She drives me crazy, p.5
She Drives Me Crazy, page 5
Danielle clucks her tongue. “Poor Charlotte and her Rice Krispies Treats don’t stand a chance of winning Queen.”
We separate, heading to our cars. Danielle says something about going home to tweak her application essay since we’ll be busy with Homecoming all weekend. I wish her luck and drop into my car, grateful that it’s almost the weekend. I can’t wait to get home, take a hot shower, and kick back with a movie.
But Irene doesn’t get in the car right away. She loiters off to the side, talking to Honey-Belle with a serious expression on her face. I make a show of starting the ignition and flicking on the lights, but she ignores me.
After a full two minutes of this, I open the door and shout, “Excuse me! Can we go, please?!”
Irene holds up her palm to indicate I should wait. The nerve of it sends me over the edge, and I pound on the horn so it blares across the parking lot.
Irene jumps and shoots me the ugliest look I’ve ever seen, but she finally steps away from Honey-Belle. She gets into my passenger seat like she’s descending into the lowest level of hell. I can almost feel the negative energy crackling off her.
“That was really rude,” she snaps.
“Yes, I agree, it was very rude of you to keep me waiting.”
She shakes her head and jams her seat belt into the buckle. I switch on my music and cruise out of the parking lot feeling like I just won a boxing match.
But then Irene jabs the stereo off.
“What the—?!”
“I’m getting my car back this weekend,” she says without preamble. “And Honey-Belle’s picking me up tomorrow morning, so I won’t need a ride.”
I turn the music back on, too distracted by her audacity to understand what she’s trying to say. “So?”
“So you don’t have to drive me anymore.”
That gets my attention. “Wait, really? What about tomorrow afternoon?”
“I don’t go home on game days,” she says shortly, like I should have known that already. “We get ready at school.”
“So this is the last time I have to drive you?”
“Yes. I just said that.”
I’m too delighted to be put off by her snark. Only a few more minutes of this tense arrangement, and then I’ll be free forever. I’ll never have to deal with this girl again.
We’re quiet until I remember something that doesn’t quite fit with the information she’s given me.
“Hold on,” I say. “You’re not going home before the football game? But don’t you have to get ready for Homecoming Court? I mean, like, don’t you have to dress up for halftime?”
For a second I think she’s gonna tell me it’s none of my business. But then: “My mom’s bringing my dress. I’ll change after we finish our second quarter routines.”
I snort. Does she ever not plan around her beloved cheerleading?
“So you’re gonna be all sweaty in your dress? Why don’t you just sit out the routines tomorrow night?”
Now she glares at me. “Would you sit on the bench during a big game just so you could look pretty in a dress?”
“No, but that’s because what I do is an actual game.”
She whips her head around. “What are you trying to say?”
“What? I just mean, like, you’re not actually competing for anything. You’re cheering on the competitors. There’s no winning or losing for you.”
She twists in her seat, more agitated than I’ve ever seen her. “Oh okay, and this is coming from someone whose idea of ‘competing’ is lobbing a ball at a hoop? Cheerleading is more competitive than you can imagine. It’s gymnastics meets acrobatics meets dance, with a shit ton of cardio work, not to mention the emotional intelligence it takes to read a crowd’s energy—”
“And yet you’re not actually winning or losing anything. It’s just a performance. A performance you’re doing for someone else.”
“It’s not for someone else, it’s for ourselves and our own physicality and—”
“It’s for the boys’ football team. Or their basketball team. Whichever boys’ team is being worshipped that night.”
“Wow, aren’t you such a bastion of feminism, tearing down other girls because you think we’re oblivious to misogyny—”
“Aren’t you, though? Or is it just my imagination that I’ve never seen your squad at my basketball games before?”
“Have you ever asked for us to be there?” she counters. “I don’t have time to hold your hand if you can’t even be bothered to speak to us. I’m doing more than enough already, captaining two squads during overlapping seasons and trying to win Student Athlete of the Year.”
This last part takes me by surprise. The Student Athlete of the Year award is just about the highest honor a Grandma Earl senior can win. The last few years, it’s almost always gone to soccer or football players.
“You’re trying for SAOY?” I ask.
“Don’t say that like it’s so fucking surprising.”
“It is surprising. I’ve never heard of a cheerleader winning that.”
“That’s because no cheerleader ever has,” she snaps, her eyes burning. “But we work just as hard as other student athletes, so why shouldn’t we be considered?”
I shake my head and turn away from her.
“What?” she spits.
“It just seems like a waste of your energy,” I say, knowing very well that I’m playing with fire here. “You’re obviously going to win Homecoming Queen tomorrow night, which is a natural extension of being cheerleading captain, but instead of focusing on that, you’re thirsting after an athletic award you stand no chance of winning?”
“Fuck you, Zajac,” she growls. I only barely register her use of my name; it’s jarring coming out of her mouth. “You have got to be the most arrogant, dismissive, judgmental person I’ve ever met—”
“And who are you to talk?” I say nastily. “You’re just a stuck-up cheerleader who’s high and mighty enough to think that Homecoming Queen is beneath her.”
