Cheerleading Can Be Murder (Horror High #1) (3 page)

“Yeah, so? What does that have to do with Genevieve? Get to the point,” Sydney demanded. I shot Sydney a hateful look. “Sorry,” Sydney murmured under her breath.

“It turns out his girlfriend was waiting out front for him, and she saw that he’d given me a lift, and…she also saw the kiss,” Amanda explained. “How was I supposed to know he had a girlfriend?”

I knew where this conversation was headed. “Let me guess. The guy you kissed…it was Genevieve’s boyfriend, Ronnie, right?” I asked, flatly.

“Yeah, Ronnie. That’s his name!” Amanda exclaimed, cheerfully dipping her spoon into a small pudding cup. She filled her mouth with chocolate, then flashed me a silly black-toothed smile.

I rolled my eyes. Yesterday I liked her…ten
minutes
ago, I liked her. But at the moment? Not so much.

Sydney shot me a knowing glance. The last thing I needed was another girl flirting with Ronnie, the crusher of my heart and asshole of the century.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot!” Amanda chimed in, interrupting my hateful thoughts. With her painted black nails—the nails
I
painted for her when I still liked her—she slid a pink and purple flier across the table. I stared at it.

“Do you know that cheerleading tryouts are today? I think I’ll try out!” Amanda announced gleefully.

I tried my best to stifle a groan, but the sound escaped anyway. I laid my head on the Formica lunch table, reminding myself to breathe. Not only was Amanda after my ex, but now she was taking my spot on the squad?

My first day as a high school freshman was getting off to a rocky start.

Chapter Three

The Sociopath

I closed the door to the bathroom stall behind me. Listened. I didn’t hear anyone coming.

My backpack was heavy. Easing it off my shoulders, I rested the bulky thing on the stained toilet seat. I unzipped the pack. Stopped to listen again, but heard no one.

I stuck my hand in the bag, slipping past the new folders and notebooks. The tips of my fingers grazed cool metal.

I gripped the gun in my hand.

I pulled it out, admiring its shiny, sleek design and lightness despite its power.

I moved the backpack from the toilet seat to the floor, taking a seat myself. I pointed the gun at the stall door. From where I sat, there was very little distance between me and the door.

Just enough to extend my arm. I brought my other hand over, using it to steady my grip.

“Bang bang.” I aimed the gun at the letter
“S”
in a crude,
“School sucks”
message written on the door.

Suddenly, the main door to the bathroom swung open, loud sounds from the hallway pouring in…locker doors closing, sneakers squeaking, annoying voices of my classmates…
man, I hate Harrow High.

There were two people talking now, standing right in front of my door at the row of porcelain sinks. I tilted my head to the left…down, down, down…until I could make out the shapes of their legs only a few feet away.

If I wanted to, I could take the expression, “knocks their socks off” to a whole other level.

I lowered the gun, aimed it for the back of a tan, fuzzy calf. Closed my left eye.

My finger resting on the trigger, I pressed. It made a small, barely noticeable
click
.

“Bang bang,” I mouthed silently.

The gun wasn’t loaded. But tomorrow I’d bring some bullets.

Chapter Four

Dakota

Even if I was in the mood for socializing—I wasn’t—there was, once again, no one to talk to in my fourth period, Spanish class. I wondered how to say “I’m bored” in Español?

Yawning, I flipped through my paperback textbook, skimming the terms in the glossary until I received my answer. “
Estoy aburrido
,” I muttered.

“Miss Densford?” Mr. Thompson called out, his voice strangely feminine for such a hairy, gruff man like himself.

I sat up ramrod straight from my previously slumped position.

“Anything you want to share with the class?” He was grinning like a Cheshire cat. I squeezed my lips together and shook my head nervously.

“Perhaps you would find my class more entertaining if you taught it yourself?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows challengingly.

Getting on your Spanish teacher’s shit list on the first day of high school was never a good idea.
Too late.

“No sir.” I offered a tight, apologetic smile. He turned back around to the whiteboard and when he did, I heard a melodic giggle coming from the back.
How did I miss that poof of red hair and glittering eyes in the back of the room?
It was Mariella, Genevieve’s best friend.

I shot a dirty look over my shoulder, and then tried to focus on the droning sound of Mr. Thompson’s voice for the remainder of the period. When the class bell rang, I was more than a little relieved. How was I going to make it through an entire school year filled with such boring classes?

