Disclaimer: I don't own any characters but Ris. MD characters belong to
Disney, BIO characters belong to someone not me. So don't sue. It's not
like you'll get anything anyway.
Everything You Wanted to Know...Or Didn't: Remember Me?
Adam shrugged into his last clean shirt and mentally made a note to do laundry after practice that day. Then he picked up one of Charlie's shoes and threw it at his roommate. Charlie mumbled and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Adam tossed a pair of pants and a relatively clean shirt at him and motioned to the clock. "We're going to be late, and I want to know what I got on my test." Charlie made a rude gesture and got dressed without standing up. Then he slid some socks and shoes on and followed Adam out the door, sticking some gum in his mouth in lieu of brushing his teeth.
The two teens managed to slip into their assigned seats as the teacher, also their new coach, Blake Nelson, started to call roll. He grinned at them when he called their names, but said nothing. As he finished and put his book on his desk, the door at the rear of the room opened, naturally causing the whole class to turn and see who was there.
A new student, a girl, stood in the doorway. Her black hair was intricately braided into about fifty or so tiny braids that she wore twisted around her head and tied with beads. She wore a spaghetti-strap navy top with a very sheer off-the-shoulder white top over it and a pair of low-slung jeans that left a strip of her middle bare. Adam noted that her skin wasn't white but it wasn't black either. She was the color of café au lait with dark brown eyes to match. Over one shoulder was a canvas messenger bag, and in one hand she bore the transfer slip with her schedule and name on it. She walked forward, ignoring the faces turned towards her. Handing the paper to Nelson, she turned to face the class, seemingly trying not to give into a smile.
"Everyone, we have a new student. From East Compton High School, in Los Angeles, please welcome...Risma Carpenter." Adam glanced sharply at Russ, two seats down from him, when the other boy stiffened at hearing her name. Risma took back her paper and moved to sit in the only empty seat in class; right between Russ and Adam. She plopped down comfortably and pulled out a notebook covered in doodles.
"Hey, Russ," she said out of the corner of her mouth, eyes front. Russ squirmed in his seat but said nothing. "Isis sends her love," she added wickedly before opening the notebook to a blank page and started scribbling.
"Something you'd like to share with the rest of us, Miss Carpenter?" Nelson asked from the front. Used to it, Adam waited for her to go red and stammer out an apology. She sat up straighter and offered an enchanting smile.
"I was just greeting an old friend, Coach Nelson," she replied easily. "We used to go to school together, me and Russ." Adam was intrigued. Apparently, Nelson was not, as he nodded and told her to keep her mouth shut in his class. She smirked to herself and went back to scribbling as Nelson walked among the desks, handing back the exams from the previous week. He went over the entire test, so that the class was over before he had a chance to assign homework or start a new chapter. Risma closed her notebook when Nelson dismissed them and stuffed it back in her bag. She stood up when Russ did and followed him out of the room. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him to one side of the still-empty hall. Adam and the others waited within hearing distance.
"Hey, Ris, what's-"
"Don't start with me," she said coldly, clearly. "Count your blessings that I'm not Isis, Russ. I would kick your ass here and now, never mind what it would do to my GPA. Your brother isn't here to watch your back this time. And people don't just play my family and get away with it."
"Is there a problem?" Russ breathed a sigh of relief that they'd come to his rescue at last. Risma turned around and looked up into a face glaring at her. She grinned.
"Not unless you make one, pretty boy," she replied. Then she swung back to Russ, dismissing Fulton entirely, a new experience for the intimidating Bash Brother. "You got me, Russ?"
"I got you, Risma. But guess what. James may not be here now, but I've got a whole team watching my back. Remember that." He stood straight, making her tilt her head back a bit farther. To his immense surprise, she grinned and burst out laughing.
"And I got you!" she crowed. "Come on, did you honestly think I care about your breakup with my cousin? Please, give me more credit than that!" She threw her arms around his surprised shoulders and squeezed. "Russ, she and I are barely speaking, ever since she dumped me from the squad." Russ's eyes, widened from surprise, narrowed slightly.
"Why did she dump you...?"
"Because Jenelope and I had a falling out, and you know that she and Jenelope are best friends. So she made up some lame-ass excuse about me slowing down the rhythm and I was tossed." She shrugged and smiled. "When Daddy got transferred out here, I was psyched. Thought I'd play with your head a bit. It was fun, especially having your friends come to try and stick up for you." Her smile grew. "You honestly thought I was going to pick a fight, didn't you? Come on, Russ, I'm at least twenty pounds lighter than you, and half a foot shorter! I couldn't hurt you if I tried." She turned again and regarded Fulton. "Sorry, about earlier. I didn't want you to try and beat me up until after I'd finished messing with his head." She tilted her head to the side. "I didn't mean it, either. Well, you are a pretty boy, but I... what I meant was...shit. I'll just take my foot out of my mouth now." Russ was gratified to see that she was blushing, but he couldn't help wondering why she was running her mouth. Normally, one couldn't get two words out of her for love or money.
"Welcome to Eden Hall, Ris. This is Fulton." He introduced her to everyone and then slung an arm over her shoulder. "What class do you have next?" he asked as students started to pour out of doors.
"I don't know." She yanked the wrinkled schedule out of her bag and studied it. "I have...Madigan. Biology. Ugh, biology."
"Great, so do I. We. Come on." Arm still around her shoulders, Russ led her off in the right direction, trailed by the rest of his friends, also in the same class. Within the first five minutes, Risma declared silent war on the strict teacher. After leaving that class, she and the whole team again headed off to the same class: Literature.
