She Drives Me Crazy(67)

As 7:00 P.M. finally approaches, I’m shaking with nerves. Danielle gathers our team in the locker room and tells every single one of us why she’s proud of us. Coach Fernandez is there, but she merely hovers in the background like a phantom. Danielle directs her to carry our water cooler out to the bench.

When we run onto the court for warm-ups, I wear my jersey and a pair of lumpy old sweatpants to hide my outfit underneath. I join my teammates in layup drills and warm-up shots even though I’m not playing until the second half. I’ll get my real version of a warm-up at halftime.

The bleachers are packed to capacity. Some people are actually standing beneath them because they can’t find a place to sit. I scan the crowd for my family and find their line of red hair easily enough; they’re waving posters and screaming my name. The Zanders are sitting in front of them with a giant Fathead of Danielle’s face. Mr. Zander keeps making it dance.

It’s harder to find Dr. Abraham in the sea of spectators, but I trust she’s a woman of her word. She’ll be here.

Funny enough, the last person I look for is Tally, over on the Candlehawk bench. I almost forgot she was playing tonight. I pictured this moment for months—the culmination of my dream to outdo her—and now that it’s here, I feel nothing for her. The realization makes me laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Danielle asks, jiggling her leg nervously.

“Nothing. Are you ready, Coach?”

Danielle gets that steely look in her eyes. “So ready. Are you?”

There’s a tap on my shoulder. I spin around to find Irene standing behind me, glammed up in makeup and hair glitter, her cheer uniform impeccably pressed. She grins my way and I remember very suddenly why she was nominated for “Best Smile.”

“Wanted to wish you luck,” she says breathlessly.

It takes me a second to remember how to speak. “You too.”

“I don’t need luck.” She smiles playfully. “I’ve got these routines down to a T.”

“You don’t say.”

Her eyes are warm on mine. “Go kill it, Zajac.”

“Show ’em how it’s done, Abraham.”

Minutes later, my teammates take their places at half-court. I watch nervously from the bench, still wearing my sweatpants. People seem to be confused about why I’m not starting. My family is whispering to the Zanders. Irene tosses me a questioning look, pom-poms tight behind her back.

The referee throws the jump ball and the game begins.



* * *



It’s an evenly matched game for the first two quarters. Danielle is on fire, but so is the Candlehawk point guard. When we score, so do they; when they have a turnover, so do we. It’s frustrating and emotionally exhausting, but I’m proud of our scrappiness. We look much different than we did four months ago.

The closer we get to halftime, the harder my heart pounds. I text Kevin over and over to make sure everything’s all set. Honey-Belle keeps looking at me from the sidelines, her grin practically giving us away. The only unruffled one might be Gunther, but it’s hard to say since he’s hidden beneath the Fighting Reindeer costume.

The second quarter winds down. In the last minute of play, Candlehawk hits a three-pointer, and the red, tinseled half of the crowd groans. Candlehawk is now leading by five. My team tries to come back, but Danielle misses an inside shot.

And then the buzzer blares. It’s halftime and my teammates come running off the court, frustrated and tired. But none of them heads for the locker room. They gather around me instead.

“You got this,” Danielle says, smacking my arm. “Leave it all on the court, right?”

I take a deep breath and wipe my sweaty hands on my sweatpants. And then, using my teammates’ bodies to shield myself, I pull off my jersey and sweatpants. Now it’s time to wait for the signal from Honey-Belle.

The cheerleaders gather at the half-court line, ready to begin what everyone thinks is a normal halftime show. Irene stands at the front, strong and proud, ready to lead them.

Until Honey-Belle strides up beside her, grabs Irene’s pom-poms, and throws them aside.

“What—?” Irene says, looking scandalized.

Honey-Belle says something to her. She tugs on Irene’s hands, pulling her away from the squad. Irene is resistant, looking for backup, stubborn as all hell. Honey-Belle drags her to the bleachers and seats her in the front row. By this point, the whole crowd is whispering urgently. No one knows what’s going on.

Honey-Belle spins around, wiggles her hands above her head like antlers, and sprints back to join her squad in the middle of the court.

I take one last deep breath and wait for my cue.

Suddenly, deafening music blares from the sound system. Kevin came through with the audio.

Now I’ve had the time of my life …

I break through the wall of my teammates and run toward the cheerleaders. They part down the middle, giving me center stage. The crowd is suddenly screaming. They’re putting the pieces together in one swift, dizzying moment: the Dirty Dancing theme, the routine we’re starting up, and me, dancing like a fool in a regulation Grandma Earl cheerleading uniform.

But I’m only looking at one person.

Irene is flabbergasted. Her eyebrows are practically up to her hairline, her mouth hanging open, her arms flopped at her sides. For one horrifying second, I think I’ve gotten this all wrong.