School won’t be so bad if you’re a varsity cheerleader,
I reminded myself.

Ronnie played forward on the basketball team.
Perhaps if he saw me on the sidelines in one of those cute little skirts, showing off my cheerleading moves, he’d want me back
, I considered. Even though I wanted him to want me back, I didn’t plan on giving him the time of day when he did. He crushed me, simple as that. All I wanted was an opportunity to return the favor.

***

After spending an hour in a class with one of my enemies and a teacher who now hated my guts, I was relieved to see Sydney and Amanda standing right inside the doorway of the gymnasium, which was where Phys Ed was held. In less than two hours, I would return to this exact place for cheerleading tryouts. Thinking about it made me nervous and excited all at the same time.

Amanda and Sydney were waiting for me, and I enjoyed seeing my two friends together, getting along even though they’d just met. “What’s up, girls?” I hoped they didn’t hear the quiver in my voice.

I took a deep breath, tagging along behind my two friends, who were headed to the girls’ locker room to change into their gym clothes. I wasn’t a big fan of getting sweaty before tryouts had even begun, and I could only hope that we wouldn’t be doing anything too physical on our first day. Cheerleading requires a great deal of athleticism, but I wasn’t crazy about sports involving a ball.

We found a spot to change in the far left corner of the locker room, and I retrieved my pair of gym shorts and a plain white t-shirt out of my backpack. It was stuffed to the gills with my athletic wear for tryouts, a handful of hair accessories, my toothbrush, and a small bag of makeup. I planned on fixing up before tryouts. For now, I turned my back to the others and began stripping out of my jeans and Harrow High t-shirt.

I was seriously modest for several reasons. For one, I was short and slightly chubby. You know those girls with the flat, perfect abs? Well, I’ll never be one of those girls. And despite my small, curvaceous figure, I’d never had much of a chest. I couldn’t help feeling a little ripped off somehow.

I quickly yanked my t-shirt over my head and shimmied my hips into the tiny gym shorts. I kept my eyes down, avoiding the other girls with their nicely toned, athletic physiques. Suddenly, a high-pitched giggle rang out in the locker room. This time it was coming from the queen bee—Queen Bitch is more like it—herself, Genevieve. She was standing in a row of other girls, pointing right at me. I didn’t know what she was saying and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know.

I threw my backpack into the locker and jogged out to the gym floor, keeping my eyes on the laces of my gym shoes. I hit a brick wall. Only, it wasn’t a wall, it was Ronnie.

“Are you okay, Dakota?” He looked down at me with genuine concern.

“I’m fine.” The corners of my lips curved into a smile despite my better judgement. Ronnie had this effect on me. It was the first time he’d looked at me or spoken to me since he’d broken things off at the end of last year. Memories of our short, but sweet relationship came flooding back. He smiled back slightly, and we seemed to be having a moment. Tucking my hair behind my ears nervously, I opened my mouth to speak…

But then I was interrupted by the whipping motion of a bleached blonde ponytail, and a body cutting right between us. It was Genevieve, of course.

Go figure that the one class I have with Ronnie is also the class that I share with Genevieve
.
That is just my luck on a day like today.

“I’m so glad we’re in Phys Ed together, Pooky Bear!” she squealed, grabbing his forearm and leading him off toward the center of the floor.
Pooky Bear? So disgusting!

“Maybe, if we have time, I’ll show you some of my cheerleading moves before tryouts!” she bragged, looking back at me smugly.

At that moment, I wished I had an egg to throw at her glittery, perfectly made up, fake-tanned face. But since this was a gymnasium and not a chicken coop, I headed out to the middle of the gym floor, trying to shake it off.

I saw the net and bundles of balls on each side, and I realized we were playing dodge ball. Another internal groan. Sydney and Amanda jogged over to my side of the net, and we all began stretching our arms and hamstrings. I couldn’t keep myself from glancing through the mesh onto the other side of the court. Genevieve and Ronnie were still hanging all over each other.
Barf.

Our gym teacher, Ms. Lancioni, strolled into the gym, balancing a dodge ball in her right hand and holding a turquoise-colored whistle in the other. In a deep, gravelly voice, she explained the rules of the game, informing my team that it was our turn to throw first. At the sound of her whistle, it was time to throw down.

