Stealing Popular (4 page)

“Coco Simone?” I heard sizzling. My dad had flipped the toasted cheese. “Dinner's about ready. Set the table?”

“Okay.” I laid my drawing pencil on the glass coffee table and flipped to the back cover of my sketchbook. With my thumb I inched a curling scrap of drawing paper from the single pocket. The pencil portrait of her wasn't a very good likeness. The forehead was too big. The eyes too far apart. There was a smudge near her left ear. Still, I
had
done it a long, long time ago, before my mother had left. And it was all I had. I placed the portrait of my mom gently in my palm. Each time I held it, the paper felt a little thinner.

“What a day,” I whispered. “Her Fabulousness and the Royal Court are up to their usual tricks. Dijon kicked Fawn out of her own locker. Can you believe that? It looks like she's going to be even more of a pain than last year, if that's possible. And guess what? I've got three periods of PE with Coach Notting. Talk about a nightmare. But don't worry, the counselors will straighten everything out. Dad won't have to call the school or anything. I met my new locker partner. Her name is Liezel. You'd like her. She's nothing like Stocklifter. Oh, and I grew half an inch. Aunt Iona measured
me. She says she's pretty sure I grew overnight, but you know how she exaggerates—”

“Coco?”

“Coming.” Lightly touching my lips to the paper, I slipped my mother back into her pocket and closed the book.

“I'm not doing it, Adair.”

“But you promised.”

“I did not.”

“You said you'd support me when I tried out for cheer.”

“I meant from the
bleachers
.”

“I don't need you in the bleachers. I need someone to cheer
with
me. Fawn, will you tell her?”

Cheerleading? Was she serious? Ewwww, with three extra
w
's and a cherry on top. Of all the things in the world I hated, cheerleading was right up there between wolf spiders and flu shots. My first week of school had been horrendous enough without adding cheer to the mix. I'd finally gotten my class schedule sorted out, only to discover I had one class with Fawn (PE), one with Adair (leadership), and three with Her Fabulousness.
Three!
Worse, one of those classes was PE. Worse
than worse, I had to get dressed (and undressed!) next to Dijon. She had perfect skin and perfect toes. I had a million arm freckles and crooked toes. The one bright spot in my schedule of despair was learning that Fawn, Adair, and I had the same lunch.

“I can't cheer,” I told Adair. “I have absolutely no flexibility. I can't even touch my toes. See?” I threw my chest forward, wriggling my fingers several inches short of my tennis shoes. “I'd ruin it for you, for sure. Fawn, will you tell her?”

Fawn, sitting on the grass with her knees to her chin, pulled her vintage 1970s oatmeal-colored tunic down over her knees. Then she crooked her finger. At me.

Wearily, I went down to her level.

“Last year,” Fawn said quietly, “she missed being first alternate by two points.”

“So?” A tsunami of a headache was roaring through my brain.

“We're her best friends, and it's our duty to help her fulfill her destiny.”

“Not if I don't know any of the cheers.”

“You only have to do two for the tryout. Adair can teach them to you right now. It'll be easy.”

If it was so easy, how come Fawn wasn't doing it?

I twisted my hoodie strings around my wrists. You didn't have to know Adair long to realize how much she wanted to be a cheerleader. She never wasted a moment standing still if she could be throwing her arms up and twisting and bouncing to a chant only she could hear. It could get annoying, especially in a car. I wanted Adair to pursue her passion. Truly, I did. But why did
her
dream have to involve
my
humiliation?

“Everybody tries out in pairs,” said Fawn. “All she needs is someone to stand up and do the cheers with her in front of the judging panel. You don't have to be good at it, Coco. You just have to
do
it.”

“Pleeeeease?” said Adair, falling to the ground beside us. “Please be my partner?”

I looked from Adair's hopeful, blue eyes into Fawn's hopeful, brown ones. I had no chance, mainly because there were four big, sad eyes against my two little, weak ones. That, and because I was also sitting on an anthill.

Flicking ants off my ankles, I said, “All right, I'll do it, but I'm wearing my hood up.”

“Deal,” said Adair.

