Brunettes Strike Back Read online

  “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that,” I said. “That was an amazing run.”

  “Thanks,” Daniel said as the celebration continued around us. “The guys are all going back to Crush’s house for a party, but I was thinking . . . maybe we could go to Dolly’s first? Just you and me? For some victory fries?”

  My pulse raced so hard that my body temperature sky-rocketed. See? He’s totally my boyfriend. He was probably hugging Sage only because she threw herself at him . . . right? One of these days that girl was going to have to start dealing with the fact that Daniel was my boyfriend now.

  Maybe.

  “I’m there,” I said.

  “Sweet,” he replied.

  He was just about to kiss me when a bunch of guys emerged from the crowd and lifted him up off his feet, hoisting him over their shoulders. I laughed at Daniel’s stunned expression. The mob went wild when they saw the hero of the moment lifted up above their heads. A couple of reporters from the local cable station approached the insanity, gunning for Daniel.

  “It could be a while!” Daniel shouted down to me as he was bumped away.

  “I’ll be here!” I shouted back.

  And then I did what any self-respecting cheerleader would do. I leaped into the psychotic throng.

  “Oy. You are just all kinds of barf-worthy right now,” Bethany Goow said to me as we walked toward the West Wind High parking lot with the rest of the Sand Dune crowd.

  “Gee, thanks,” I replied with an eye roll. “And did you just say ‘oy’? Are you Yiddish all of a sudden?”

  “I can ‘oy’ if I want to ‘oy,’” she grumbled.

  Actually, Bethany Goow could say pretty much anything and get away with it. She of the black eyeliner, black nail polish and jewelry that could probably double as weaponry was my best friend at Sand Dune High. The antithesis of all my other friends who loved school and loved life, Bethany hated pretty much everything around her. Except me. And her website, sucks-to-be-us.com. She reserved a special place in her bile pit for her brother, Bobby Goow, his girlfriend, Tara Timothy, and all the cheerleaders, football players and pep-squad members at SDH. Again, except for me. She came to the games only to support me—and crack herself up by mocking everybody else.

  I so wished I could introduce her to Jordan Trott, my bff from Jersey. The two of them practically shared the same brain from a thousand miles away. Unfortunately, I hadn’t even talked to Jordan in days. We were both so busy lately, it seemed like all we had time for was prolonged phone tag. But I would have to get her on the phone tonight. Jordan lived for a juicy SDH update and she would know exactly what to say to make me feel better about the whole Daniel and Sage situation.

  “Seriously, could you stop blushing for five seconds so I don’t have to hurl on Sage Barnard’s backpack,” she said, glancing up ahead. She frowned thoughtfully. “Actually . . . that could be interesting—”

  “Be my guest,” I grumbled.

  “Sweet,” Bethany said, rubbing her hands together.

  “No! I’m just kidding!” I cried, grabbing her arm. “I’m not blushing anymore.” While I wouldn’t mind seeing Sage’s face if someone barfed on her, I wasn’t quite jerky enough to let it happen.

  “Okay, so, I really want you to do an exposé on this whole nationals thing for the site,” Bethany said, unwrapping a Tootsie Pop and shoving it in her mouth. “You could go around and ask all the cheerleaders which is their preferred eating disorder of the moment and—”

  “Bethany!” I said with a groan. “I thought we were working on our stereotypes!”

  Her dark eyes widened. “I am! I just—”

  There went that flashbulb again, going off like a strobe light in my face. I squinted and instinctively raised my hands. Before I knew what was happening, I heard a scuffle, and when I was able to focus again, Bethany had a tall, skinny guy in a blue polo shirt pinned up against the chain-link fence that ran all around the football field. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Maybe it was the look of terror in his eyes that was throwing me off.

  “Bethany!” Jaimee gasped, jogging up from behind us.

  “Somebody’s been working out,” the kid said.

  Bethany ripped the camera out of his hand and let his neck go. “Ever hear of personal space?” she asked.

  He looked and smirked. “Ever hear of small claims court? ’Cause if you break my camera, that’s where we’ll be.”

