Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 02 Competition's A Witch (5 page)

It wasn’t just the special effects, either. The regular moves were off the hook when you didn’t need to stand on the floor or have eight sweaty hands holding your legs. I mean, back in Beverly Hills I could do a split on the floor. And a fine-looking split too, even if it wasn’t the most dramatic move, what with all the triple backflips nowadays. Here at Agatha’s? I had my pick of floor, wall, and ceiling beams. Or I could just hang in midair. Kewl, for sure. If I could figure out how to do it without looking like a twenty-four-karat idiot.

I know you’re not supposed to worry about messing up when you’re learning at warp speed, but my rep couldn’t afford another hit on the competence front. My status on the team was shaky enough already. I didn’t need the girls to know that my magic skills were not only rusty but possibly poser-alert level. Of course, I knew there were whispers. With girls, there are always whispers. We can’t help it. When we’re not talking out loud to each other, we’re whispering behind each other’s backs. That was one of the few things that translated from Beverly Hills High to Agatha’s.

So far, I’d managed to head the whispers off with a smile and a slightly sad glance away. Let them think I keep my Talent to myself. That I don’t like to show off. That I’m still adjusting to life in Salem. Anything is better than the truth.

But every time I hesitated to perform a stunt during practice
because I was afraid I’d do something lame like use the floor instead of hover in midair like I was supposed to, I knew there were poser-seeking cheerleader eyes looking for my weak spot.

Not that I blamed them for being on constant poser alert. It’s necessary to know if you can trust your teammates in cheerleading. Otherwise you may end up with a split lip or a broken leg. Or worse, look like a dork with pom-poms. So if I wanted to be a cheerleader, I had to live with the fact that my secret could come out: I was not a very good witch. At least, not yet. I refused to give up on forever unless I did something horrendous like turn myself into a ten-foot purple python. With feathers. Not that I worried about it a lot. Only every third breath or so.

And so despite the kewl moves, practice could be a little stressful. Especially the day Coach Gertie blew her whistle and called my name. “Prudence, if we’re going to have a chance to win the regionals, we need to know what we don’t know. So I’d like you to tell us how we can win our first competition.”

I had been practicing walking on a ceiling beam with the confidence I used to have on the balance beam—before I had a humiliating dive-and-spew incident during tryouts—when her voice boomed out. I nearly fell off the beam before I caught myself and smiled down at Coach Gertie like I welcomed the opportunity to be front and center for show-and-tell.

She turned to the thunderstruck Tara, who had stopped practicing her dive rolls in mid-dive, and gestured to the
other girls to stop their practice too. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? To show what the Witches can do by winning our first-ever competition?”

There was a halfhearted cheer of agreement. Not the best introduction to the idea of winning. But I knew I needed to take what I had and turn it around if I wanted anyone—including me—to believe I had what it took to be head cheerleader next year.

So I floated down off my beam in a split (I’d practiced that simple move for eight hours straight in my room at home). I waited until I hit the floor in perfect form to say, “I only know one way to become a great cheerleading squad. And that’s to work hard to perform each move as sharply and as in sync with everyone else as you can.”

“It’s hard to be in sync when you work with tone-deaf team members.” Elektra thought she should be the star of the show. But I didn’t have to worry about taking care of her, Tara did that just fine. She wasn’t about to let another girl steal her place as head cheerleader
and
head witch-bitch too.

“No one can be in sync with you, Elektra, or you’ll smack them in the face because you keep forgetting you’re not the only one on the floor.” Tara snarked back, with an aim so perfect that Elektra blushed bright red with rage and humiliation.

“Enough bickering, girls. Pru has the floor,” Coach Gertie said, ignoring the fact that she was the only one watching me with any interest at all.

I smiled as if I didn’t know my leadership was as welcome as an Earth shoe lover at a beauty pageant. It was one thing to compete, another to let the new girl—who couldn’t even fly straight and throw a razzle-dazzle spell at the same time—teach you. “Keeping in sync—to the music and to each other—isn’t as easy as it looks when you see a team performing perfectly. That’s why we need to practice each move until we can do it without thinking about it. So that those of us who need a little boost in keeping the beat can memorize the routines and the music.”

