This time, there were no takers.
“In that case,” Brooke said, “we’ll be in touch.”
And just like that, the meeting was over.
That’s it? I thought. This was what I was supposed to be “curious” about? Forget curious. I was completely baffled.
The only thing I knew for sure was that Hayley was right—I didn’t belong here. Of all the girls who’d received a summons to this invite-only meeting, I was the one who even a dumb four-year-old would have circled in one of those “which one does not belong?” tests. Besides Hayley, there were a slew of other JV cheerleaders, some of them sophomores and someof them juniors who hadn’t been chosen for the God Squad the year before. Then there were the noncheerleading populars: the too-cute editor of the yearbook, the part-time model, and the girl whose hot older brother was newly single. Given the fact that Bayport was one of the richest school districts in the country, everyone in this room could just as easily have been auditioning for a television show calledLifestyles of the Rich and Bitchy.
Everyone except me.
Chloe Larson rammed her body into my chair and then proceeded to give me the evil eye. “Watch where you’re going.”
It was all I could do to keep myself from rolling my eyes. I was sitting down, and she had run into me. Cheerleaders: they thought they owned the air the student body breathed.
“I guess some people are just perpetually in the way, you know?” Hayley’s words broke into my thoughts. I debated giving her a reason to get another nose job, but decided against it. I was a third-degree black belt; she was a junior-varsity cheerleader. Where was the fun in that?
Instead, I stood up, ready to go back to my normal life of beating up football players and hacking into the school’s database to change my grades and Mr. Corkin’s middle name. And that’s when I saw another note. It must have been in my lap, because it fell to the ground when I stood. Hayley’s eyes lit up, and she dove for it, but another manicured hand beat her there.
“I believe this is yours.” Tara Leery was a British exchange student and, as far as I’d been able to tell, the cheerleader most likely to have a functional cerebrum.
Tara handed the note to me, brushing her fingertipsagainst the back of mine. She held my hand for a moment and then turned, and without another word, she followed Chloe “Out-of-My-Way” Larson out of the room.
I watched them leave and then looked back down at the note.
“Maybe someone’s finally sending you the memo on combat boots,” Hayley said, and then, in a confidential whisper, she added, “For the record: so over.”
“Oh,” I said thoughtfully. “I got that memo. I filed it away with your boyfriend’s petition for a brain and the lost-and-found ad for your virginity.”
I admit it. I’m not the nicest person. I have been known, on occasion, to use my sharp wit and clever puns for evil, rather than good. I don’t smile at people just because they smiled at me first, and if I have something to say to someone, I say it to their face. I am, in other words, the anti-cheerleader.
Hayley recovered from my below-the-belt comment about her none-too-secret loss of virginity to a delusional football player who had also slept with her best friend and somehow thought that neither girl would figure it out. Hayley made her best attempt at glaring me into oblivion, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and flounced off, four JV cheerleaders following in her wake.
“Was it something I said?”
As soon as she was out of sight, I decided to make one last concession to my curiosity, after which I would never even think the wordcheerleaderagain.
I opened the note in my hand, half expecting another encoded message. No such luck. The paper was blank.
CHAPTER 3
Code Word: Perky
“What was it like? What were they wearing? Did they happen to mention—”
“How a dweeby little freshman could win their undying affection?” I finished Noah’s sentence for him. “No.”
My brother wasn’t the least bit deterred. “Did you talk to Brooke at all?”
I groaned inwardly. He had to have a thing for Brooke Camden. Why couldn’t he crush on someone his own age? Or better yet, someone from his home world, Planet Goofball.
“Well?” Noah prompted.
I scratched the back of my hand absentmindedly. “I went,” I told him. “I watched. I wasn’t impressed.”
Noah wouldn’t let the issue go. “Did you at least get a couple of phone numbers?”
“Noah, for the last time, if you’re not careful, you’re going to get yourself killed, and one of these days, I’m not going to be there to save you.”