  “No need to sue,” I said. “Bethany, give the nice boy his camera back.”

  Bethany narrowed her eyes and offered up the digital camera. The kid checked it over quickly, making sure nothing was broken. He looked at me and sort of half smiled, and suddenly I knew why I knew him. This was the guy. The guy who had taken the most humiliating picture of my life. I hated this guy.

  A few weeks back, during my very first pep rally at Sand Dune High, I had gotten overzealous and missed the foot placement on one of our pyramids. Thanks to my supreme klutziness, the whole stunt had gone down and this kid had snapped a picture of me with my skirt up and my briefs on display. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he had slapped it on the front page of the school newspaper, the Weekly Catch, for all the world to see and save.

  “Annisa, this is Steven Schwinn,” Jaimee said with her ever-present bright smile. “Steven is one of my best friends. We’ve known each other since we were about five years old and he knocked on my door and asked my parents if he could swim in our pool. He already had his swimmies on and a mask and everything. And he was, like, breathing through a snorkel. I thought he was going to faint. It was so cute. So anyway, when he said he wanted to meet you, I told him I would introduce you, natch. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Did I mention that Jaimee is a natural babbler? And she asks permission for basically everything. I wonder if her parents are really strict.

  “It’s a pleasure, milady,” Steven said. He lifted his camera and snapped a picture of my undoubtedly ill-looking face.

  “Did you just call her ‘milady’?” Bethany said, amused.

  “You have a problem with chivalry?” Steven asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, it was very chivalrous when you took a picture of me with my skirt over my head and published it for the entire school to enjoy,” I said flatly.

  “That was one of my favorite shots of all time,” Steven said proudly. He looked into his viewfinder and adjusted some knob or other. “I have it blown-up on the bulletin board in the Weekly Catch office. You know, you should autograph it for us!”

  Unbelievable. I looked at Bethany. “Him, you can barf on.”

  “Annisa!” Jaimee said, wide-eyed. She looked at Bethany like she thought Bethany was actually going to stick her finger down her throat.

  Steven lifted his free hand. “I was just doing my job!”

  “You have to take that picture down,” I told him. “I’ll beg if you want me to.”

  “Real-ly?” he said with a kind of suggestive grin.

  “Okay, you don’t know me well enough to look at me like that,” I said.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” Steven said. “Consider me shamed.”

  “I’d like to consider you invisible,” Bethany said, rolling her eyes.

  “I second that.”

  Bethany and I shook our heads and rejoined the crowd. I couldn’t believe Jaimee was friends with this nutcase. But then again, Jaimee was one of those super-nice people who could be friends with anyone. You had to love that about her.

  I noticed that Sage, Whitney, Tara, Bobby and Christopher had stopped up ahead to chat. I had no idea where Daniel had disappeared to, but my guess was he was being interviewed by those reporters who had corralled him after the game. My maybe-boyfriend the celebrity.

  “You’re going to have to get used to me, Annisa,” Steven said, failing to take our not-so-subtle hints. He fell into step with me. “I’m going to be covering all of the squad’s events from now until nationals. You know, following you all on your
road to glory.”

  “He’s doing a retrospectacle,” Jaimee said.

  “I think you mean retrospective,” Felice put in, walking up behind us.

  “Yeah, right,” Jaimee said, blushing slightly. “Anyway, he’s even coming on the bus with us and everything. Coach Holmes said it was okay.”

  “Great. Maybe you can get a shot of me snoring with drool coming out of my mouth,” I told him.

  “Funny,” he said. He whipped out a digital planner and powered it up. “So I want to schedule a time to meet with you one day this week. What’s good for you? I’m free Tuesday.”

  “Why do you want to meet with me?” I asked.

  “To interview you for my piece,” he said, like it was obvious.

  “Again, the question ‘why me?’ comes to mind.”

  “Yeah, why her?” Sage added, jumping into the conversation as we passed her by. I saw Bethany’s fingers curl into fists. Sage’s very voice sent Bethany’s undies into a twist. Mine too, actually.

