Crushed Read online

  This soup? Is inedible.

  * * *

  When the last bell of the day rings, I look for Cecily by her locker, but she’s not there. I figure she’s somewhere practicing for tryouts in a couple of hours, so I head to the gym to see if she’s there and …

  Ding! Ding! Ding!

  She’s just about to start running through her moves, and I don’t want to disturb her or ruin her mojo. So I stand outside and peek through the windows on the double doors.

  And what I see? Blows my mind!

  She’s really good. She’s jumping up and down, cheering, but keeping her technique the whole time—which is super hard—and she’s doing some CRAZY gymnastics moves. Like, seventeen flips in a row across the gym floor. At one point she does a standing backflip!

  Standing. Backflip.

  What the what?!

  I burst into the gym and yell, “Uh, excuse me, but how did you get so insanely amazing at this and why don’t I know that you can do a million backflips in a row? Why don’t I know that you can do one backflip?!”

  “You scared me!” she screams. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to help you practice for tryouts.”

  “But … do you really think it was good?”

  “Please tell me you’re joking. That? Was awesome. You’re way better than everyone on the squad—including Black Mop Head.”

  “Who?” Cecily says, with a laugh.

  “That’s Georgia’s new nickname. You like it?”

  “It’s very creative,” she says, wiping the sweat off her face with a towel.

  “So, how come you never told me you could do gymnastics?”

  “I guess it never really came up. Also, it’s sort of taboo to do gymnastics if you’re into ballet, you know. People get all judge-y about which is better.”

  Instinctually I say, “Uh, ballet, obviously.”

  “See?”

  “Right, sorry. Well, you’re über-talented. Georgia’s gonna flip.”

  “What happened to Black Mop Head?”

  “Oh whoops! I guess it’s gonna take some getting used to. It’s hard to remember.”

  “And long. It sounds like an appliance.”

  “Call this number for the Black Mop Head Three Thousand—with a head that actually swivels all the way around!”

  We both start laughing, and it seems like the ice is finally thawing.

  We stay in the gym until tryouts, hanging out and talking, and of course going over her routine. I help her add some ghostly additions like hovering in the air or floating instead of jumping to show them that she understands cheerleading is a little different up here. She’s still pretty new to the ghost thing, so I doubt she’ll be required to do anything fancy from the start. I’m pretty sure that Georgia already has her mind set on having Cecily join the squad no matter how good or bad she is, but since Cece rocks, it’s a no-brainer.

  Five o’clock rolls around and we head out to the football field. I sit in the bleachers and watch. Don’t get me wrong, I still think Black Mop Head is the bane of my afterlife and I’m still on high alert about how this whole Cecily-on-the-squad scenario is going to play out. And the whole Limbos thing? That’s another situation entirely. But Cecily’s right about this—my beef with Black Mop Head (it just rolls off the tongue now!) shouldn’t play into whether or not Cece gets to follow her passion and do something that makes her happy. I have to accept it and learn to live with it, and support Cecily. That’s what best friends do, right?

  “Thank you all for coming to tryouts for the Limbo Cheerleading Squad!” Georgia says, perky and enthusiastic. “I’m so excited to see how many new faces are here to try out. Just one important thing to note before we begin: Because the squad needs to be healthy and available to support the Limbo football and basketball teams all year round, and we don’t want to run the risk of anyone getting hurt or having scheduling conflicts, if you become a member of the Cheerleading squad you will not be allowed to participate in any other sports-related clubs.”

  Rah. Rah. Rah.

  Sis. Boom. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

  Georgia Black Mop Head McScary just voided half of my Limbos club members—and I only had four to begin with! If there’s ever a moment for my emotions to get the better of me and go nuts on someone, this is it.

  Ready. Set. Go.