My own dodge ball was tucked neatly under my arm, and as I continued to glare across the court at Genevieve, I had an uplifting thought.
This may not be a chicken coop, and there may not be eggs to throw, but I have something even better to chuck at her right now, and I can’t even get in trouble for it
. I smiled down at my ball happily. Today, dodge ball was my favorite sport.

I’d never had terrific aim when it came to dodge ball, or any sport for that matter, but I’d never been this motivated either. Genevieve wasn’t paying attention to the game, and for a moment, she turned her back to the net, leaning over to whisper something to Ronnie. The whistle sounded and that’s when I threw it.

My aim was spot on. The ball flew through the air, then drilled her right in the center of her back. She yelped loudly, falling to her knees. Embarrassed, she jumped back up to her feet, brushing nonexistent debris from her knees and upper thighs.

“Who did that?” she howled, the annoying sound of her voice echoing throughout the massive gymnasium. Not backing down, I smiled at her brightly and locked my eyes on hers, enjoying one small moment of revenge. Little did she know, I was planning to achieve a much greater revenge—I was going to get a spot on the squad, no matter what it took to obtain it.

***

The last period of the day was Study Hall. Lucky for me, it was only forty minutes long. The first twenty-five minutes was supposed to be for quiet, individualized study and homework, but the last fifteen minutes was free time. Since I had very little schoolwork from my first day, I planned to rehearse some of my moves in my mind and do some positive self-talk and meditation. Then I planned on spending the last fifteen minutes applying makeup and styling my hair, so that all I’d have to do when the bell rang was put on my gym clothes and wait for tryouts to begin.

I found a decent seat in the back, but didn’t see Sydney or Amanda. I was hoping to see them, but in all honesty, I needed some time to relax and calm my nerves. I was just grateful not to see Genevieve or her pal, Mariella. I placed my overloaded backpack under the seat, got comfortable, and then leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes.

My mother had a degree in Social Work, and I couldn’t begin to count the number of times she preached about the usefulness of relaxation techniques and positive imaging. I decided to take a page from her book, imagining myself standing alone in the middle of the gym floor.

My feet were planted firmly on the hardwood surface, and I stared straight ahead with a smile. I bent my knees, keeping my back and neck straight as an arrow. Lifting my arms, I pushed off from my toes, and reached my knees up to my chin as I flipped. My feet hit the floor simultaneously. I’d landed my standing back tuck perfectly.

I’d pictured this scenario a thousand times, and in the next scene, the gymnasium erupted with applause. But that part never came because a whiny, high-pitched voice invaded my daydream, and I jerked my eyes open, agitated. The voice belonged to Brittani Barlow, Principal Barlow’s daughter, sitting in the desk right next to me.

She was talking to two other classmates about tryouts. “It’s going to be an awesome year. I know we’ll definitely get to go to the finals in Dallas!” she declared, not caring that everyone around us could hear her. She was talking about one of the biggest cheer competitions in the country, and she was talking about it as though she’d already made the team. I couldn’t help it this time. I groaned audibly.

She jerked around, eyeballing me. “Just yawning,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Are you trying out this year, Dakota?”

“Yes, I am,” I admitted, waiting for a rude retort.

Instead she surprised me by saying, “Good luck today,” and she actually sounded genuine. “Thanks. You too,” I grumbled, closing my eyes again.

I tried to conjure up more images of success, but I’d lost interest in it. Mrs. Bartlett was sitting at a stiff metal desk in the front, grading papers.
What could she possibly be grading on the first day already?
I wondered. The important thing was that she was in her own little world, and didn’t seem to be paying attention to us. It wasn’t free time yet, but I pulled out my makeup bag anyway. I started applying concealer methodically.

I didn’t usually wear much makeup, but today was not a typical day. I smiled at myself in the mirror, and again tried to channel my mother’s method of positive thinking. But it was hard for me when I looked in the mirror. I was by no means ugly, but I
was
rather plain, with mousy brown hair that hung slightly below my shoulders. It’s not curly, but it’s not straight either. I had light blue eyes and average skin. I just didn’t feel like anything special, really.

But when I put on the glitter, channeled my inner glam girl, and jiggled those pompoms around, I somehow felt like a better version of myself.
I’ve got to make the team
, I thought determinedly. I finished my makeup and secured my hair in a basic ponytail. I added a thin, black and gold ribbon to it, to represent Harrow’s school colors. I couldn’t help it—I had to look at the clock. Only a few minutes to go!

It was time to knock their freaking socks off.