Kelly McClymer-Salem Witch 03 She's A Witch Girl (7 page)

“Hmm.” Tara actually sounded thoughtful. “You’ve been holding out on us. These moves are amazing.” She glanced around at the mesmerized mortals around us. “Do you think you can beat your old choreography?”

Could I? “With one pom-pom tied behind my back.” I wasn’t going to let Tara doubt it, even if I did as I watched my routines come to competitive life.

I couldn’t even be mad that they’d stolen my notebook, because I’d given it over willingly when my parents had yanked me clear across country. At the time, I’d wanted them to keep winning. But now, four months later? I wished I wouldn’t get into trouble with my mom for taking the notebook back and wiping from every team member’s memory that I’d ever given it to her in the first place.

Chezzie had made a few changes, of course. When you were head cheerleader, you had to put your stamp on the year, or you couldn’t hold your head up high. She’d gotten rid of a solo triple backflip I’d choreographed just for Maddie. She’d replaced it with a pair of double backflips, for Chezzie and a new girl I didn’t know. They were good. So good, it didn’t escape me that some of the other girls watched with a little extra tension in their shoulders. Maddie was one of them. I hoped Chezzie’s stellar performance burned Maddie raw, deep inside her heart.

But as I watched Maddie, having lost fifteen pounds and gained the confidence to stand without wavering on the raised hands of her teammates, I knew it didn’t. She was a team player, and she was busy nailing her part of the routine. I remembered what that felt like, and I clapped like mad when the music and the girls stopped at exactly the same moment, routine over. Routine nailed. The crowd gave them a standing ovation.

For a teeny part of a second, I felt like a part of the team
again. I felt sure that if I ran down there, magically transformed into a Beverly Hills cheerleader again, they’d pull me into the victory embrace. Credit me with helping to make the winning routine. Call me a cheer sister again.

But as I saw Maddie run off to do the victory embrace with Brent, I knew I could never go back.

The words would be right. The credit would be partially mine. But I was no longer a part of the team. They had moved past me. Way past me. If I showed up on the floor, it would be like a ghost from the past. Sure, you bow and honor her, but you don’t expect her to begin eating, breathing, or living on the mortal plane again. Her time had passed. My time as a part of the Beverly Hills team had passed.

It was time to show the Witches what I could do.

I stood there watching my old team, in the uniform
I knew so well; I could close my eyes and feel it on me, celebrate the spectacular and no doubt winning performance as I fought the pain of knowing I was history here.

After a minute, the pain dulled enough for me to talk as if I weren’t devastated by déjà vu with a sour lemon twist of never again. “I think they’re going to win this competition. If they do, they’ll definitely be one of the top-rated teams in the finals.”

“So if we decide we want to do this national competition thing, we’ll have to beat them? I know it’s what you wanted. But, still, won’t that be weird for you?” Tara got that glittery look again. “Facing your old team?”

“Yes.” I struggled with the image of me standing with the Witches, holding the trophy, seeing the Beverly Hills team off to the side. I’d tossed the idea of competing against my old team out there once or twice in a conversation with Maddie, back when I was still talking—or rather texting— with her. But part of me never really believed that I could want to be on another team—face my old team down and win. Until now.

Now. Well, suffice it to say that all I wanted was to whip the Witches into shape, sweep the next regionals to erase our old defeat from cheer memory, and take my old team down. It would be interesting, too—the old, mortal, routine-writing me against the new, witch, routine-writing me.

I thumped back to earth. The only problem with me versus me is that both my old and new routines required a good team to carry them out. The Beverly Hills girls worked together well, understood the power of synchronicity, and didn’t think muscle power was beneath them.

The Witches, well, they didn’t argue that there was no I in team. But they had been quick to remind me that there
was
one in witch. The discipline and dedication—and pain— required to get us into championship form was still missing, despite my best efforts. “Can’t you imagine us? Out there? The crowd clapping for us?”