"What are we reading?" she asked as she let Russ tow her along.
"What? Oh. Um..."
"The Inferno, by Dante Alighieri," Adam filled in for Russ. Risma shot him a bright smile that made his stomach flip over. She headed up to the front of the room while the others took their seats.
The teacher, Troy McFarland, made the customary introductions and then insisted she call him Troy. "Now, Risma, I'm going to give you my copy of the book until you get your own," he said, reaching across his desk for the tattered book. Risma reached into her bag and pulled out a battered copy of her own, with the added The Purgatorio and The Paradiso. Troy blinked and smiled. "A classics fan, eh?"
"Would I fail the class if I said no? It was a present, and Isis, my cousin, wouldn't leave me alone until I read it. So I started to read it." Troy laughed.
"Not at all. What do you think of it so far?"
"I think Dante was either deranged or brilliant. My dilemma is choosing which one." Troy laughed again and assigned her a seat between the Bash Brothers. He then instructed them to turn to the fifth canto. Obeying, Risma accidentally banged her elbow against Fulton's. "Sorry," she whispered as Troy began to read out loud. She'd been lying through her teeth when she told the man that she wasn't a fan. She loved the book, and had read it no less than twelve times; hence, the shape it was in. Highlights and pencil notes in the margins decorated the pages, and she could almost recite most of the lines along with the reader.
Risma was a very intimate person. She didn't share more than she had to, normally, and she hoarded privacy more than anything else. She kept secrets with an obsessive skill, and she was not a real people person, though she could fake it convincingly.
Once a star cheerleader, she'd gotten along with everyone pretty well, so she'd thought. But her cousin's best friend rubbed her the wrong way, and one day it came to a head. She'd left out of her story that Jenelope and her sister Lafred had almost beat her senseless, after which Isis used that excuse to cut her own cousin from the squad.
Coming back to reality with a start as the bell rang, she put on her "cheerleader" face and let Russ lead her through the lunch line to a table crowded by his teammates. He sat her down across from him, between Adam and Charlie.
"They're having tryouts this afternoon after school, Ris, if you want to go for it here," Russ said, earning him looks from his friends. Ken spoke up.
"The only teams having tryouts this afternoon are the equestriennes and the cheerleaders, Russ," he said.
"Risma is a cheerleader, Ken." Risma smiled. "She was one of the best in East Compton."
"I dunno if I'm ready to go back to it. Are there any guys on the squad?" All she got were blank looks and stares of astonishment. "I'll take that as a no, then. It's no fun without guys. Girls suck at lifts and tosses." She shrugged and poked at her macaroni salad.
"Speaking of, how's Jan?" Risma glared at Russ for airing her personal business to the world.
"Dunno. He and Courtney are back together. It's a good thing, I suppose. She's pretty and she does go to his school. I haven't talked to him since Nationals last year." Russ seemed surprised at this and she sighed inwardly, knowing he wasn't going to let it go.
"But I thought you and he were tight?" Risma snorted. "I think he liked Les like that more than me," she said sarcastically. "It was over before it really got started. We're from two totally opposite poles."
"Isn't Les his best friend?"
"Was. Les is a good guy, and he didn't like what Jan had done to me, even if I was "the enemy." He and I got kind of close after Nationals, but that slacked off. I was a Clover, after all." She shrugged and shoved her fork into the pasta, watching it stick there, balanced perfectly. "Russ, if you don't stop prying into my life, I may yet have to devise some way to hurt you," she said, pushing her tray away. Within moments, someone else took it and began to devour her untouched food. Russ backed off.
"How am I going to find out what's going on if I don't ask questions?" he pointed out after a moment of mundane conversation.
"Why do you have to know?" she retorted.
"Because you're my friend, I have to know." Risma thought about that.
"As a friend, Russ," she said softly. "Could you just let it go?" Then she got up and left the room, leaving him staring thoughtfully after her.
"What was that about?" Adam asked, trying to make it seem like he was only mildly curious. Russ, still watching the doors, smiled slightly.
"Banksie, you don't want to know."
Everything You Wanted to Know...Or Didn't: Back Again
Risma used the handy barre to stretch her muscles out before she tried anything. She hadn't been keeping up to par since Lafred had cracked her wrist two months earlier. She didn't even know if she could still do it all. And she wasn't going to go out for cheerleading unless she knew she wouldn't make a fool of herself.
After finding the gym on her first day of classes, she'd had to force herself to stay away. And then she couldn't. She knew she was supposed to meet Russ for sodas after his practice, but something in her past or present drew her back to the gym. So she changed into her training clothes and started a traditional warm-up.
She started with a few simple floor exercises to build up momentum, and tried not to think about the many times she'd done this same thing with her friends, right before cheering. Right before Steve or Damian or both would grab her and toss her into the air and catch her. She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. Forcing a smile onto her face, she started her favorite cheer, the one that she and Isis had worked on together for Regionals their freshman year, only to be told they wouldn't be going. While she couldn't fling herself into the air, she could do the rest of it. So she launched into a complicated sequence of tucks and flips and cartwheels, round-offs and double and twists. When she finished, she was panting with exertion and her wrist was throbbing in pain. Since it hadn't been broken, the doctors had said that she didn't need to have it set or cast.