  Now because of her stupid rule, I have to cross Briana and Chloe off the list. And who knows what’s going to happen with Cecily … She was supposed to be my co-captain! I know before it seemed like she already had her foot halfway out the door, but after what happened in the gym earlier I thought we were back on track. I told her I want her to be happy, and when I watched her in the gym doing all her incredible flips and stuff? She did look happy. So I’m totally supportive of her being on the squad now. I mean, I’m sitting here up in the bleachers cheering her on, aren’t I?

  Of course Cecily completely kills her audition. There’s no question that she’s getting an invitation to join. The only question is whether or not she’ll accept it now that the rules have changed.

  “Thank you again to everyone who showed up!” Georgia calls out.

  It’s 5:50 P.M., and Figure of Speech is about to go on. We’ll make it just in the nick of time.

  “If I call out your name, you’ve been accepted onto the squad. If I don’t, keep practicing and come try out again next year!”

  She runs down a list of names in alphabetical order, most of which I don’t recognize, and finally she ends with—

  “Cecily Vanderberg!”

  I walk down from the bleachers and go over to congratulate Cecily, but this new rule has made it significantly more challenging for me to fake a smile.

  The thing is, before it became an issue of choosing one or the other, Cecily was right: I needed to set my anti-Georgia movement aside and be a good friend. If Cecily was willing to do both Cheerleading squad and Dance Club, why should I have had a problem with it? But now that Georgia has made it about choosing—and make no mistake, she’s doing this on purpose—things are different. Georgia’s changing the rules.

  “I guess congratulations are in order,” I say, giving Cecily a hug.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Thanks.”

  “Did you know about the no-other-sports-clubs rule?” I ask.

  “No, it’s news to me,” she says. “But there’s still a lot I don’t know. Maybe there’s a way around it? Like, maybe I can talk to Ms. Keaner or something?”

  “I don’t think Georgia could have made that kind of rule without getting approval,” I say. “It looks like you’re going to have to choose between Georgia and me.”

  “Don’t say that,” she says. “Don’t make me choose, it’s not fair.”

  “I’m not making you choose—I came here to support you, remember? Georgia is making you choose. She’s doing this on purpose, you know that, right?”

  “Maybe she is. But she’s making me choose between Cheerleading and Dance Club; you’re making me choose between her and you.”

  “Is there really a difference?” I ask, shocked.

  Just then some of the girls on the squad call out to Cecily. “We’re going to go to the Spooky Soda Shoppe to celebrate with some of the football players. It’s a tradition after tryouts. You want to come?”

  “Sure!” she calls back to them.

  “What about Marcus and Figure of Speech?” I ask her. “They’re going on, like, now.”

  “I’ll just … I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

  So that’s how it is.

  I speed over to the Clairvoyance Café, trying to not think about everything that just happened. When I see that the band is still warming up, I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m not late. Maybe Cecily won’t miss much, either.

  I walk over to the counter to order something to drink but before I say anything the girl behind the register announces, “That’ll be $5.25.”

  “But I—”

  “One medium hot chocolate with whipped c
ream and a chocolate-chip biscotti for here, right? That’ll be $5.25.”

  Whoa, they really are clairvoyant, aren’t they? This is the second order of mine that they’ve gotten right before I even opened my mouth. I wonder if they’re ever wrong …

  “No, we’re never wrong,” she says, handing me my goodies. “Enjoy!”

  “You should really take this on the road,” I say, and head over to the table where Mia and Trey are sitting.

  As I walk, I scan the room and notice about fifteen other kids from school, but I don’t know any of them by name. Colin is nowhere to be found. And then it occurs to me: The cheerleaders said they were going to celebrate with some of the football players—that it was a tradition? And Colin is a football player.

  Ugh.

  Did Colin and Cecily really ditch their friends’ first gig for an outing at the Spooky Soda Shoppe? How is a group of football players and cheerleaders eating ice cream a tradition, anyway? Tradition is dressing up for Halloween. Tradition is opening presents on Christmas morning. Tradition is getting your license when you turn sixteen!