“And my sunglasses.”

“Okay.”

“And I refuse to do any cheers that involve barking.”

Don't think I didn't catch the “uh-oh” look that passed between them.

Forty-eight minutes later I was in a gym hotter than the orchid house at the arboretum, flapping my arms, kicking my legs, and yelling at the top of my lungs:

We are the St. Bernards.

Victory is in the cards.

Stand tall and raise the roof.

Paws up! Let's woof, woof, WOOF!

My first thought, as I gazed out into the bleachers filled with about fifty stunned cheerleader wannabes, was someone was going to pay for this. And pay big. Fawn had remained outside, saying she didn't want to make me nervous. Nice try. She knew better than to be anywhere in the vicinity of me when I finished. While Adair and I did our cheers, Her Fabulousness and the Royal Court sat in the front row, pointing and snickering. Even the three judges—Coach Notting, Miss Furdy, and Mrs. Ignazio, an English teacher who coached girls' softball—couldn't hide their grins. I didn't blame them. If there was a cheerleading manual,
which there probably was, I could have been the poster girl for every single “don't” in the book. If I wasn't hopping on the wrong foot or saying the wrong words, then I was facing the wrong direction. Only one thing kept me from bolting from the gym as fast as my uncoordinated feet could take me: Adair. She was smiling bigger than I had ever seen her smile. Her movements were graceful and perfectly synchronized with her words. She oozed school spirit. Even her competition couldn't help but love her. The other girls were cheering along with her. Fawn was right.
This
was where Adair belonged. It was her destiny. So, for her, I stayed. And barked. And made a complete goober out of myself, bopping around and shouting:

S-T B-E-R.

I say, S-T B-E-R.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

S-T B-E-R.

I say, N-A-R-D-S.

Go, go, go!

Goooooo, Briar Green!

'Cause we the machine

That's gonna steamroll over you!

Who wrote this stuff?

Adair finished our second cheer with a back handspring and a full split! I finished our second cheer with a gazelle leap, and split the rear of my jeans.

When a bunch of girls began applauding for Adair, Her Fabulousness and her court turned around and gave them nasty glares. The girls dropped their hands and looked anywhere but at us. I struggled out of my hoodie and tied the sleeves around my waist to hide my unfortunate accident.

“Thank you, ladies,” said Coach Notting, briskly marking on her score sheet with a pencil.

Adair clung to me as we walked away. “How do you think it went?”

With just three pairs of girls left to audition, I could honestly say, “You're going to look amazing in green and silver.”

My friend beamed.

“Cadence and Willow were great too,” I said. Cadence Steele and Willow Christopher were two Nobodies who had tried out ahead of us. Willow had tons of energy and could jump higher than my waist! And Cadence had the best dance moves of anyone out there, except Adair. “I bet they'll make it with you.”

“Don't be so sure,” muttered Adair.

I understood. The competition was tough, and the Somebodies had the edge. Still, most of the Somebodies had been less than stellar. Her Fabulousness didn't make any mistakes in front of the judges, but she was, clearly, bored. Dijon hadn't put an ounce of enthusiasm into her cheers. She didn't yell. She spoke. Once, she even yawned in the middle of a cheer. Évian had plenty of spirit, all right, but was worse than me when it came to remembering the words. Venice and Truffle couldn't stop giggling throughout their entire audition. They didn't even finish their second cheer. If ever there was a chance for one or two or maybe even three talented Nobodies to make the team, this was the year!

“When will you know the results?” I asked Adair.

“Let's see . . . probably next Monday or Tuesday. Mrs. Rivkin usually posts the list on the ASB bulletin board outside the cafeteria.” She glanced up at the clock. “I've got to get going. My mom will be waiting. Thanks for cheering with me, Coco. I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Anytime.” I crossed my eyes. “Kidding!”

Fawn was in the same spot on the grass where we'd
left her. Seeing me approach, she lowered her e-reader. “How'd it go?”

“Adair was brilliant.”

“And you?”

“Could be the first girl in Big Mess cheerleading history to get a negative score.”

She tilted her head. “Why are you walking funny?”