  What was really irritating about her was that I had thought we were starting to become friends—or at least calling a truce. I mean, she had apologized to me for all the crappy stuff she had done to me in my first weeks on the squad. I had thought that meant something. But ever since regionals when Daniel had kissed me for luck instead of her, she had been back to her super-bitchy ways.

  “Well, you’re the new girl on the squad,” Steven said, addressing me and ignoring Sage. Nice. Maybe I did like this guy. “You’re from New Jersey and I heard you never competed before. You’re the perfect human-interest piece.”

  “Please! Her?” Sage said, pulling a disgusted face. “She’s so unphotogenic!”

  How this girl is in honors English with me, I have no idea.

  “Sage!” Jaimee scolded.

  “I’m not sure that’s a word,” Felice said.

  “Whatever, I’m just trying to be honest!” Sage replied. “Really, Annisa, your hair is, like, ripped from I Love the 90s.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to barf on her?” Bethany asked.

  “Ew! What are you even doing here?” Sage said to Bethany. “Shouldn’t you be under a rock somewhere?”

  “And shouldn’t you be off getting your lip waxed?” Bethany shot back.

  Sage gasped, brought her hand to her lip and scurried off. Good riddance.

  “Does she really need a lip wax?” I asked.

  “Please! Haven’t you ever seen her in natural light?” Bethany asked. “It’s like Chewbacca molted up there.”

  “So, about the article,” Steven said.

  “Look, I got dibs on Annisa’s story for my website,” Bethany told him, looping her arm around my shoulders. “So you can just take your little camera and go interview the water boy or something.”

  “You can’t have an exclusive on her!” Steven replied, his jaw dropping. “I work for the official SDH newspaper. We take priority over your underground web crap.”

  “Web crap? Oh, you are so dead!”

  Omigod. The press was arguing over me.

  “You guys!” I said, stopping in my tracks. “This isn’t about me! It’s about the squad!”

  I was no different from anyone else on my team. Well, unless you counted the short brown hair and the occasional—occasional—pyramid-obliterating clumsiness. Besides, my relationship with most of my team was sketchy enough as it was. After all, I had made the squad only when two other members had been tossed over getting caught drinking—an event most of the team blamed me for, thinking that I had tattled on their fallen teammates. (Not true, but people believe what they want to believe.) The last thing I needed was for any of them to think I was trying to steal the spotlight or hog the glory.

  “If anyone’s doing a story on nationals, it should be about the team,” I said firmly.

  “That’s just it. I’m doing a bunch of pieces, so I need a lot of different angles,” Steven told me.

  “That’s why they call it a retrospective,” Felice put in.

  “Exactly,” Steven said. “You’ll just be one angle of many.”

  “Come on, Annisa, you should totally do it,” Jaimee said. “I mean, if you want to,” she added with a shrug. “You don’t want to turn down your fifteen minutes, do you? I mean, unless you do.”

  “If you don’t do an interview, I’m going to do the piece anyway,” Steven said. “I’ll just have to talk to your teammates instead. Sage Barnard seemed like she might have a lot to say . . . ”

  “You wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Try me,” he replied.

  Bethany stuck her finger in her mouth and tilted her head toward him suggestively.

  “Come on, Annisa! You should do it! Free press!” Felice said.

  I sighed in resignation. “All right, fine. I’ll do the interview,” I said, my shoulders slumping as I started walking again.

  “Freakin’ mainstream press,” Bethany grumbled under her breath.

  I smirked and kicked at a soda cup in my path. Maybe Jaimee was right. Maybe it was time for my fifteen minutes. Well, at least my fifteen minutes with my skirt on properly.

  2

  “Annisa, I think you’re going vain on me,” Bethany said on Monday morning, picking a poppy seed from her teeth with her fingernail. No chance of her worrying about appearances.