“Maybe.” Tara shrugged, clearly not convinced it was worth the effort. “But what if we didn’t? How hard would it
be for you to lose to the girl who stole your boyfriend?”

Hard. “I’d survive.” Barely. Not that Maddie had really stolen my boyfriend. Technically. If I’d still been in Beverly Hills, I’m sure she wouldn’t have dated Brent. Become his girlfriend. Become the Beeyotch from the planet Pod. Still, she had—despite near daily text messages between us for that first few weeks after my move—forgotten to mention that little fact to me.

“It would be sweet, though, wouldn’t it?” I knew Tara was egging me on. Trying to find out how much I wanted this. “To take her down a little, like she did you?”

I saw the yellow light flashing in her eyes. It would be very dangerous to let Tara know how much I wanted this if she wasn’t on board with the whole “beat Beverly Hills” motif. She’d start asking for a lot more than a little Angelo time in return. Still, I said, “Yes.” Only because I knew she, of all people, wouldn’t believe me if I tried to deny how much I would like to see Maddie’s new ice-queen expression melt when she saw my new team beat hers.

“So would you be willing to use your”—she glanced around at the crowd, which was breaking up to go get lunch—“special skills to make sure we win?”

Before I could answer, I heard Chezzie’s voice calling my name. I turned my head, going into cheering mode as my survival instincts kicked in. I plastered a rah-rah grin on my face, even though what I really wanted to do was run . . .
fly . . . away. Chezzie and I had been on the outs since grammar school. It had something to do with her seeing me do magic and my mom’s mind-wipe not working perfectly. Chezzie didn’t think I was a witch, though. Just the devil.

I watched as she climbed up into the bleachers. “Did you see us? I think we nailed it. What do you think?”

“I think you did too.” I raised my arms in a V and pretended I had pom-poms to shake. “Go, team! Win it!”

Some of the other girls had trailed her and were climbing up into the bleachers. A nightmare in living color. No escape for the witches. Great.

There was a babble of questions that reminded me of old times. I couldn’t tell who was asking what. “Did your parents let you come for a visit?” and “Weren’t we great?” and “How did you get here?” I knew, however, that no one was going to allow me time to answer before the last question. When it finally came, it hurt. “Are you moving back?”

I didn’t see who asked the questions, and I didn’t care. I blurted out, “No way. I love Salem. Did I introduce Tara? She’s the head cheerleader of my Salem team.”

“So why did you come back?” There was almost a hostility to the question. Like they thought I’d come to sabotage them.

I tried to look harmless. “I wanted to see how my routines worked in competition. Mom and Dad were kewl with it. Thank goodness for the red-eye, huh? You guys were great.”

Chezzie narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, we worked hard to glitter up those ideas of yours. It was great you had some notes to get us started with—really gave us a head start.”

Her words swam around in my head furiously. Glitter up. Some notes. Head start. Beeyotch.

Tara had my back, surprisingly enough. “Pru’s a genius with the routines, isn’t she? Wait until you see what she’s done for our team.”

“Are you going to send us a DVD? ’Cause I don’t think any of us are planning to go slumming in Salem anytime soon. Are we, girls?” There was a faint, unenthusiastic chorus of no’s.

Chezzie’s competition high was wearing off faster than expected. Which left her even more of a tired beeyotch than usual. So sad—for her, not me.

Tara practically purred her answer. “I meant at Nationals, of course. When we beat you.”

Chezzie smiled and shook her finger at me. “It’s not nice to copy other teams’ routines. I’d expect you to know that, Pru. You’ve been on a championship team before.” She looked down her plastic-surgery-perfect nose at Tara. “Unlike some people.”

Big mistake. For a second, I thought Tara might turn her into a ferret, no matter what the consequences. But, instead, she just returned Chezzie’s fake helpful tone. “Don’t be silly. I’m not the kind of head cheerleader who’d use those
routines—they’re soooo last summer. Pru’s been working on cutting-edge stuff for the Witches.”