“To keep
this
from getting worse.” I whipped around and flipped up the back of my jacket.

“Oh ho, ho!”

“You should know I'm plotting my revenge against you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” she said, reaching for her backpack. “You plot. I'll sew.” Fawn was going to be a famous fashion designer one day. She was always attaching all kinds of lace, fringe, beads, and assorted dangly things to her vintage outfits, which meant she carried a needle and thread with her for when the lace, fringe, beads, and assorted dangly things fell off.

We had about forty minutes before Fawn's mom was due to pick us up. Fawn said that was plenty of time to fix my seam, so we went into the girls' locker room. I led us to my PE locker in the last row, sat down on the bench, and took off my jeans. Fawn got to work on
the repair. It was chilly sitting in my underwear. I was debating whether I should put on my gym shorts when we heard a clang.

“It must have been ninety degrees in that gym.”

I knew that voice. It was Miss Furdy.

“My head is pounding.”

And Mrs. Ignazio.

“I think I may have some aspirin in my purse.”

And Coach Notting.

“The cheer judges,” I hissed at Fawn. “They're here!”

Her head shot up, a piece of thread hanging from her mouth.

We weren't doing anything wrong, but it sure felt that way. We could hear Coach Notting unlocking the door to the office. “That's one of the biggest turnouts we've ever had for cheer.”

“It's going to be tough narrowing down the field,” said Mrs. Ignazio. “Some of the girls were wonderful dancers, and others had more athletic ability. And then there were those who lit up the room with their energy, like the Christopher girl. Now, she's what cheerleading is all about.”

Mrs. Ignazio liked Willow. Our Willow. Nobody Willow!

“Yes,” said Miss Furdy, dragging out the word so I knew a “but” was coming. “A sparkling personality is great, but we must take other things into consideration too.”

“Other things?” Mrs. Ignazio seemed confused.

“You know, like . . . well, I hate to say it, but we do have to look at physical appearance as well.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Unbelievable!

Fawn's mouth had formed a big O, no doubt, to match mine. We were both thinking the same thing. We knew what Miss Furdy meant, and she was wrong. Willow was not fat. She had muscular thighs, sure, but that's because she swam and played on the girls' soccer team. And even if she wasn't a size two, so what? In fact,
not
being perfect would make her a good role model for the younger girls. The important thing was, Willow would be an outstanding cheerleader. I wanted to leap to my feet, march into the coach's office, and tell them exactly that. But I didn't. For one thing, I was in my underwear. For another, it could get Adair disqualified. If the judges saw me, they'd think I had deliberately eavesdropped. We had to get out of there without being seen. But how? Coach Notting's office
was between us and the only exit that wasn't a fire door.

My heart started flailing.

My palms felt sticky.

My legs were starting to turn a weird shade of blotchy violet.

I wasn't sure what to do. Fawn and I were trapped in the Big Mess girls' locker room with no way out!

I mouthed the word “hurry” to Fawn. Not that she needed
me
to tell her. The sewing needle was flying through denim.

“What did you think of the Steele girl?” asked Coach Notting.

“Steele? Steele. Steele.” Miss Furdy was searching. “Cadence Steele. Here she is. Let's see . . . I wrote down ‘good dancer,' but for some reason I can't seem to recall her. She wasn't the one wearing sunglasses, was she?”

“No,” Coach Notting cut in. “That was Coco Sherwood.”

Wincing, I cocked my head.

“Ah, right, the girl with the coordination issues,” said Miss Furdy. “It didn't look like she'd put in much practice time, but I liked her effort level. She didn't give up, even after she made mistakes.”

Me? Give up? Never.

Well, if it hadn't been for Adair . . .

Miss Furdy read my mind. “Of course, it helped that she was cheering with the Clarke girl.”

“Adair
was
impressive,” said Coach Notting.

Fawn's hand paused in midair. She looked at me and smiled.

I pumped my fist.
Yes!

“She certainly was,” said Miss Furdy. “Very bubbly and vivacious.”

Yes and more yes!

“She's quite striking,” said Mrs. Ignazio. “And her dancing and gymnastic skills were excellent.”