"Shit," she said, holding it to her chest. After a minute, it stopped throbbing and she stood and stretched again. She heard Isis in her head, saying, 'Come on, Clovers. We can do better than that. One more time.' So, as per her habit, Risma started the routine over again. Her flips were higher and she landed just right on each of them to help her launch into the next sequence.
She launched the handspring flawlessly, but her own weight proved her undoing. As she landed on her hands, something gave and she collapsed, letting loose a shrill scream of pain. Huddling on the floor, holding the swelling wrist to her stomach, she shook and bit her lip to keep from sobbing.
Then there were arms around her, pulling her head to a warm shoulder, and more hands tugging her wrist away from her body, making her whimper. Then another set of hands came into focus, wrapping medical tape around and around the swelling before slapping an ice pack onto it and tying it down with more tape. She looked up as her head cleared and found that all those hands belonged to one person.
"What're you doing here?" she asked, slightly dazed, and still in pain.
"I was walking by and I saw you through the window. I was watching and when you came down hard and collapsed..."
"How did you know what to do?" she asked, indicating her doctored wrist. He grinned.
"A couple of years ago, I acquired a hairline fracture in my wrist during a game. I let it go and let it go until it became a serious problem. The doctors told me what to do if it ever flared up again." He smiled his enchanting smile and helped her up.
"I'm gonna kill Lafred for this, if it's the last thing I do," she said, leaning on his arm until she'd gotten her equilibrium back. "Thanks, Adam," she said, flashing him one of her smiles. A smile that had, over the past couple weeks, made guys tougher than Adam Banks go decidedly weak in the knees.
"Anytime. Hey, take care of that wrist." He waved as he left the gym. Her smile faded and she grabbed her bag and trotted out of the complex and across the lawn towards the dorms. Halfway there, a hand stuck out from behind a massive tree and grabbed her, pulling her in. She laughed.
"Russell Tyler, let go of me!" she protested. He grinned and took her bag.
"What's up?" he asked casually, noticing the tape on her wrist.
"I had an argument with the floor in the gym. It won," she replied, dodging the subject. He raised an eyebrow but let it go.
"Are you going to tell me for real why you left LA?" he asked after a few minutes. She shot him a look. "Hey, I had to try. You're my friend, and I worry about you sometimes."
"You don't have to. I can take care of myself."
"Of course. Which is why the gym floor kicked your ass," he retorted sarcastically.
"Look, Russ. If I wanted you to know, you'd know, all right? So drop it, okay?" She took her gym bag from him and started walking away. He let her go, still worried, but willing to give it a while. He was still the only one of his friends that knew her well enough to say anything, but the fact that he knew her so well only told him to stay away from her privacy. He sighed and shook his head at the puzzle that was Risma Carpenter.
* * * *
Rewrapping her wrist before bed, Risma experienced a rare twinge of homesickness. Not for LA, but for the camaraderie that she had once shared with her teammates. Steve and Damian, brothers, had been her spotters and lifters and tossers for as long as they'd been cheering. Isis had always co-written cheers with her over tin can and wire phones they'd strung up between their two houses at the age of ten. If she had been in LA, Isis would have called her parents, wrapped the wrist and called Steve or Damian or even Jenelope to help her make a crude paper mache cast until the doctor could look at it. But instead, she was here, without any friends, wrapping her own wrist and trying not to cry in pain.
Squaring her shoulders, she decided it was time to swallow her pride, and her privacy, and call for help. She picked up her phone and was ashamed to notice that her hand was shaking. She shook her head and firmly dialed the number.
It rang once.
It rang twice.
It rang three times.
Before it could ring a fourth time, someone picked up. "Yo."
"Steve?"
A moment of silence.
Then, "Risma Carpenter, is that you?"
"Hey, Steve," she said, sighing in relief that he was home.
"Hold on, girl, let me put you on speaker. Damian! Get in here!" She heard the sound of feet and then Damian's voice. "What do you want?"
"Guess who called us?"
"Hey, Dame," she said.
"Well if it isn't Risma Carpenter. I was wondering if we were ever going to hear from you again." She laughed.
"I miss you guys. I was working on a routine today, and it didn't flow as smooth. I had to fling myself into the air."
"Yeah, after she tossed you, Isis gave us Britney. She's heavier than you, and she screeches if we toss her too high. One time, we plotted to slip when we caught her, but we didn't want to be responsible for killing her." "Nah, let Isis be that," added Steve wickedly.
Risma smiled. She knew they'd be able to cheer her up. "So, Britney Chavez is my replacement?"
"Unfortunately."
"I met up with an old friend out here," she said, trying to take the subject away from cheerleading.
"Yeah? Who?"
"Russ Tyler." Another moment of silence.
Then, "You're freaking kidding me." Steve. Risma grinned, knowing they couldn't see it. "I don't believe it. Tyler's going to your preppie school? I never would have thought." Risma forgot her door was propped open, and didn't realize there was an eavesdropping party in the hall. Of course, they could only hear her side of the conversation.
"No, I'm not kidding. I walk into my first class, and who would be sitting in the back row but Mr. Hockey himself. I messed with his head a bit. Met some of his new friends. They're cool, for jocks."
"I still can't connect this thought. Russ Tyler is going to your school."
"Do you always repeat simple concepts?" she teased. "Yeah. Russ Tyler. Here. Same school as me." She said the last slowly, as though she were speaking to a slow child. She flopped down on her bed, forgetting for a moment her injury. She squeaked when she landed on it.
"Ris?"
"Nothing."
"Liar. What's wrong?"