“So what’s the secret of your old team, Pru?” asked Tara. “That they have boring mortal lives and can waste time practicing until they can do their routines in their sleep?”

Well, yes. Although I had never thought the mortal life was boring. Especially on a cheerleading squad. There’d been lots of solidarity and even more drama.

“Look.” I decided it would be a waste of
my
time to try to convince them they wouldn’t be wasting
their
time. Proof was what they needed, and proof required two important things: time and patience. “I can tell you all about practice making perfect, but you’re not going to believe me until you see it working. True?”

They all nodded.

“So I’m asking you to give me two weeks. Do what I ask for those two weeks, and then you’ll have your proof.”

“And if we give you those two weeks and Elektra still breaks
my nose?” Tara had her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. So much for my inspiring the team to a new fully synchronized level. “How do we get all that time back?”

“What’s two weeks to you?” I stopped short of reminding them that they lived ten times longer than mortals do. To me, that mattered because of my dad. But to them? Irrelevant. “Isn’t it worth it to have a shot at winning?”

“If we could use magic, we’d kick mortal butt.” Elektra was still angry that Tara had dissed her. “What’s the big deal about beating mortals, anyway?”

“Well, beating mortals would show we have what it takes to be the best cheering team ever, no matter the ground rules!” I replied, putting on my best “Go team!” smile.

Elektra giggled, a touch nastily. “Ground rules rule!”

Coach interrupted. “I want a show of hands. How many girls think we can win a mortal competition without magic?”

No one raised their hand at first, so Coach barked out, “Hands! Now!”

Five hands went up. Then eight. Finally, all fifteen of them had their hands in the air.

Coach looked at me and I realized I hadn’t raised my hand. I punched my fist up into the air and said, “I can give you four rules to follow that will make sure we have a shot at placing in the regional competitions.”

“Don’t we have enough rules?” Elektra was clearly going to be a problem. Great. Just what I needed when I wasn’t
even sure I could figure out how to convince girls who could fly that floor moves could be kewl.

“Stop complaining, Elektra.” Tara came to my rescue, but I had a feeling she wasn’t any happier than Elektra. Especially when she added, “Maybe Pru’s going to tell us we need to eat ice cream and dance around in a circle naked.”

“Rules are annoying, I agree,” I said. I wasn’t new to this leadership biz, so I knew that a little rebellion in the beginning was nothing to worry about. It was later—a week from now, two weeks from now—that would really tell me whether or not I could get these witches to become the kind of team that looks out for each other on and off the field. “But the four I’m going to give you are important so we can each do our personal best and enhance each other’s personal best.”

“This I’ve got to see,” someone sneered. Not Elektra or Tara. Which told me that I had more than two reluctant cheerleaders to convince.

I was glad for the anonymous sneer, though. I’d been about to
tell
them the rules. To revert to boring old lecture mode. But that was the mortal way. Now that I lived in witchworld, I could use the witch way. So I did.

I had been practicing writing in the air with glowy letters every chance I got because I needed to keep up in all my classes. Even my math and history teachers made us write in the air for problems and short answers. It seemed like a good idea to see how well I could do on large scale.

I decided to put my letters up against the bland white wall. RULES. I made them hot pink, with a little ruby gleam at the edge. They were gorgeous, if I do say so myself. Then I added FOR GREAT CHEERING.

I turned to stand between the girls and the wall writing. I summoned pom-poms to my hands and shook them a little, down by my hips. “Rule One.” As I spoke, the numeral 1 appeared on the wall. I was feeling pretty proud of myself, even though the girls were looking wary. “Moves should be performed so sharply, it’s like you have a sheet of glass at your back at all times.” The words gleamed against the wall. The girls looked puzzled.

