Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(44)
“Pines, Pines, Pines, Pines,” the fans chanted. Their voices trickled into where the Oilerettes were gathered, ribbons in hair, laces tied, muscles limbered.
Ava pulled back her hand as if I’d literally tried to bite it. “Whoa, you look … totally wigged out.”
The girls turned to me expectantly, cracking knuckles, stretching hamstrings. This was it. Last night—whatever had happened—had clearly been a setback in the girls’ trust for me. But they’d given me until the Lamar game—the first night of the play-offs and the weekend-long tournament—to prove myself as captain and, true to their word, here I was, still captain. The stakes were high. It was time to put up or shut up … and get out.
The thunderous roar of feet stomping at bleachers split my aching skull. “I’m not wigged out.” I pulled my spine straighter, drawing myself up taller. My tone was brittle. “I’m focused. Big difference. And can’t say I’m loving your lackadaisical attitude.” A sickly sheen of sweat coated my forehead. I could use a dose of Sunshine right now. I was practically kicking myself for throwing it down the toilet.
Ava wrinkled her nose. She had splashes of glitter on her cheeks. “Lacksa-what-ical?”
I’m fine, I repeated internally. Only I knew exactly what Ava meant. Three layers of concealer couldn’t hide the purplish circles seeping out from the skin underneath my eyes. The space between my ears rang, I hadn’t taken a bite out of anything all day, and now my stomach felt as hollowed out as the inside of a jack-o’-lantern.
I scanned the fifteen pairs of eyes that circled me and reminded myself not to feel claustrophobic. They were supposed to be looking to me for guidance. I was, after all, their captain.
“Erica,” I snapped. “Spit out your gum before I chew you out. Ashley, core tight. Paisley, less bitch face, more smiles. Remember to put the ‘cheer’ in cheerleader.”
“Okay, captain, whatever you say. But remind me again. Who’s going to put the leader in there?” Paisley pinned a phony smile across her face.
Several girls snickered but stopped when I shot them a poisonous stare. I could tell the events of last night left them a little more nervous around me than usual. I seemed to have something of a ticking bomb effect.
Sweat pooled between my fingers. I shouldn’t have stopped taking Sunshine only a day before the big game. Everything felt wrong. Like I was half a beat off and couldn’t tell whether I was too fast or too slow.
I mustered up my best can-do attitude. “It’s a full house,” I said. “Let’s get ready to bring it.” I put my hand in the center of the circle, hoping that the girls wouldn’t notice the way it trembled, the way I trembled like a junkie in rehab. More hands stacked over the top of mine. “One, two, three, break!” In unison we all raised our hands to the ceiling and whooped.
I was the first one barreling out the door. I sashayed and waved my pom-poms. The smile I held felt as though a Barbie manufacturer had molded it into place. Do what they expect, I commanded.
I caught sight of Liam near the sidelines where he was stripping off his warm-up layers. I pulled my eyes away and hoped he didn’t notice. The fabric of my already fragile world was tearing apart. No more Sunshine. No more gimmicks. Like it or not, I was going to have to do this on my own. We arrived in front of the home crowd bleachers. I bumped elbows with Oiler Dan, the school’s big-headed mascot, as I found my place in formation.
“Watch it.” The kid underneath the mascot head staggered, catching himself on the table with the Gatorade dispenser.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Get it together. I stretched my fingers at my side and rolled back my shoulders. Nerves. I made sure I was in alignment with the other girls. I was Cassidy Hyde. Cassidy-freaking-Hyde. And I could do this.
But as I stared up into the screaming sea of faces a wave of nausea nearly knocked me sideways. Cold perspiration popped up on my upper lip. I closed my eyes and blew out a long breath. Shut it all out. Everything that happened in the last week, shut it out. This was my chance.
“Ready?” I clapped my pom-poms—one orange, one black—twice. “Okay. Five, six, seven, eight.” The other girls joined in with our first cheer of the night. “Beat ’em, bust ’em, that’s our custom. Beat ’em, bust ’em, that’s our custom. Let’s go, Oilers, readjust them!”
I executed a high kick, spun on my toe, and finished with my hands straight out and forming a T with my body.
“Go, Oilers!” Ava bounced out of the ending pose. She raised her eyebrows and nodded at me as if to say, good job.
Behind us, the first quarter had begun. Each time our players got the ball, we encouraged the fans to cheer and when the other team charged for their basket, we led the fans in a cheer of “Defense!”
When I looked up, I saw the weird sophomore girl with the VW Beetle that I’d first met outside of practice a few nights ago, this time just staring at me. Her black bangs framed the pale moon complexion of her narrow face. A prickle worked its way up from my toes all the way to the top of my scalp. What was her name? Lena? She wasn’t watching the game. She was watching me.
The sight of her distracted me. I leaped into a straddle jump. My knees knocked together hard as I landed and I had to force myself not to flinch.
Lena’s eyes unsettled me. They felt so familiar, more so than they should. I recovered from the jump and tried to ignore her. But my legs were feeling shakier, whether from withdrawal or something else, something worse, I couldn’t tell. But Lena’s presence pushed on my consciousness like a finger kneading a bruise.