She sighed gustily. She should probably tell someone. "Remember back when Isis tossed me? She said it was because I had injured myself during practice and had to take some time off. Remember?"
"Yeah?" "Please, don't tell me she was lying about that too," Damian chimed in.
"She was. She lied about my having agreed, she lied about it being a practice injury. I know you guys felt like it was probably your fault. No, Jenelope took a swing at me and Lafred joined in. She cracked my wrist, and Isis sided with them, like she always does."
"Your cousin takes this 'no family favoritism' thing to a whole new level," Steve declared fiercely. Risma sighed.
"So, it was only hairline, but I didn't get it casted, and now it's worse. I'm going to see if I can find someone to give me a ride to the hospital so I can get it looked at. Don't tell anybody else. I didn't call you to tell you. I called you because-"
"Because we're your support, sweetheart. We know. Even you can get lonely and need someone to talk to." Damian was being sweet and supportive and would have all three of them sniffling any second. "Be glad you're not a twin, sugar. You can never be lonely," Steve added. She laughed as Damian was heard to be hitting his brother upside the head.
"Thanks, guys. This is long distance, so I should probably go."
"Night, Ris. Sleep well. And take care of that wrist."
"I will. You guys are awesome. Thank you both. Night." She hung up the phone with a sigh and rolled over, letting her hair flop off the side of the bed. "I miss you..."
Russ straightened from his position as eavesdropper and stared across the doorway at a wide-eyed Adam Banks. Then he knocked on the door quietly.
"Open!" Risma called, not moving. Russ and Adam walked in, trailing no less than half their team. "What's up?"
"How's the wrist?" Russ asked instead.
"No better nor worse than the last time you asked," she replied wearily. She was replaying the conversation with Steve and Damian in her head, hoping to get back some of that happy glow that she'd had. It wasn't coming back and she sighed and sat up. "Risma isn't in a very good mood right now."
"You sounded happy enough on the phone," Russ tossed back at her. She looked up and blinked once, twice, three times.
"You were listening." It was a statement of fact, not a question. She slid off the bed and walked to Russ, standing chest to chest with him, glaring up into his eyes that matched hers. "I told you earlier, Tyler. If I want you to know, you'll know. Get out of my room." He put his hands on his hips. "Get out of my room and get out of my life."
He actually laughed. "It didn't work the first time, Risma Carpenter. It won't work this time."
"Sellout," she hissed, eyes venomous. Russ' eyes widened in surprise. He'd never thought she would use that against him. "You, with your fancy team, and your fancy friends. Never mind that we were there to cheer you on when you weren't part of Team USA. Never mind that we taught you to be proud of yourself and your game, and to let nobody else make you different. At least we kept our pride, you damn sellout. At least I remembered to be true to those people who loved me along the way. Now get the hell out of my room and don't come back." Her voice was low, cold, and poisonous. Russ was firmly fixed in place by the shock of her words, like multiple slaps on the face. Then his face softened and he stared at her.
"I'm not the one lying to my friends," he said softly. The rest of the team was fixed in place, fascinated by the argument taking place before them. Risma reeled back as though he'd punched her. She kept walking back until she'd hit the wall. "Lying, stuck-up priss. No wonder they chucked you," he said, each word soft, each word ringing through the otherwise silent room. Risma's eyes kept getting wider and wider, her face draining slowly of color until it was stark against her dark hair. He knew he was only trying to get her to react, to crack her shell enough to attack him, or try.
She wasn't a violent person by nature, and she had trouble with emotions. She bottled them up. Only three people had ever been able to get her to release some. And Russ was one of those three. But while Steve and Damian did it with small jokes, making her laugh, Russ set her temper on fire, making her explode.
"You don't know anything," she whispered, not angry, but terrified for some reason. "You always side with your friends; you never have to worry about where your loyalties lie. But what if one started to prey on another? Whose side would you take, Tyler? Whose side? The side of the friend who claimed to have been raped, or the side of the friend who was accused of the raping. Whose side would you take if it meant that that part of your life was over? That that part of your life would be dead to you after? You don't know the shit and hell I've been through since you sold out to these prissy preps with their shiny new gear! You have no damn clue! So don't lecture me, and get out." Determined to ignore him, she returned to her bed, slipped on her earphones, took them off again and picked up the phone, redialing the number.
It rang and rang and rang.
"I know you're there, pick up the damn phone."
"Hello, this is Steve and Damian. Leave a message with your name and all that shit, and we'll call you back."
"Pick up the phone, dammit!" she said, then waited. Sure enough, the line clicked.
"Didn't we just conclude a conversation? Come on, Ris, you're tying up the line for all the hotties."
"What hotties?" she snapped.
"Okay, what bit your butt?"
"Tyler."
"Ah. Steve! Come help me deal with her PMSing!"
"I'm not PMSing. I am seriously considering leaving this place and running away to Mexico or some other such nonsensical place. My life is shit. My family is shit. And the only people I can talk to about it either don't give a damn or live two thousand miles away."
Steve came on the line then, and she knew Damian had left the room to give him some privacy. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse. And you want to know the best part? They're still standing here in my room listening to me and I don't seem to care."
"Honey, I'm so sorry I'm not there."
She sighed heavily. "I am too. Believe me. I went to watch this school's squad practice? First of all, there are no guys. Second of all, they have no idea what gymnastics are. All they do is jump up and down and shout things I can't even understand. They aren't cheerleaders, Steve, they're travesties! And then I went to watch the gymnastics team. And I discovered something. All this dumb school cares about is hockey. Hockey, for sobbing out loud! So, can I come home yet?"