I might have been a bit more worried at the definition of “cutting edge” if I hadn’t just then seen Maddie turn to look for Chezzie and catch sight of her talking to me. She didn’t look happy to see us all standing there in the bleachers. I guess she hoped no one else on my old team would notice us in the stands. Too bad for her, Chezzie has good eyesight.

Maddie didn’t start over right away. She looked at Brent first. She didn’t say anything to him, just grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her as she walked slowly toward us again. Could things possibly get worse?

Chezzie looked at Tara. “Pru said you’re head cheerleader?” She turned to me, and I could see her trying to decide how to dull my cutting edge. Just then, Maddie and Brent appeared. Chezzie smiled, pulling Maddie up beside her. “Guess what, Maddie! Pru’s been creating cutting-edge routines for her new team. They think they’re going to beat us.”

“We
are
going to beat you. Without breaking a sweat.” Tara wasn’t afraid of making idle threats. She had the magic to back it up. Not that that would be a good thing. But I don’t think she cared at the moment. I know I didn’t.

Chezzie said, oh so casually, “But how can you have time for new routines when you’re trying so hard to pass your classes?” She smiled at Maddie. “Isn’t that what you told everyone? That Pru wasn’t doing well at her new school?”

Maddie’s newest betrayal sparked a slow burn inside. Sure, it was one thing to poach Brent when I wasn’t around. But to tell my secrets?

The backstabber didn’t even have the grace to pretend she felt shame. She just looked at me and oh-so-innocently asked, “I forgot, it’s been so long ago. But didn’t you say you were in remedial classes in that fancy new school of yours?”

I raised an eyebrow, thinking of how to deny Maddie’s charges without outright lying. “I’m not in remedial classes. You must have misread my texts.” I flicked a glance at Brent. “Maybe you were trying to do two things at once and the text message got lost in translation.”

Tara had no compunction about lying. “Pru’s not just a great student, she’s a great cheerleader. I’m lucky to have her on my team. We’re going to win Nationals this year, so start getting used to the idea of second place. ’K?”

Chezzie was done with me. She and Tara were face-to-face—and neither face was happy underneath the fake cheerleader smiles. “Have you ever competed before?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course we have.” Tara conveniently forgot our recent stinging loss. Easy for her, it was her first competition. Not so easy for me—I’d been on a winning team for so long, I had forgotten that there was a possibility my team wouldn’t end up in the top five. “And, in one week and five hours, we’ll be winning the Frozen Four Regionals.”

“Is that so?” Chezzie grinned, for real this time. “Then, no offense, I think you’re the one who ought to be getting used to the sound of second place—if you’re lucky.”

Tara raised her chin. “We’re not only lucky. We’re good.” Good liars, anyway.

I tried not to glance at Maddie, but failed. She stared back at me like I was a stranger. And then she hooked her arm around Brent’s waist. The look in her eye dared me to do something about it. Lucky for her, I didn’t.

The loudspeaker announced that the judges were going to present awards and called the teams to the floor.

Chezzie gave Tara one last glare. “Whatever. Watch real winners and get a clue.”

The girls moved quickly back to the floor, lining back up like the champions they were.

Tara was still fuming. Her lack of interest had undergone a transformation to an intensity that didn’t bode well for Chezzie or the Beverly Hills team. “It’s not too late for a little tiny earthquake, just under their feet.”

“No. Don’t.” I knew how to use a moment, when it came my way. “We’ll get them where it counts. At Nationals.”

The judges called the prizes. As had become habit, the Beverly Hills team won. I stood and clapped when my old team won first place—as if it had ever been in doubt. “Cheating’s not the way to win, Tara. That’s not what competition is about, not even for witches.”

I admit I regretted it a moment later, when Brent ran out onto the floor and folded Maddie in his arms.

Tara must have been under the mistaken impression I wasn’t as steamed as she was. “So you’re just going to let her get away with stealing your routines and your boyfriend?”