I kept going. “Rule two. Wrists should not be cocked.” I demonstrated as I spoke. “Keep them in a straight line with your arms—and always keep your shoulders relaxed.” I shrugged my shoulders up to my ears. “Tense shoulders make tense crowds.”

I had hoped the girls would giggle even though my joke was lame, but no go. So I went on. The numeral
3
appeared against the wall. “Three. The shortest distance is the way to go for any move. Don’t swing your arms or legs wide. KISS means Keep It Short, Sweetheart.”

That line had never failed to get me a giggle, even from the most experienced, competitive cheerleaders. Until today. The Salem Witches were a tough crowd.

“Last rule. Four. Practice every move in a mirror. A move
may feel right but look wrong—you need to be able to perform perfectly.” I pointed to the wall. “Remember that sheet of glass in number one? Well, that’s what you need reflected back at you in the mirror before you can be absolutely certain the crowd will see it at a game or a competition.”

Several of the girls chimed in together. “We don’t have any mirrors in here.”

Coach Gertie stepped forward and said, “I’ll ask Agatha if I can pop some in for our practices. I can’t imagine she’d object.”

“Great!” I, personally, could imagine she’d object. After all, I was the one who had asked for them. Not to mention that I, who was supposed to be giving up everything mortal, was asking for mirrors so the cheering team could compete with mortals. Two strikes already. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it except hope Agatha wouldn’t refuse Coach Gertie’s request just because of me.

“Show us some of the moves, Pru,” Coach urged me.

The girls looked a bit skeptical, but if I couldn’t show them why they shouldn’t be, I really should just throw in the pretty pink cheer towel right now.

“Okay.” I could play show-and-tell Barbie when I had to. “This is Ready Position, as sharp as I can make it.” I demonstrated for them, facing them with my best cheerleader-to-the-stars smile.

I moved into a lunge, wondering why I felt awkward
performing moves that I’d been doing since the summer before seventh grade. “This one is a Lunge.”

“High V.” I held my arms up. I wanted to say, “I surrender!” but I didn’t. I was a good show-and-tell Barbie and pointed out how I made the move as sharp as I could. “See how my wrists and arms are in a line and my wrists don’t cock?”

There wasn’t even a nod from the girls watching. Sigh.

I went through the rest of the moves very quickly, as if I were performing them in front of a crowd who wanted our team to win and there were only seconds on the clock.

“Low V.”

“T.”

“Broken T.”

“Left K.”

“Right K.”

“Touch Down.”

“Low Touch Down.”

“Daggers.” Boy did I wish I had some to throw at the crowd right now. Anything that would wake them up. The only one who seemed to care at all was Coach. And she wasn’t going to perform the moves—she was just going to see that we got into the competition.

“Punch is another one where it matters to avoid cocking your wrists.” I punched the air.

“Thank you, Pru. Excellent job.” Coach Gertie smiled.
She was the only one, but she didn’t seem to notice that as she asked, “Who wants to try it?”

There was an overwhelming no-show of hands. And then a pinwheel sign, complete with fireworks, appeared on the ceiling: NO THANKS, COACH!

It was spectacular as it sputtered and flared for a moment, then disappeared, leaving perfect smoke letters to make sure the message got across without a shred of doubt remaining.

Great. As a leader, I ranked right up there with every general whose men didn’t even know his name.

I was rescued from total humiliation by Coach Gertie’s whistle. “Practice is over, girls. Next time, we’ll break up into two groups and Tara can work on flying with one group while Pru works with the other on getting our groundwork into shape for competition.”

Okay. So maybe she didn’t save my bacon as much as toss it into a different frying pan. Tara was not looking at me with a fond expression. But, hey, a girl like me needed every break she could get in witchworld. And it hadn’t escaped my notice that if I couldn’t, for some reason, manifest a Talent and turn my back on everything mortal, then it would be useful to have at least one skill that could translate into kewl. At least kewl enough to get me through my last two years of high school at Agatha’s.