“Don’t you dare try to tell me who I am—”
“Ah, right, I forgot I’m not allowed to ‘make assumptions’ about you. Since it’s our last day together, though, I’ll leave you with one final thought.” My words tumble out with a reckless, satisfying feeling. I know I’m crossing a line, but I can’t stop. People have been singing Irene’s praises to my face for days, but I know just how shitty she can be. “It’s not my fault you’re so fucking insecure about being a cheerleader or that no one, including your own mother, takes you seriously about it. So figure out your own shit and stop taking it out on other people.”
The silence between us cuts like a shard of glass. Irene turns very slowly in my direction. Her jaw is clenched. Her eyes are dark fire. They’re also, to my shock, slightly wet.
I’m breathing hard; she’s hardly breathing at all. I don’t know what else to do, so I twist the volume dial until it’s all the way up, so loud that it pounds in my ears. Irene says nothing. She sits eerily still in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her practice hoodie.
When we finally pull into her driveway, she throws off her seat belt and snatches her bags from the back seat. Just as she’s about to get out of the car, she punches my stereo off. I can only gawk at her.
I open my mouth to say something, but before I can figure out what, she slams the door and stalks off into her house.
* * *
That night, my sisters and I curl up in Thora’s bed to watch Teen Witch at Daphne’s request. Pickles and BooBoo prowl across our legs, restless. They haven’t been allowed in Mom’s garden for several days.
“I messed up today,” I say when we’re halfway through the movie.
“Did you hit another car?” Thora asks, and I shove her while Daphne laughs.
“No. I was an asshole to Irene.”
“Nemesis Girl?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she’s your nemesis. You’re supposed to be an asshole.”
Daphne frowns. “What happened?”
I tell them about our spat—and how ugly I was to her. “I don’t know why I said that thing about her mom,” I say feebly. “I don’t usually go for people’s weak spots.”
“No, you don’t,” Thora says thoughtfully. “Sounds more like something your ex would do.”
I stare at her. “Tally might be the worst, but she wouldn’t do that. She’s not outright malicious.”
“Yeah, she would. I watched her do it to you for months. She got completely in your head, making you worry that you’re not good enough. You’ve been a walking insecurity since you dated her.”
I pause the movie. “You think I’m a walking insecurity?”
Thora looks straight at me. She never glosses over things. “Right now? Yes. And there’s no reason you should be. You’re smart and cute and really good at basketball. You should be thriving.”
A trickle of bile runs down my throat. “No one else seems to think that.”
“Who cares what anyone else thinks? What do you think?”
“Thora, do you really believe that no one else’s opinion matters?”
“Absolutely.” She shrugs like it’s as easy as two plus two. “At the end of the day, I’m the only person living my life. Why should I answer to anyone else?”
“You obviously don’t remember high school very well.”
She snorts. “Of course I do. The unspoken social hierarchy sucks. But you know what I’ve figured out since then?” She dances her fingers in front of my eyes. “It’s all perception, Scots. Making people see what you want them to see. If you want them to think you matter, start acting like they should already know that you matter.”
Daphne nods. “Fake it till you make it.”
“Exactly,” Thora says.
I scratch BooBoo’s ears, thinking. “You wanna know something stupid? Carpooling with Irene is the coolest I’ve felt all year. Like, it’s the first time people have paid attention to me. Even Tally was jealous. How fucked up is that?”
“Tally was jealous?” Thora laughs humorlessly. “God, that girl is a fucking case study. She’s probably worried that you’re secretly dating Irene.”
I snort. The idea of that is unthinkable. “I would never. I can’t stand that girl.”
“Maybe Irene isn’t as bad as you think,” Daphne says. “Why do you hate her, anyway?”
I pause, considering. I never confided in my sisters about the tow truck incident. It would only open a can of worms if I told them now.
“She’s just a jerk,” I say. “She … kinda messed with me last year.”
Thora’s eyes flash. “What’d she do?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Seriously, nothing. I just don’t like her.”
I can tell Thora wants to press me on it, but she doesn’t. She plants a kiss on my head and goes back to watching the movie with Daphne.
You’ve been a walking insecurity …
Is that true? Judging by the constant ache in my chest, I have to believe it is. But when did I become this way? I didn’t used to care about my social status; I was content to fly under the radar. But that was before Tally. It was also before the tow truck incident.
I always wanted to confront Irene about that prank. I wanted to scream that it was a completely disproportionate reaction to me knocking a drink on her. But the truth is, I was afraid it had nothing to do with spilling my drink. That maybe it was a cruel whim of hers, of all the popular kids’, because I was more of a social pariah than I even knew. The queer, gangly ginger who had no right to be at their party.
After all, isn’t that why Tally left me? Because she could see that, too?
5
Friday is the start of Homecoming weekend. I wake up early, straighten my hair, and pull on the Fighting Reindeer shirt I’ve had since freshman year. Daphne hogs the bathroom mirror, painting bright red GE letters on her cheeks. The middle schoolers are always more excited than anyone for the Homecoming game.
In a twist of irony, this is the earliest I’m ready to leave all week. If I was picking up Irene today, there’s no chance she’d beat me to her driveway. I almost wish she needed a ride just so I could rub it in her face. And maybe so I could apologize for what I said yesterday.