"I thought you promised your dad that you'd try it for a semester."
"It's been almost three weeks. I would give up allowance and holiday money for the rest of my life just to have you and Damian out here to show these people what cheerleading is. To have you toss me up in the air again, like we used to in your backyard. Or even to eat lunch with you guys at Wendy's and have random people shout, 'Hey, Clovers! Nice game last night!' at us. This school apparently has two mascots: the Warriors and the Ducks, and I can't figure out which one's the official mascot." She took a deep breath. "But you know what the worst part of all is? The thing that makes me want to cry every minute of every day?"
"I miss you too. Maybe it would have been better if we had told everybody before you left. Damian knows, and for all the girls care, he might as well be me."
"I really don't want to think about that, thanks," she replied with a small chuckle. "But I do miss you. I'd even be glad to see Isis right now."
"Girl, you are lonely."
"I believe that has been established. One thing, I swear, the first thing I do when I come back for a visit, is to hug you, and then Damian, and then cry." She laughed. "Of course, not really, but if I say it out loud, ten or so people will hear, and I still like privacy. Sort of."
"So I suppose I shouldn't say I love you, then," he teased. She blushed bright red that clashed horribly with her skin.
"You're evil," she said. "But I love you too." She grinned at the sharp gasp she heard from behind her. "There, I said it. Happy?"
"Baby, I'm the happiest man alive."
"Yeah, well, tell your brother I miss him too, and thank you, for putting the smile back on my face where it belongs."
"Anytime. I'll even renew your phone card, if you want."
"You're just saying that to ensure that I love you forever, aren't you?"
"Yes." She laughed.
"It worked. Goodnight, Steve."
"Night, Risma." She hung up the phone and turned back to her audience, still standing where she left them. She glared up at Russ.
"Yeah, that's right. I'm in love with Steven Dominguez. Now get out, you've got your update." Then she rolled over and picked up a new copy of Cheer magazine. She wished spring break were now instead, of two weeks from. She wanted to go home and see everyone. Well, Steve and Damian and Lava. Lava was her best girl friend, but Damian was like her brother and Steve was her boyfriend. She didn't want to see Jenelope or Lafred ever again, and she thought that maybe Isis needed to get over herself and her captainship before they spoke again. She pulled her headphones on and almost instantly, the melodic sounds (not really) of Evanescence were blaring in her ears.
She flipped the pages and came across a very familiar face. "Holy shit!" she shouted, sitting bolt upright, flinging her headphones off into a corner, her eyes glued to the spread. Her squad was all over the glossy paper, grinning at the cameras, jumping up and down, holding their trophies and their check. She set it down flat on the bed and started to read the article. Once she'd finished, she stared hard at the team photo, eyes lingering on Lava, Damian, Steve, and herself. "I wonder if it still fits," she said thoughtfully, rolling off the bed to land softly on her knees on the carpet. She reached under her bed for the green duffel and pulled it out, unzipping it and reaching inside for her old uniform.
Eyes glowing, and an emotion welling up in her chest that she vaguely remembered, Risma drifted to the door, closed it and locked it. Then she slipped out of her t-shirt and jeans and into her old uniform. She pulled on the socks and shoes that went with it and looked at her self in the mirror. She grabbed the gold scrunchie from the hanger and pulled her long hair into a ponytail on top of her head, so it wouldn't fall out. Then she grabbed her keys and a water bottle and ran out of the room, not seeing the team on the other side of the hall, her eyes filled with memories.
Everything You Wanted to Know...Or Didn't: Lucky Clovers
Russ was the one who suggested they follow her, but the rest of them were as curious as her former friend. So they followed her, in her cheerleading uniform, down to the gym. Russ and Adam shared one window as she flicked on the lights, and the two Bashes shared the other, leaving the rest out hanging, hoping for a commentary.
"What the hell is she doing?" Adam said softly, watching her unwrap her wrist and flex the hand. "She's going to kill herself."
Russ watched avidly, a small smug smile on his face. "I think she's going to prove once and for all that she's good enough to be a Clover." The smile stayed on his face as she warmed up, stretching every muscle before starting to work on tumbling.
Then she stood in the middle of the floor with her eyes closed for a long few minutes. "What's she doing?" Averman asked from the back of the group.
"She's warming up, dude."
Risma could feel that the routine would be solid the moment she started it. She had not been a Clover for no reason. So she felt confident enough to do some of the more daring routines that she'd helped choreograph.
Grinning, sweating, and breathing slightly heavier than normal, she stood posed in the exact middle of the room after a hard twenty minutes of workout. Abruptly, she dropped the pose and started doing a little dance of triumph. "Go, Risma. Go, Risma." She punched the air enthusiastically. "What now, Isis? What now?" Then she did a back handspring, back tuck, round-off, front handspring, front twist and a cartwheel to finish out. Her face was lit with the bright smile that told the whole world that nothing could ruin her mood.
She was a Clover for life. And not even Isis could change that.
Finis
Everything You Wanted to Know...Or Didn't: Remember Me?
Adam shrugged into his last clean shirt and mentally made a note to do laundry after practice that day. Then he picked up one of Charlie's shoes and threw it at his roommate. Charlie mumbled and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Adam tossed a pair of pants and a relatively clean shirt at him and motioned to the clock. "We're going to be late, and I want to know what I got on my test." Charlie made a rude gesture and got dressed without standing up. Then he slid some socks and shoes on and followed Adam out the door, sticking some gum in his mouth in lieu of brushing his teeth.
