A Non-Blonde Cheerleader in Love by Kieran Scott Read Free Book Online Page A

friends from the wrestling team walked through the door, all slick and freshly showered after practice.
     
     
    “Omigod! K. C. Lawrence,” Jaimee said, reddening. “Let me out,” she said to Phoebe.
     
     
    Phoebe simply stared at her. “Hello, one-eighty.”
     
     
    “Come on! Come on! Let me out!” Jaimee pleaded.
     
     
    Ever so slowly—and just to torture Jaimee—Phoebe pushed herself out of the booth and stepped aside so that Jaimee could scramble over to K.C.’s table. Two seconds after she arrived there, Sage, Lindsey and Chastity were there as well, crowding in with the guys, giggling at their jokes. Phoebe sat back down with a huff.
     
     
    “Yeah. Her mind’s on cheerleading,” Tara said.
     
     
    “It’s like they’re all groupies or something,” I put in.
     
     
    Over in the corner Terrell cheered some stupendous achievement of pinball primacy and a few of the girls squealed in delight. Somehow I had never before realized exactly how boy-crazy some of my squad mates were. And if the eighteen girls on the squad starting going after the four guys on the squad, things were not going to be pretty. And none of them better even think about going after my man, ’cause then I’d have to get medieval on these blondes.
     
     
    Sorry. Jealousy-induced brain spasm.
     
     
    Anyway, there could be a lot of rifts in the making around here. Maybe Tara was right. Maybe we had just welcomed the perfect poison onto the squad.
     
     
    But then I heard Daniel laugh, and when I turned around and saw his heart-stopping smile, I knew everything was going to be fine. How could a person that perfect be poison? We would figure this thing out. It was just going to take some time, some adjustment.
     
     
    This coed squad thing was going to be great.
     
     
     
“And now . . . coming to the center mat . . . wrestling at one hundred fifty pounds . . . give it up, Sand Dune fans, for your very own K! C! Lawrence!!!”
     
     
    I jumped to my feet with the rest of the SDH crowd to shout for K.C., waving one of the blue-and-yellow mini-poms the spirit club had handed out before the meet. As K.C. made his way to the center mat to meet his opponent, he looked almost Cro-Magnon. The tightness of his blue jumpsuit made his arms look huge and his head and mouth guards distorted his features. At the other end of the bleachers the Clearwater High School fans booed his arrival. Then we booed them. Down below, K.C. didn’t seem to notice any of it. He shook hands with the stout, crew-cut-sporting opponent and smiled through the plastic in his mouth.
     
     
    “Do you miss it?” I asked Daniel as we sat.
     
     
    He lifted his shoulders. “A little. But it was a lot of pressure, being out there one-on-one against someone else,” he said. “I think I’m more of a team player.”
     
     
    “Me too,” Mindy said. She scrunched the strands of her mini-pom between her palms to fluff it up. “That’s why cheerleading tryouts always freaked me out. Being out there alone?” She gave a little shudder.
     
     
    “Totally,” Daniel agreed.
     
     
    “Shh!” Bethany scolded from Mindy’s far side. “I’m trying to concentrate!”
     
     
    Behind us, Jaimee, Chandra and Autumn laughed, and as the ref blew the whistle to start the match, I could barely contain my glee. This was so great, being here with my friends and my boyfriend, sucking in all the kinetic, competitive energy in the air. Even if that air was a tad moist and sour with the stench of twenty years’ worth of stale sweat. The Clearwater High gym could have used a little more ventilation, that’s all I’m sayin’.
     
     
    But no matter. It wasn’t like it was keeping anyone away. The stands on our side were awash in light blue and yellow while the Clearwater stands were a sea of dark blue and white. Everyone on either side sat forward, eager to see K.C., the famous Junior Olympian, in action. It was one of those perfect movie moments. Those moments I