in this case, I guess I won’t.”

Some of the girls groan in disappointment.

“That’s too bad,” I say, hoping to show some support for Kendra, and she smiles gratefully.

“Why don’t you have it then?” says Sally suddenly.

“Oh, I don’t think — ”

“Yeah,” says Meredith. “We should let one of the new girls host the barbecue.” She glances at the others and they all quickly agree.

“Sort of an initiation,” teases Meredith.

“I don’t think I want to host — ”

“Then Jocelyn can do it,” says Sally.

“No way!” demands Jocelyn.

“Okay. Then, Reagan, you’re on,” proclaims Sally. “All in favor, say aye.” And before I can protest, everyone, including Jocelyn (little traitor) yells, “Aye!”

I feel like I’m going to faint or maybe throw up. How on earth am I supposed to host the barbecue at my house? I think about Nana and the crazy things she’s done already this week. Or what about my mom and her tendency to go ballistic if anyone makes a mess? How can I possibly pull this off with those things to contend with? Still, it seems useless to argue, and besides, Falon is yelling at us to get in line for a new cheer. I decide to approach Falon after practice. I’ll beg her to get me off the hook. If that doesn’t work, I’ll go to Coach Anderson. And if that doesn’t work … well, maybe I’ll just quit. I mean, seriously, it’s just not worth the torture.

I see Kendra off to the left as we practice. As usual, she’s not actually in the lineup, but I suddenly wonder if this is her big setup. Did Kendra get Sally to do this so I would be stuck hosting the stupid barbecue and get so intimidated that I’d quit cheerleading and she’d get to be back on? No, that seems impossible. For one thing, no one — well, besides Andrea — has any idea what kind of madness lives at my house. For another thing, it would’ve made much more sense to target Jocelyn, since by now I’m sure that someone on this squad must know her financial status and that she lives in a cruddy little house and would be too embarrassed to have the barbecue. In fact, I reassure myself, if all else fails, maybe I can influence Kendra to influence Sally to push this whole thing onto Jocelyn. The way she’s been acting today — all offended at me for practically nothing — almost makes me wish this on her.

“Falon,” I say as we’re walking back to the locker room after practice, “I cannot host the barbecue at my — ”

“I don’t really care, Reagan.” She turns and gives me a warning look. “The barbecue doesn’t really have anything to do with the squad. For all I care, we can just forget it. Tell them you don’t want to have it and — ”

“They’ll get mad at me.”

She shakes her head. “Like I said, I don’t care. And to be honest, I’m sick to death of the bickering and game playing. It almost makes me want to quit.” She glances over to where Kendra and several others are huddled together, talking. “But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.” Then Falon walks off.

Great. I consider approaching Coach Anderson, but I have a feeling she’d back Falon. And I suppose I don’t blame her. Except that this just is not fair. I look over to where Kendra and the others are still standing, and I suspect they’re talking about me now. I cannot let this go on. I’ve made such progress with Kendra these past few days and I’m not about to lose it now.

I join them and the talking stops.

“Hey, Reagan,” says Kendra. “What’s up?”

“Well, this is the deal,” I begin. “I really don’t want to host the barbecue.”

Kendra frowns and looks sincerely disappointed in me. “Why not? It’s really fun, Reagan.”

“Fun for you, maybe. But from what I’ve heard, you’ve set the standard pretty high and I know there’s no way I can do a barbecue that will be even one-tenth as nice.”

“Oh, Reagan.” She puts her arm around my shoulders. “You’re so sweet.”

“Really, Kendra,” I insist, “it’s too intimidating. I can’t do it. You’re a hard act to follow.”

“Isn’t she sweet?” Kendra says to the others, and to my amazement, they all agree. Well, except for Sally. I can tell she’s not buying it.

“Why don’t you make Jocelyn do it?” suggests Kendra.

“Yeah,” says Meredith. “She’s the youngest. Let’s
make
her do it.”

The next thing I know — feeling like I just jumped onto a moving train — we are approaching Jocelyn. She’s already stripped down, wrapping a towel around her, and about to head for the showers. When she sees us coming, she looks scared.

“We decided you get to host the barbecue,” announces Meredith.

“We voted and it was unanimous.”

Okay, I realize that’s not completely true. But it’s not my job to set anyone straight. I keep my mouth shut, telling myself I’m only a spectator here.

“No way!” yells Jocelyn.

“Way!” Sally yells back and it turns into a shouting match. And cheerleaders are good at yelling. If Coach Anderson was anywhere to be seen, I’m sure she’d shut them up. I see Falon over by her locker. I can tell she’s listening, but she doesn’t interfere. I’m not sure if this is a tactic on her part or if she’s afraid. I know I wouldn’t want to get in the middle of this.

I can tell that Jocelyn is on the verge of tears when she finally backs down. She really didn’t have a chance — she should’ve recognized that from the start. I mean, Jocelyn might be loud and have a temper, but she’s no match for these girls. She narrows her eyes and cuts loose with some surprisingly foul language. I hope Falon isn’t close enough to hear, since this is a serious infraction of the cheerleaders’ contract — but then, so was that drinking party last week. Furious, but undeniably defeated, Jocelyn stomps off to the showers and stays there for a long time. And although I feel sorry for her and I have no idea how she’s going to handle this barbecue challenge, I also feel extremely relieved. Like I missed a bullet. Unfortunately my relief is tinged with some serious guilt. I am not proud of myself.