The two teens managed to slip into their assigned seats as the teacher, also their new coach, Blake Nelson, started to call roll. He grinned at them when he called their names, but said nothing. As he finished and put his book on his desk, the door at the rear of the room opened, naturally causing the whole class to turn and see who was there.
A new student, a girl, stood in the doorway. Her black hair was intricately braided into about fifty or so tiny braids that she wore twisted around her head and tied with beads. She wore a spaghetti-strap navy top with a very sheer off-the-shoulder white top over it and a pair of low-slung jeans that left a strip of her middle bare. Adam noted that her skin wasn't white but it wasn't black either. She was the color of café au lait with dark brown eyes to match. Over one shoulder was a canvas messenger bag, and in one hand she bore the transfer slip with her schedule and name on it. She walked forward, ignoring the faces turned towards her. Handing the paper to Nelson, she turned to face the class, seemingly trying not to give into a smile.
"Everyone, we have a new student. From East Compton High School, in Los Angeles, please welcome...Risma Carpenter." Adam glanced sharply at Russ, two seats down from him, when the other boy stiffened at hearing her name. Risma took back her paper and moved to sit in the only empty seat in class; right between Russ and Adam. She plopped down comfortably and pulled out a notebook covered in doodles.
"Hey, Russ," she said out of the corner of her mouth, eyes front. Russ squirmed in his seat but said nothing. "Isis sends her love," she added wickedly before opening the notebook to a blank page and started scribbling.
"Something you'd like to share with the rest of us, Miss Carpenter?" Nelson asked from the front. Used to it, Adam waited for her to go red and stammer out an apology. She sat up straighter and offered an enchanting smile.
"I was just greeting an old friend, Coach Nelson," she replied easily. "We used to go to school together, me and Russ." Adam was intrigued. Apparently, Nelson was not, as he nodded and told her to keep her mouth shut in his class. She smirked to herself and went back to scribbling as Nelson walked among the desks, handing back the exams from the previous week. He went over the entire test, so that the class was over before he had a chance to assign homework or start a new chapter. Risma closed her notebook when Nelson dismissed them and stuffed it back in her bag. She stood up when Russ did and followed him out of the room. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him to one side of the still-empty hall. Adam and the others waited within hearing distance.
"Hey, Ris, what's-"
"Don't start with me," she said coldly, clearly. "Count your blessings that I'm not Isis, Russ. I would kick your ass here and now, never mind what it would do to my GPA. Your brother isn't here to watch your back this time. And people don't just play my family and get away with it."
"Is there a problem?" Russ breathed a sigh of relief that they'd come to his rescue at last. Risma turned around and looked up into a face glaring at her. She grinned.
"Not unless you make one, pretty boy," she replied. Then she swung back to Russ, dismissing Fulton entirely, a new experience for the intimidating Bash Brother. "You got me, Russ?"
"I got you, Risma. But guess what. James may not be here now, but I've got a whole team watching my back. Remember that." He stood straight, making her tilt her head back a bit farther. To his immense surprise, she grinned and burst out laughing.
"And I got you!" she crowed. "Come on, did you honestly think I care about your breakup with my cousin? Please, give me more credit than that!" She threw her arms around his surprised shoulders and squeezed. "Russ, she and I are barely speaking, ever since she dumped me from the squad." Russ's eyes, widened from surprise, narrowed slightly.
"Why did she dump you...?"
"Because Jenelope and I had a falling out, and you know that she and Jenelope are best friends. So she made up some lame-ass excuse about me slowing down the rhythm and I was tossed." She shrugged and smiled. "When Daddy got transferred out here, I was psyched. Thought I'd play with your head a bit. It was fun, especially having your friends come to try and stick up for you." Her smile grew. "You honestly thought I was going to pick a fight, didn't you? Come on, Russ, I'm at least twenty pounds lighter than you, and half a foot shorter! I couldn't hurt you if I tried." She turned again and regarded Fulton. "Sorry, about earlier. I didn't want you to try and beat me up until after I'd finished messing with his head." She tilted her head to the side. "I didn't mean it, either. Well, you are a pretty boy, but I... what I meant was...shit. I'll just take my foot out of my mouth now." Russ was gratified to see that she was blushing, but he couldn't help wondering why she was running her mouth. Normally, one couldn't get two words out of her for love or money.
"Welcome to Eden Hall, Ris. This is Fulton." He introduced her to everyone and then slung an arm over her shoulder. "What class do you have next?" he asked as students started to pour out of doors.
"I don't know." She yanked the wrinkled schedule out of her bag and studied it. "I have...Madigan. Biology. Ugh, biology."
"Great, so do I. We. Come on." Arm still around her shoulders, Russ led her off in the right direction, trailed by the rest of his friends, also in the same class. Within the first five minutes, Risma declared silent war on the strict teacher. After leaving that class, she and the whole team again headed off to the same class: Literature.
"What are we reading?" she asked as she let Russ tow her along.
"What? Oh. Um..."
"The Inferno, by Dante Alighieri," Adam filled in for Russ. Risma shot him a bright smile that made his stomach flip over. She headed up to the front of the room while the others took their seats.