Instead, I use the extra time to pick up coffee for my friends. Sweet Noelle’s, the best coffee shop in town, has painted its windows for the game tonight. When the barista sees me in my Fighting Reindeer shirt, she grins and gives me a free chocolate muffin. I stuff my face with it when I get back in my car, relishing in the privacy of driving alone again.
But when I pull into school a few minutes later, alone hits differently. People glance at my car, but when I’m the only one to get out of it, they turn away. I guess they don’t care about me unless I’m shuttling Irene around.
I’m back to being a nobody, and I hate to admit it stings.
“Hey, happy Friday!” Gunther says when I show up with the coffee tray. “Why the special treat? Is it just because you love us?”
“Because I love you, and because I’m free.” I drop my backpack and lean against Danielle’s locker. “No more carpooling for me.”
I thought it would feel euphoric to announce that, but surprisingly, I feel kind of bereft.
“Ding-dong, the witch is dead,” Kevin says. He passes the coffees around, checking to see their descriptions first. “You sure you want this, Gunther?”
Gunther grimaces. He’s on a black coffee kick because he thinks it makes him more sophisticated. “I guess. Send thoughts and prayers.” He swallows the first sip like a kid taking medicine.
“And hazelnut with extra espresso for Danielle,” Kevin says, passing her the cup. “What’s the extra shot for today? The AP Lit test?”
“Yeah, ’cause I have to beat you,” Danielle says, hiking her eyebrows at him.
Kevin laughs. “It’s not a competition if you’re the only one in it, Danielle.”
“Still gonna leave you in the dust.”
“We get it, you guys are smart,” Gunther says, rolling his eyes. “Can we focus on the topic at hand? Scottie’s back to being one of us.”
Kevin and Danielle laugh. “I have to admit, I’m kind of bummed,” Danielle says. “I was getting used to our cheering section.”
“Yeah, I was ready for the cheerleaders to start cheering at your games,” Gunther says. “Which means I’d get to, too.”
“They’d never switch to cheering for us,” I say.
“They might. I heard a bunch of the cheerleaders talking about how good y’all are.” Gunther pauses, and for some reason his cheeks flush pink. “Honey-Belle said you’re her she-roes.”
Danielle and I laugh, but before we can respond, my phone chimes with that dreaded tone.
Tally Gibson: Glad to see you’re free of her.
“How does she know these things?” I whine, showing my friends the message.
Danielle huffs as usual, but Kevin pulls out his phone. “Damn,” he mutters. “Gino needs to get a life.”
He shows us Gino’s Instagram Story: a video of Irene and Honey-Belle getting out of Honey-Belle’s Jeep. The caption says No more Uber service, back to riding with the elites!!
“The ‘elites’?” Danielle says with disgust. “God, they practically parody themselves.”
“Weren’t you just saying you enjoyed their cheering section?” Kevin teases, and Danielle shoves him.
I don’t say anything. A hot wave of embarrassment flushes over my body. I’m mortified that Gino would write that. I’m even more mortified that Tally saw it.
* * *
During first period, we have a special extended schedule so the video journalism kids can broadcast their latest news segment. It’s Homecoming-centric, with a choppy story about the football team’s practice regimen and interviews with the student gov kids about their decorating plans. The last segment is about Homecoming Court. Ten people from my grade are nominated for the King and Queen spots, and one of the Cleveland triplets, who have their hands in everything that goes on here, nabbed interviews with them.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s an honor,” one guy says.
“I’m so excited, just so, so excited,” a peppy girl grins.
Charlotte Pascal is up next. “To get this kind of recognition from your peers, it’s just—what more can you ask for?”
And then Irene’s face pops up, and I squirm uncomfortably in my seat.
“Are you so excited?” the Cleveland triplet asks.
“Yeah, it’s a trip,” Irene says with a casual flick of her hair. She sounds like she couldn’t give two shits.
“Are you nervous?”
Irene blinks. “For the game, yeah. I’m concerned about getting our routines right. We’ve been working our asses off, and right now I’m splitting my time between football and basketball cheerleading, with different sets for each—so I want to make sure we do everything right on Friday night.”
“Why didn’t they bleep out ‘asses’?” my civics teacher asks. “And what’s with this girl’s answer?”
“She’s cheerleading captain,” one of my classmates says.
“So?”
“So that’s all she ever talks about. Her friend Honey-Belle says she’s running for Student Athlete of the Year.”
“As a cheerleader?” someone sneers.
The shot changes to another nominee, but I stop listening. An unwelcome feeling stretches over me, like I’m starting to understand Irene Abraham even if I don’t want to.
* * *
Practice that afternoon is dead. The whole team seems to understand that our short-lived glory is over. When we finish for the day with no one in the gym but ourselves, the mood is sour and defeated. Googy tries to lighten things by asking me to hit Irene’s car again. Nobody laughs.
When Danielle and I walk outside, my irritation spikes. There’s a number of fans already tailgating by the football field and I’m bitter to realize they’ll never show up for one of my games in the same way. No wonder Tally wanted to transfer.