  This? Is lame.

  I reach the table and slump down in my chair, annoyed.

  “Hey, Lucy, what’s up?” Mia asks, cautiously. “What’s the matter? And where’s Cecily?”

  “Out celebrating her descent into the underworld,” I say. I take a sip of my hot chocolate. It’s warm and delicious, and it’s the only thing putting a smile on my face.

  “Should I know what that means?” Mia asks, cautiously.

  “Don’t you know about the famous post-cheerleading tryouts tradition of eating ice cream in front of football players? I mean, it’s just so … traditional! And you know traditions cannot be broken.”

  “Oh … that.”

  I’m about to go off on Colin, too, when the band starts playing. After a few seconds, I’m already engrossed and bopping along to the beat. They’re actually good! Really good. Their sound is a mix of indie rock and electronic pop—not at all what I was expecting.

  After a little while, my eye catches Miles Rennert and I can’t look away. He’s rocking out on the keyboard and lead vocals, and it’s making me swoon. I mean, they are all talented, but Miles is different. He’s completely lost in the music. Like it’s hypnotizing him, or something.

  Whatever it is? It’s adorable.

  “Are you upset that Colin isn’t here?” Mia whispers in my ear.

  Colin who? (Just kidding. Unfortunately.)

  “Nah, it’s fine. If he’d rather be out with cheerleaders than here with me listening to his friends play an awesome set, then maybe we aren’t meant to be after all.”

  After about twenty minutes, Colin materializes in a chair next to mine.

  Not literally. (I don’t think … )

  “I thought you were off partaking in some football ritual?” I say, without turning to face him.

  “It’s tradition for the football team to welcome the new cheerleaders to the squad. I had to stop by for a few minutes.”

  “Right,” I reply.

  “Don’t be mad. I’m here now,” he says, smiling, squeezing my arm.

  “I’m not mad. It’s not like we planned to come here together or anything.”

  He stays silent.

  I can’t tell if I’m being mean or not, and isn’t that something one should be able to figure out? The truth is we didn’t agree to come here together, so technically it’s not like he owes it to me to be here on time. Or to even come in the first place, actually. Things between us are so strange at this point that I’m not sure he owes me anything at all. He’s not my tutor anymore. We don’t seem to be anything more than friends.

  But I’m definitely annoyed. I guess I just expected more from him.

  I feel my face getting red, and before I accidentally do anything crazy, like pour what’s left of my hot chocolate over his head, I change the subject.

  “Hey, did you bring your camera? I’d love to take some shots of the band.”

  “Sure,” he says, and hands it to me.

  I head over to the side of the stage, crouch down, and start shooting. Even though I’m supposed to be photographing the whole band, I keep gravitating toward Miles. His dark brown curls are kind of bobbing up and down to the beat, and when the light hits him just right I can see the sweat glistening on his face. It must be really hot up there under all those spotlights. He notices me and gives me a little nod and a smile. I lose my balance and fall over.

  Why am I acting like a crushed-out fangirl right now? I mean, I still like Colin. I know I still like Colin by the amount of anger that flushed through my veins when I realized that he was hanging out with Georgia and Cecily instead of being here—with me. And Miles is pretty much the most unattainable guy at Limbo. First of all, he’s, like, three years older than me. Second, he’s like … just … well, look at him? He’s basically five seconds away from being a famous musician. There’s no way he’s interested in me.

  “Hey,” Colin calls to me in between songs. “Let’s see what you’ve got so far.”

  I head back to my seat and offer him his camera. He flips through the shots, and I turn back to the band.

  “Unbelievable!”

  “What?” I say, facing him again.

  “Looks like you have some kind of energy flowing between you and Miles,” he says.

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” I shoot back, embarrassed and nervous. “I barely even know Miles!”

  “The pictures?” Colin says, confused. “He’s the only one showing up in them. But he’s, like, totally solid.”