The teacher, Troy McFarland, made the customary introductions and then insisted she call him Troy. "Now, Risma, I'm going to give you my copy of the book until you get your own," he said, reaching across his desk for the tattered book. Risma reached into her bag and pulled out a battered copy of her own, with the added The Purgatorio and The Paradiso. Troy blinked and smiled. "A classics fan, eh?"
"Would I fail the class if I said no? It was a present, and Isis, my cousin, wouldn't leave me alone until I read it. So I started to read it." Troy laughed.
"Not at all. What do you think of it so far?"
"I think Dante was either deranged or brilliant. My dilemma is choosing which one." Troy laughed again and assigned her a seat between the Bash Brothers. He then instructed them to turn to the fifth canto. Obeying, Risma accidentally banged her elbow against Fulton's. "Sorry," she whispered as Troy began to read out loud. She'd been lying through her teeth when she told the man that she wasn't a fan. She loved the book, and had read it no less than twelve times; hence, the shape it was in. Highlights and pencil notes in the margins decorated the pages, and she could almost recite most of the lines along with the reader.
Risma was a very intimate person. She didn't share more than she had to, normally, and she hoarded privacy more than anything else. She kept secrets with an obsessive skill, and she was not a real people person, though she could fake it convincingly.
Once a star cheerleader, she'd gotten along with everyone pretty well, so she'd thought. But her cousin's best friend rubbed her the wrong way, and one day it came to a head. She'd left out of her story that Jenelope and her sister Lafred had almost beat her senseless, after which Isis used that excuse to cut her own cousin from the squad.
Coming back to reality with a start as the bell rang, she put on her "cheerleader" face and let Russ lead her through the lunch line to a table crowded by his teammates. He sat her down across from him, between Adam and Charlie.
"They're having tryouts this afternoon after school, Ris, if you want to go for it here," Russ said, earning him looks from his friends. Ken spoke up.
"The only teams having tryouts this afternoon are the equestriennes and the cheerleaders, Russ," he said.
"Risma is a cheerleader, Ken." Risma smiled. "She was one of the best in East Compton."
"I dunno if I'm ready to go back to it. Are there any guys on the squad?" All she got were blank looks and stares of astonishment. "I'll take that as a no, then. It's no fun without guys. Girls suck at lifts and tosses." She shrugged and poked at her macaroni salad.
"Speaking of, how's Jan?" Risma glared at Russ for airing her personal business to the world.
"Dunno. He and Courtney are back together. It's a good thing, I suppose. She's pretty and she does go to his school. I haven't talked to him since Nationals last year." Russ seemed surprised at this and she sighed inwardly, knowing he wasn't going to let it go.
"But I thought you and he were tight?" Risma snorted. "I think he liked Les like that more than me," she said sarcastically. "It was over before it really got started. We're from two totally opposite poles."
"Isn't Les his best friend?"
"Was. Les is a good guy, and he didn't like what Jan had done to me, even if I was "the enemy." He and I got kind of close after Nationals, but that slacked off. I was a Clover, after all." She shrugged and shoved her fork into the pasta, watching it stick there, balanced perfectly. "Russ, if you don't stop prying into my life, I may yet have to devise some way to hurt you," she said, pushing her tray away. Within moments, someone else took it and began to devour her untouched food. Russ backed off.
"How am I going to find out what's going on if I don't ask questions?" he pointed out after a moment of mundane conversation.
"Why do you have to know?" she retorted.
"Because you're my friend, I have to know." Risma thought about that.
"As a friend, Russ," she said softly. "Could you just let it go?" Then she got up and left the room, leaving him staring thoughtfully after her.
"What was that about?" Adam asked, trying to make it seem like he was only mildly curious. Russ, still watching the doors, smiled slightly.
"Banksie, you don't want to know."
Everything You Wanted to Know...Or Didn't: Back Again
Risma used the handy barre to stretch her muscles out before she tried anything. She hadn't been keeping up to par since Lafred had cracked her wrist two months earlier. She didn't even know if she could still do it all. And she wasn't going to go out for cheerleading unless she knew she wouldn't make a fool of herself.
After finding the gym on her first day of classes, she'd had to force herself to stay away. And then she couldn't. She knew she was supposed to meet Russ for sodas after his practice, but something in her past or present drew her back to the gym. So she changed into her training clothes and started a traditional warm-up.
She started with a few simple floor exercises to build up momentum, and tried not to think about the many times she'd done this same thing with her friends, right before cheering. Right before Steve or Damian or both would grab her and toss her into the air and catch her. She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. Forcing a smile onto her face, she started her favorite cheer, the one that she and Isis had worked on together for Regionals their freshman year, only to be told they wouldn't be going. While she couldn't fling herself into the air, she could do the rest of it. So she launched into a complicated sequence of tucks and flips and cartwheels, round-offs and double and twists. When she finished, she was panting with exertion and her wrist was throbbing in pain. Since it hadn't been broken, the doctors had said that she didn't need to have it set or cast.
"Shit," she said, holding it to her chest. After a minute, it stopped throbbing and she stood and stretched again. She heard Isis in her head, saying, 'Come on, Clovers. We can do better than that. One more time.' So, as per her habit, Risma started the routine over again. Her flips were higher and she landed just right on each of them to help her launch into the next sequence.
She launched the handspring flawlessly, but her own weight proved her undoing. As she landed on her hands, something gave and she collapsed, letting loose a shrill scream of pain. Huddling on the floor, holding the swelling wrist to her stomach, she shook and bit her lip to keep from sobbing.
