Harsh Pink with Bonus Content (8 page)

To my surprise, fellow cheerleader Jonathan sticks his head out and yells, “Why?” Now, of the three cheerleader guys, Jonathan has been the nicest to me and I get the impression he’s a pretty thoughtful guy. But what am I supposed to tell him? I glance at Jocelyn like I think she can help me out here. And to my surprise she jumps out of the car and runs around and starts talking to Jonathan. I watch her from my side mirror as she stands on tiptoe and leans into his window. I can hear her telling him how we weren’t actually invited and then saying something like we sort of misunderstood and came anyway, and who knows what else she’s saying, although it sounds lame to me and I just wish she’d come back so I could leave. I think I might have enough room to turn around now.

“That’s total bull,” Jonathan yells loudly. He sticks his hand out the window and points at the gates. “Of course you guys are invited! It’s a victory party and all the cheerleaders are invited. Go ahead, go on in!”

“But I don’t know the code,” I call back.

Then he says something to Jocelyn and she comes bounding back and hops in the car. “Let’s go, Reagan!”

Now the cars ahead of me have already moved through the gates, and I realize I have a decision to make. I could get away now if I wanted to. “But we’re not invited, Jocelyn.”

“Yes, we are!” she shouts. “Jonathan invited us!”

I consider this as the cars behind start honking again. “Okay,” I tell her, pulling forward. “We’re going in!”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” she says as she literally rubs her hands together. “I can’t wait to see Kendra’s face.”

“What if she throws us out?”

“She wouldn’t dare. Not if we go in with Jonathan, one on each arm. She’d look like a total jerk if she turned us away, and everyone would see it. She’s got to let us in, Reagan.”

Okay, I have to admit that I admire this girl’s spunk. She may be a year younger, but she’s got some smarts. In some ways she reminds me of Geneva. I might even move her up from class B to class A. Okay, A-minus. But it’s a start.

J
OCELYN DIRECTS ME TO THE DUBHOUSE, WHICH IS PRETTY EASY TO FIND SINCE
it’s all lit up and we can hear music blasting from it even though my car windows are up. We park and wait for Jonathan’s pickup, which I discover has all three cheerleader guys in it. I’m pleasantly surprised to learn they’re feeling indignant that Jocelyn and I weren’t invited to the celebration. So instead of crashing the party with only Jonathan, we are escorted in by all three and consequently make a pretty grand entrance, if I do say so myself.

I spot Kendra as soon as we’re in the door. It’s easy, since her hot pink sweater stands out amid the sea of royal blue and white. But I can tell by the glint in her eyes that she is not pleased. Not at all. Even so, you’d never know this by the expression on the rest of her face. Like me, she’s good at forcing a smile, putting up a good front. Still, it’s a little unsettling when she moves through the crowd straight to us. I actually wonder if she might really be about to throw us out. Oh, I’m sure she’d do it gracefully and with poise. She wouldn’t want to look bad in front of everyone. It occurs to me that she probably has the right to throw us out. I mean, we really weren’t invited. Suddenly I want to leave. What was I thinking?

“I’m
so
glad you guys made it,” she says with false warmth as she joins us. “Reagan and Jocelyn.” Her words sound gracious and she smiles, exposing perfectly aligned and whitened teeth. “I heard you two had turned up your noses, that you planned to snub my little soiree.”

I am speechless and Jocelyn barely opens her mouth before Jonathan jumps in. “Don’t you mean you heard that
no one
invited them?” he says.

“Of course they were invited,” she says lightly, slipping an arm around Jonathan and giving him a squeeze. “This is a victory celebration!
All
the cheerleaders were invited.”

“Then what made you think they didn’t want to come?” persists Ben.

Kendra laughs, then puts a carefully manicured finger over her perfectly glossed lips. “Maybe it’s because they heard there would be more than just soda and punch served tonight.” She looks directly at me now. “Isn’t that true, Reagan? You and Jocelyn are opposed to drinking, right?”

Okay, this is actually true about me, although I haven’t told a soul this. Not even Jocelyn. I turn to look at my new friend, curious as to whether this is news to her. I also remember the cheerleading contract we all signed (well, everyone except Kendra). But Jocelyn just looks Kendra in the eyes, then grins. “Hey, I have no idea where you heard that, Kendra, but it’s a big, fat lie. So, anyway, where’s the beer?”

Everyone laughs and Kendra’s blue eyes widen as if she’s surprised, but she points Jocelyn over to the bar, where several cheerleaders are already drinking from cups topped with foam. “The keg’s right there, sweetie. Help yourself.” Then she turns to me. “How about you, Reagan, do you want to drink?”

Now, peer pressure isn’t new to me. What teen hasn’t felt it? But back in my own school, my friends pretty much accepted me for who I am. They knew I wasn’t into alcohol, and although they teased me occasionally, that’s where it ended. They never pressured me to drink, never pulled a stunt like this. Once again I’m reminded that this is a whole new game — a game I almost feel too tired to play. Will it ever get easier? Is it even worth it?

It occurs to me that I could walk right out of here. I could snub Kendra and maintain my pride at the same time. But then I’d be right back where I started. Maybe this game will end sooner if I simply play along. Even so, I look around the room, checking to see if Falon is here tonight, because I have a feeling she’d report us for breaking the rules of the contract. Then I realize she’s probably with her boyfriend. I’m sure they’d think this was too juvenile. I also consider the possibility of the cops showing up, but that seems unlikely in this gated community.

“Reagan?” persists Kendra. “You want a drink?”

“What do you have besides beer?” I ask tentatively. Okay, I feel slightly defeated just now, but not ready to give up.