  I stared at my reflection in my locker mirror and blew out a sigh. I had experimented with a new gel that morning with disastrous results. My hair was all slicked to the side with a random curl at the end and a kind of shiny veneer. I had been going for supermodel slick, but instead looked like a forty-year-old soccer mom. The blue-collared shirt I had decided to wear did not help the situation. I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had mistaken me for the French II substitute.

  “I just don’t understand what it’s doing,” I said, pulling a brush through it for the ninety-fifth time. It sprang right back into place.

  “Here! Solution!” Mindy piped in. She pulled her well-worn Miami Heat baseball cap out of her bag and handed it to me.

  “But I hate the Heat,” I told her. “I’m a Knicks fan. This would be, like, traitorous.”

  “You said like! Twenty-five cents!” Bethany trilled.

  “You have been spending way too much time at my house,” I told her. My dad charges me twenty-five cents for every superfluous like I utter. Lately Bethany had become his in-school representative. Of course, I had yet to pay her a dime.

  “Fine. I’ll let this one slide,” she said, leaning back against the locker next to mine.

  “Come on, Annisa. The Knicks have sucked for so long, I don’t think anyone would blame you for a small amount of disloyalty,” Mindy said with a grin.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, to save our friendship,” I told her.

  It was so great that Mindy loved sports as much as I did. I wasn’t used to being able to talk basketball smack with other girls.

  “It’s the hat or the helmet head,” Bethany said with a yawn. “You decide.”

  I pulled the hat on and checked my reflection one more time. The gray cap was soft and broken-in and looked completely cute on me. As long as my brother, Gabe, and my dad never found out I had worn it, I would be okay.

  I turned around and found Steven Schwinn’s camera right in my face. He snapped a picture and grinned. His brown hair was slicked down, looking disturbingly similar to my own. Suddenly I was super grateful for Mindy’s Heat hat.

  “Could you warn me before you do that?” I asked with a grimace.

  “I like spontaneous moments,” Steven said.

  “Too bad he hasn’t spontaneously combusted,” Bethany said. Mindy snorted a laugh, then slapped her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Bethany smirked, but didn’t pounce. Was it just me, or were those two getting along better lately?

  “Okay, you need to erase that picture,” I told Steven. “I can’t have photographic evidence of me in this hat.”

  “Not gonna happen, my friend,” St
even said. “That picture is officially my property.”

  What was it about this guy that made me want to smack him upside the head every time I saw him?

  “Future paparazzi scum of America, everybody!” Bethany announced, clapping her hands. A few people gave her confused looks as they walked by. Steven grinned.

  “Dude, that’s not something you’re supposed to be proud of,” Bethany told him. He ignored her.

  “So, Annisa, how’s tomorrow after practice for our first one-on-one?” he asked, pulling out his little digital planner.

  Yee-ha, I thought. Alone time with Mr. Irritating.

  “You know, for a spontaneous guy, you sure are anal,” I told him.

  “Hey, I like organization,” he said.

  “Is there anything you don’t like?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

  He started to answer, but his words were completely lost on me. At that moment, over his shoulder, I saw Daniel down the hall walking toward us . . . with Sage. She was wearing this cute little green dress and looked deeply tanned and pretty. Daniel was listening intently, his eyes trained on her face as Sage laughed and talked and threw about ten thousand flirtatious signals his way. As they passed by a window, the sun lit her blonde hair and surrounded her with this incongruous angelic glow. I had the sudden mental image of her sprouting wings and floating up to heaven with a harp in her hands. I kind of wished it would come true.

  “When did those two start talking again?” Bethany asked with a mild sneer.

  “Those two who?” Steven asked, looking around.

  “Are you still here?” Bethany asked him.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  I didn’t much care whether Steven was there or not. Sage was touching Daniel’s arm. Like it belonged to her. Like he belonged to her. Hello? If Daniel was belonging to anyone these days, it was to me. Not that I think people should belong to people at all. I’m just saying. “But, I mean, it’s not like he can’t talk to her just because we’re, you know, together or whatever,” I blabbered, throwing in a casual little laugh like I was just so enlightened. “He can talk to whoever he wants.”