Backlash

When the bell finally rings and it’s time for tryouts, I go down to the locker rooms to change into my shorts and T-shirt. Even though I’ve lost weight, I still get really self-conscious changing in public, worrying that everyone is still looking at me and thinking, Lardosaurus.

“Are you new?” the girl next to me asks. “I don’t remember you on JV last year.”

“I was here at Lake Hills, but I wasn’t on JV,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she says. “What made you decide to try out this year?”

“I’ve always wanted to,” I confess. “And I finally got up the courage. Well, except that I’m so nervous now I’m not so sure about the courage part.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” she says. “My name’s Ashley, by the way.”

“I’m Lara,” I tell her as I bend to tie the laces on my sneakers.

“Well, good luck!” She heads off into the gym with a bounce in her step, looking way more confident than I feel.

I walk over to the sinks and take a final look in the mirror, making sure my hair is neatly tied up so it won’t get in my face when I do tumbles.

Bree completely ignores me when I walk into the gym. Whatever. I’m here to try out for the Lake Hills High Varsity Team, and I’m not about to let Bree Co

“DON’T FORGET to text me,” Mom says for what must be the twentieth time since we left the house.

“Omigod, Mom, I will,” I snap, slamming the car door on whatever else she was about to say, because I’m so sick of her nagging me.

She cares more about me making the varsity cheerleading team than I do.

Because Mom didn’t make it as a cheerleader in high school, it’s super important to her that I do. Ever since I can remember, she’s told the story of the Mean Girls and the Evil Coach who came between her and her dream of wearing a short skirt and waving pom-poms. It was her favorite fairy tale, but without the usual happily-ever-after ending.

“But it toughened me up” was how the story ended instead. “It gave me the grit that made me the successful real estate broker I am today.”

Still, when I made JV last year you’d think I’d gotten into Harvard she was so excited. She took me out shopping at the mall and then for frozen yogurt to celebrate. I began to wonder if she’d be half as excited if I actually got into Harvard, not that there’s the slightest chance that will ever happen.

The whole reason she drove me today instead of making me take the bus is because Ms. Carlucci might post the list before school, and she wanted to make sure I got in early enough to check. Personally, I could have waited until lunch, but I’ll take any excuse not to have to ride the bus.

Marci and Je

“Hey,” I say, settling my butt on the cool concrete next to Marci.

“What’s up? Awesome day, right?” Marci says. “Well, it would be if I didn’t have to look at Maribel Agesta’s muffin top explosion. Ugh.”

“Seriously,” Je

I wonder what they said about my outfit before I walked into earshot, or if being their friend gives me a pass from judgment. The thing is, even if Marci and Je

“Check out Tim Daniels. He’s expecting a flood,” Marci says. “I think he’s been wearing the same pair of jeans since sixth grade.”

“And that shirt — did he get it at Nerdcrombie?”

Marci laughs at Je

The thing is, even though he wears the same pair of high-waters every day and he’s kind of strange, Tim’s okay. Last year when I was struggling with algebra, he helped me with my homework in study hall a bunch of times.

Still, if it’s a choice between Tim Daniels and me, guess who’s getting thrown under the bus?

I giggle, but it’s a couple seconds too late.

“What’s with you this morning, Bree?” Marci asks.

“Oh, I’m just nervous because the lists go up for cheerleading today,” I tell her, even though that’s not what’s really the matter.

I wonder: Is there anyone I can tell that sometimes I want to crawl out of my own skin and be a different person than who I am? Be someone other than the Brea

“Ohmigosh, when?” Je

“Not sure,” I mumble. “Maybe before school. Maybe during the day. Maybe not till after school.”

“Why aren’t you there checking now?” Marci asks.

I don’t have a good answer. So I pick up my book bag and stand up.

“I guess I better go and look before the bell rings.”

“Good luck!” Je

I’m not sure if I want it. Because I secretly half hope I don’t make it, even though it would suck if I didn’t because it would just give Mom another reason to think I’m not good enough. What I really want is to make it, and then tell Mom I’m not going to do it. That I’m going to try out for the dance team, no matter what she says.

If I could actually get up the courage to do it.

I can see from down the hall that there’s nothing posted on the cheerleading trophy cabinet yet, so I turn around to head to my first-period class. Lara Kelley is coming down the hallway, obviously going to check if the lists are up. I could tell her that they aren’t yet, but I don’t. I just nod in her general direction and keep walking.

I can’t believe we were best friends once, ru

That’s more than you can say for our friendship. Everything is different now. Awkward. Ever since seventh grade when Lara got all crazy and depressed, and I had to spend night after night listening to her go on about her awful life. High school gave me a chance to break free.

Now she’s lost all this weight and tried out for cheerleading. Why is she trying to force her way back into my life? I’ve made other friends now. Like, I’m happy for her that she’s managed to get her act together and all that, but I’ve moved on. Can’t she get a life of her own?

Mom texts during second period, asking if the list is posted yet.

No. STOP. I’LL TXT YOU! : /

I press Send.

Shouldn’t she be busy selling houses or doing her volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity or whatever? She should know better than to text me during school anyway.

I’m trying to pay attention while Ms. Blackstock reads from Julius Caesar, “ ‘A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities, but Brutus makes mine greater than they are.’ ”