She starts reeling off a great long list, and I’m sure I look pretty baffled, which must be amusing since she just throws back her head and laughs. “Come on, Reagan.” She hooks her arm into mine like we’re old buddies. “Let me fix you a
good
drink.”

Okay, this is dangerous. I’m thinking you should never, ever let your enemy fix you a drink. I’m sure this is one of the most ancient survival rules of civilization. Then again, I remind myself, I don’t have to actually drink it. Plus, if I watch her closely while she makes my drink, I can be relatively sure that she doesn’t do anything weird to it.

“Okay,” I say with some reluctance as she navigates us through the crowd and over to the bar.

She leans her elbows opposite me onto the granite top and looks at me. “Hmmm.” Her eyes narrow slightly, as if she’s studying me. “I think you must be a Cosmo girl.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, still suspicious.

She reaches for a clear plastic cup and tosses some ice in. “It means I think you’d like a Cosmo.”

Then I vaguely remember hearing that it’s a drink. “What’s in it?” I ask, further revealing my ignorance but hoping it might help to disarm her.

“You’ve
never
had a Cosmo?”

“Not that I recall.”

She’s got a bottle of something clear opened now, but I can’t read the label. “Well, you start with a shot of vodka” — she pours a little into the cup — “then some triple sec.” She opens a bottle and pours something else in, but not too much. “Then you add some lime juice, and finally some cranberry juice, which is what makes it look so pink and pretty.” She finally holds up the pink drink and smiles. “Voilà!” And I must admit that it does look pretty. Even she looks pretty holding it in front of her pink sweater, which I’m certain is cashmere and expensive. She hands me the drink and I thank her.

“It looks good,” I say, unsure of what to do next.

“So good that I think I’ll join you,” she says. So I wait while she makes another drink, exactly the way she made mine, which I find somewhat reassuring. Then she holds up what looks like an identical drink and says, “Here’s to new friendships.”

I try not to look too shocked by her unexpected toast, but I meekly echo it. “To new friendships.” Then we both take a sip. And, okay, it’s not that great, but it’s not terrible either, and as far as I can tell it’s not poisoned. I figure at least I can walk around now, carrying my drink, pretending to enjoy it, and when no one is looking, I can simply dump it.

“So, Reagan, did you enjoy cheering tonight?” She takes a casual sip. “Was it fun?”

I nod, unsure of where she’s going with this line of questioning. “Yeah, it was a good game.”

She sort of frowns now. “I feel bad that I missed it.”

“Why didn’t you come?”

She waves an arm. “I was getting this all set up. I wanted to wait until my parents left before I got everything ready. Then it was too late and I decided to just skip it.”

“So your parents don’t know about this party?” I glance around the crowded, noisy room and wonder how Kendra could possibly keep a gathering of this size a secret.

“Oh, sure, they know I’m having a party. They just don’t know about the booze. My parents are pretty laid back, but they wouldn’t approve of this. Fortunately, they had a wedding to go to, and I figured it’d be easier to set things up once they were safely on their way.”

I know it’s none of my business, but I still feel worried. “When will they be back?”

She smiles. “Oh, the wedding was up in Wyndham. They won’t get home until tomorrow evening, and I already have some cleaning people lined up for the morning. By the time they get back, everything will be nice and neat. No problem.”

“Impressive,” I say, and in a way it is. Kendra is the kind of girl who just seems to know what she wants and how to get it. Of course, that didn’t exactly work for her in regard to cheerleading this year. In a way, I think that’s a shame. To my surprise (or is it these two sips of alcohol?) I feel sort of bad for having made varsity squad, like maybe I really am the reason Kendra’s out in the cold now. “You know, Kendra,” I begin. “I really am sorry that you’re not on varsity this year. I have a feeling it’s just not the same without you.”

She blinks. “Really?” She leans forward and peers into my eyes. “Do you really mean that, Reagan?”

Okay, now I feel scared. Like is she misinterpreting my intent? Does she think I’m willing to relinquish my position for her? Even so, I nod, hoping I can make myself a bit more clear. “Yes, I think I would’ve enjoyed being with you on the squad. Not like at practice where everyone gets a little edgy and cranky, but at the games. I think you would’ve been a lot of fun.”

She nods and I think her eyes are actually getting misty — or maybe she’s had more than just this one drink. “I
was
fun, Reagan. I really was.” She makes a goofy grin, then gently socks me in the arm. “And you and me, Reagan, I think we could’ve had fun together. I think we would’ve gotten along just fine. We could’ve been real friends.”

“Really?” Is she pulling something over on me? Is there something in my Cosmo? I glance at my drink, but most of it is still safely in the cup. And if anyone is acting slightly intoxicated just now, she is. I study her closely and for some unexplainable reason, I think she’s being sincere. “Do you really think we could’ve been friends?”

She nods again. “Yes. I most certainly do.” Then she shrugs. “Hey, who knows? Maybe we still can.”

So I give her my most genuine smile. Well, under the circumstances anyway. “That’d be cool,” I say, knowing I’m putting myself at serious risk. I know as well as anyone that social situations like this are sort of like a poker game. You don’t want to show anyone your hand, and sometimes you have to bluff. Then there are those times when you tell the truth but your opponent thinks you’re bluffing anyway. And sometimes you get pulled in and you fall for their bluff. It’s all very, very tricky.

But by the end of the evening, after I’ve danced and laughed and met some new people, after I’ve had a good time and some fun conversations — some of them with Kendra — for the first time since moving here, I feel like I might actually fit in. And I think Kendra’s offer of friendship might be sincere. And, as mind-boggling as it seems, I decide that I really do want to be her friend.