  “I thought I’m the only one who shows up solid in pictures.” I say, taking back the camera to see for myself. He’s right. Shot after shot after shot is just Miles, up on stage. Solid as a living being.

  “Apparently not. Maybe your power doesn’t just come out in front of the camera,” Colin says. “Maybe you’re powerful behind it, too.”

  I try to remember what was going through my head when I took those photos. Then it hits me. Sure enough, my emotion meter was on high when I was shooting Miles. That’s always when weird things happen, isn’t it? Except this time I didn’t send any coffees flying halfway across the room or make the keys on his keyboard pop off. I made him show up in pictures! This is about the only cool thing Emotional Girl has going for her.

  Round of applause.

  “Remember that day at the beach, like, my first week here, when you were tutoring me and my mind drew that heart in the sand out of nowhere?” I ask Colin.

  “Uh, yeah,” he says, smiling. “That would be hard to forget.”

  “Well, that kind of thing tends to happen. A lot. You don’t even see the half of it.”

  “Okay … what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just that, unfortunately, the emotions running around inside me often come out in strange, ghostly accidents. And I think this whole photo thing is one of them. Only this isn’t a disaster like the rest of the things that happen. This is actually, well, awesome.”

  “So you’re telling me that you can harness the energy of your emotions and translate that into light?”

  “I don’t know, maybe?” I reply, confused. “I’m telling you that my hyperemotional state of being that is usually the death of me seems to be the reason why I can take good photos and appear in photos and other people can’t. It’s like a whiny superpower.”

  “Ha-ha,” Colin laughs. “I like that.”

  When the song ends, Marcus gets on the microphone. “Thank you so much for coming to hear us play—this is going to be our final song. Once again, we’re Figure of Speech.”

  I can’t believe it’s already been an hour since they started.

  Marcus looks over at our table. I know he’s searching the crowd for Cecily. I feel awful. She promised him that she’d be here, and they were going to have their first date after the set. Ironically, this date was supposed to make up for him standing her up on Monday night, which he te
chnically didn’t even do! And now Cecily is doing the same exact thing to him, only this time? She’s doing it on purpose.

  They start playing their last song, and I feel Colin’s hand brush up against mine under the table. I look at him, and he takes my hand and smiles. The dimple on his left cheek comes out, and I feel my head involuntarily lean to the side, like I’m suddenly too weak to hold it upright. Colin is finally holding my hand.

  Heart racing.

  “You know, I thought that drawing in the sand that day was really cute,” he says. “I was already starting to like you then.”

  Panic setting in.

  At that moment the door opens and Cecily, Georgia, Chloe, and Briana come waltzing in with Jonah Abbot, Trey’s older brother, and a couple of other football players. I jump a little and drop Colin’s hand.

  I can’t tell if I did it on purpose or by mistake, but I don’t pick it up again.

  When the band finally finishes, we all applaud extra loudly and scream for an encore, but they don’t do one.

  Cecily appears beside our table. “So, how were they?” she asks, all cheerful, like there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her showing up an hour late.

  I don’t answer.

  “They were really good,” Trey says, filling the awkward silence.

  “Cool, I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “Marcus was looking for you,” I say, because I can’t help myself.

  “I’m sure he’ll understand,” she snaps back, and gives me a look that says, “Back off.”

  What is going on here? How did I become the bad guy? All of a sudden Cecily decides that it’s okay to choose enemies over friends and go back on promises and stand up really nice guys, and I’m the one who gets the cold shoulder? Who died and made her Georgia 2.0?

  No pun intended. (Last one, I promise!)

  “Hey, Cecily,” Marcus says, walking over to her. “What happened? I thought you were going to meet me here and watch us play?”

  “I know, I’m really sorry,” she replies. “Tryouts ran late and because I made the squad, I had to go out with the new girls afterward—it’s like a whole tradition thing. I heard your last song; it was great!”