She Drives Me Crazy(14)

Kevin is the first to regain his voice. “Thanks for the treat,” he tells Charlotte. “Good luck with Court.”

Charlotte gives him a flirtatious smile, glances over the rest of us, and walks away. I notice she makes a point of avoiding Irene’s corner of the yard. It’s like feral cats delineating their territory.

“She is very … um … yes,” Gunther says, gulping.

“She’s stunning,” Kevin says, and Danielle stiffens, “but she scares me.”

“I swear I get a vibe from her,” I tell them. It’s a theory I’ve brought up before: that Charlotte gives off some queer energy. Tally was the only one who ever agreed with me, but she was more fixated on Charlotte’s popularity than her possible sexuality.

“I doubt that,” Danielle says. “She’s been going out with that Candlehawk dude for, like, a year.”

“Doesn’t mean she can’t be queer,” I say.

“Whatever her deal is,” Gunther says, “Charlotte’s definitely more of a Lady Macbeth than a Homecoming Queen.”



* * *



This time, when the cheerleaders show up for the end of our practice, they bring the boys’ basketball team with them. There must be at least twenty people watching us now. It’s hard to keep my cool, and I can tell my teammates feel the same way; even Danielle seems flushed. But after a few minutes of playing for a crowd, we start to feed off their energy. When we finish our scrimmage with a crisp layup from Googy, the group in the stands cheers loudly.

“This is insane,” Danielle says as we’re walking out of practice. “No one’s ever given a shit about us before.” She pauses to high-five one of the boys’ players, then looks to me in disbelief. “Damn. I know you hate her guts, but Irene is really doing us a solid.”

I shake my head, annoyed at how impressive the whole thing is. “She’s not doing anything. She’s just bored waiting for me to drive her home, and her minions follow her wherever she goes.” I point over my shoulder to where the popular kids orbit around Irene like the sun.

Danielle clucks her tongue. “Poor Charlotte and her Rice Krispies Treats don’t stand a chance of winning Queen.”

We separate, heading to our cars. Danielle says something about going home to tweak her application essay since we’ll be busy with Homecoming all weekend. I wish her luck and drop into my car, grateful that it’s almost the weekend. I can’t wait to get home, take a hot shower, and kick back with a movie.

But Irene doesn’t get in the car right away. She loiters off to the side, talking to Honey-Belle with a serious expression on her face. I make a show of starting the ignition and flicking on the lights, but she ignores me.

After a full two minutes of this, I open the door and shout, “Excuse me! Can we go, please?!”

Irene holds up her palm to indicate I should wait. The nerve of it sends me over the edge, and I pound on the horn so it blares across the parking lot.

Irene jumps and shoots me the ugliest look I’ve ever seen, but she finally steps away from Honey-Belle. She gets into my passenger seat like she’s descending into the lowest level of hell. I can almost feel the negative energy crackling off her.

“That was really rude,” she snaps.

“Yes, I agree, it was very rude of you to keep me waiting.”

She shakes her head and jams her seat belt into the buckle. I switch on my music and cruise out of the parking lot feeling like I just won a boxing match.

But then Irene jabs the stereo off.

“What the—?!”

“I’m getting my car back this weekend,” she says without preamble. “And Honey-Belle’s picking me up tomorrow morning, so I won’t need a ride.”

I turn the music back on, too distracted by her audacity to understand what she’s trying to say. “So?”

“So you don’t have to drive me anymore.”

That gets my attention. “Wait, really? What about tomorrow afternoon?”

“I don’t go home on game days,” she says shortly, like I should have known that already. “We get ready at school.”

“So this is the last time I have to drive you?”

“Yes. I just said that.”

I’m too delighted to be put off by her snark. Only a few more minutes of this tense arrangement, and then I’ll be free forever. I’ll never have to deal with this girl again.

We’re quiet until I remember something that doesn’t quite fit with the information she’s given me.

“Hold on,” I say. “You’re not going home before the football game? But don’t you have to get ready for Homecoming Court? I mean, like, don’t you have to dress up for halftime?”

For a second I think she’s gonna tell me it’s none of my business. But then: “My mom’s bringing my dress. I’ll change after we finish our second quarter routines.”

I snort. Does she ever not plan around her beloved cheerleading?

“So you’re gonna be all sweaty in your dress? Why don’t you just sit out the routines tomorrow night?”

Now she glares at me. “Would you sit on the bench during a big game just so you could look pretty in a dress?”

“No, but that’s because what I do is an actual game.”