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“Come on, hurry up. The bell’s going to ring soon, and I don’t know if she’ll give me a note.”
“Who? Isobel, listen, they broke up!”
Isobel stopped. Skidding to a halt, Gwen nearly toppled into her.
“What are you talking about?”
“Varen and Madame Cleopatra,” said Gwen in a low, drawn-out voice, flicking her fingers dramatically over fluttering eyes. “Happened this morning. I heard it from Trevor, who heard it from Sara, who heard it from Ellen, who said she saw them arguing.”
Gwen leaned against a row of lockers, arms folded. “Apparently, though,” she said, “they were only pseudo girlfriend-boyfriend to begin with anyway.”
Isobel narrowed her eyes on Gwen, then whipped around to stalk through the hallway again. “Sure looked like they were broken up.”
She could hear Gwen bustling after her again. “Okay, so I don’t know what that little moment was all about, but I do know for a fact that they’re not together. Didn’t you see his reaction when she came over? So obvious he wasn’t about her.”
“And I care because?”
“Whatever!” Gwen said. A huge smile sprang to her lips, making Isobel feel even worse. “As if. You so got it for him. I mean, can we say, ‘Uhm, urh, durh, Sloppy Joe’? Psh. Please.
Can’t hide it from me. I know all— hey, what happened last night, anyway? Are you ever going to tell me? And oh my God, Brad’s car. Any idea who could have done it? And what’s this stuff about the ice cream shop? What happened at the ice cream shop? C’mon, Isobel, you’re gonna have to fill me in here—hey, why are we going into the gym?”
Isobel came to a halt outside the double doors and pivoted to face Gwen. “You can’t tell anybody.”
“What? That we’re going to the gym?”
“No,” she said. “I mean . . . about Varen.”
“What? You mean . . . that you like him?”
“Swear,” Isobel pleaded. “You can’t tell anyone.”
Gwen’s expression turned coy. “What, you don’t think he likes you back?”
“You do?”
Gwen’s smile grew. “You kidding? I mean, did you not see the way he kept sneaking looks at you? No, I guess you didn’t. He was very good at it. Kinda makes you wonder what else he’s good at.” She elbowed Isobel and beamed. “And why else do you think little Miss Morticia Addams came prancing over? But don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Gwen thrust a fist between them, her smallest finger extended. “Pinky swear.”
Isobel paused, an eyebrow raised, but then hooked her own pinky with Gwen’s. They shook.
“Come on,” said Isobel. Turning, she pushed through the gym doors. Gwen hustled in behind her.
Isobel found Coach Anne in her office, listening to the oldies station and poring over paperwork. She looked up only when Isobel tapped on her open door.
“I want back on the squad,” Isobel said.
Coach’s curiosity over Gwen faded in an instant; her eyes flashed, then narrowed and locked on Isobel. She leaned back in her chair and tossed her pen onto her desk. She rubbed her face like she was too tired to hear it. Isobel stood her ground, determined to do or say whatever it took to get back into the air.
“You walked off the squad, Lanley.”
“And now I want to walk back on,” she said. “I was wrong. And stupid. I want to go to Nationals. I want to see us win.”
Coach Anne pursed her lips, considering.
Behind them, the bell ending lunch echoed through the gymnasium.
“Get your keister back to class, Lanley,” Coach Anne said. “You’ve got two more hours to prepare your formal apology to the squad, and I want it in cheer format, is that understood?”
odded, and he turned to go, a group of tray-carrying sophomores clearing a wide path for him.