Then there were arms around her, pulling her head to a warm shoulder, and more hands tugging her wrist away from her body, making her whimper. Then another set of hands came into focus, wrapping medical tape around and around the swelling before slapping an ice pack onto it and tying it down with more tape. She looked up as her head cleared and found that all those hands belonged to one person.
"What're you doing here?" she asked, slightly dazed, and still in pain.
"I was walking by and I saw you through the window. I was watching and when you came down hard and collapsed..."
"How did you know what to do?" she asked, indicating her doctored wrist. He grinned.
"A couple of years ago, I acquired a hairline fracture in my wrist during a game. I let it go and let it go until it became a serious problem. The doctors told me what to do if it ever flared up again." He smiled his enchanting smile and helped her up.
"I'm gonna kill Lafred for this, if it's the last thing I do," she said, leaning on his arm until she'd gotten her equilibrium back. "Thanks, Adam," she said, flashing him one of her smiles. A smile that had, over the past couple weeks, made guys tougher than Adam Banks go decidedly weak in the knees.
"Anytime. Hey, take care of that wrist." He waved as he left the gym. Her smile faded and she grabbed her bag and trotted out of the complex and across the lawn towards the dorms. Halfway there, a hand stuck out from behind a massive tree and grabbed her, pulling her in. She laughed.
"Russell Tyler, let go of me!" she protested. He grinned and took her bag.
"What's up?" he asked casually, noticing the tape on her wrist.
"I had an argument with the floor in the gym. It won," she replied, dodging the subject. He raised an eyebrow but let it go.
"Are you going to tell me for real why you left LA?" he asked after a few minutes. She shot him a look. "Hey, I had to try. You're my friend, and I worry about you sometimes."
"You don't have to. I can take care of myself."
"Of course. Which is why the gym floor kicked your ass," he retorted sarcastically.
"Look, Russ. If I wanted you to know, you'd know, all right? So drop it, okay?" She took her gym bag from him and started walking away. He let her go, still worried, but willing to give it a while. He was still the only one of his friends that knew her well enough to say anything, but the fact that he knew her so well only told him to stay away from her privacy. He sighed and shook his head at the puzzle that was Risma Carpenter.
* * * *
Rewrapping her wrist before bed, Risma experienced a rare twinge of homesickness. Not for LA, but for the camaraderie that she had once shared with her teammates. Steve and Damian, brothers, had been her spotters and lifters and tossers for as long as they'd been cheering. Isis had always co-written cheers with her over tin can and wire phones they'd strung up between their two houses at the age of ten. If she had been in LA, Isis would have called her parents, wrapped the wrist and called Steve or Damian or even Jenelope to help her make a crude paper mache cast until the doctor could look at it. But instead, she was here, without any friends, wrapping her own wrist and trying not to cry in pain.
Squaring her shoulders, she decided it was time to swallow her pride, and her privacy, and call for help. She picked up her phone and was ashamed to notice that her hand was shaking. She shook her head and firmly dialed the number.
It rang once.
It rang twice.
It rang three times.
Before it could ring a fourth time, someone picked up. "Yo."
"Steve?"
A moment of silence.
Then, "Risma Carpenter, is that you?"
"Hey, Steve," she said, sighing in relief that he was home.
"Hold on, girl, let me put you on speaker. Damian! Get in here!" She heard the sound of feet and then Damian's voice. "What do you want?"
"Guess who called us?"
"Hey, Dame," she said.
"Well if it isn't Risma Carpenter. I was wondering if we were ever going to hear from you again." She laughed.
"I miss you guys. I was working on a routine today, and it didn't flow as smooth. I had to fling myself into the air."
"Yeah, after she tossed you, Isis gave us Britney. She's heavier than you, and she screeches if we toss her too high. One time, we plotted to slip when we caught her, but we didn't want to be responsible for killing her." "Nah, let Isis be that," added Steve wickedly.
Risma smiled. She knew they'd be able to cheer her up. "So, Britney Chavez is my replacement?"
"Unfortunately."
"I met up with an old friend out here," she said, trying to take the subject away from cheerleading.
"Yeah? Who?"
"Russ Tyler." Another moment of silence.
Then, "You're freaking kidding me." Steve. Risma grinned, knowing they couldn't see it. "I don't believe it. Tyler's going to your preppie school? I never would have thought." Risma forgot her door was propped open, and didn't realize there was an eavesdropping party in the hall. Of course, they could only hear her side of the conversation.
"No, I'm not kidding. I walk into my first class, and who would be sitting in the back row but Mr. Hockey himself. I messed with his head a bit. Met some of his new friends. They're cool, for jocks."
"I still can't connect this thought. Russ Tyler is going to your school."
"Do you always repeat simple concepts?" she teased. "Yeah. Russ Tyler. Here. Same school as me." She said the last slowly, as though she were speaking to a slow child. She flopped down on her bed, forgetting for a moment her injury. She squeaked when she landed on it.
"Ris?"
"Nothing."
"Liar. What's wrong?"
She sighed gustily. She should probably tell someone. "Remember back when Isis tossed me? She said it was because I had injured myself during practice and had to take some time off. Remember?"
"Yeah?" "Please, don't tell me she was lying about that too," Damian chimed in.
"She was. She lied about my having agreed, she lied about it being a practice injury. I know you guys felt like it was probably your fault. No, Jenelope took a swing at me and Lafred joined in. She cracked my wrist, and Isis sided with them, like she always does."
"Your cousin takes this 'no family favoritism' thing to a whole new level," Steve declared fiercely. Risma sighed.
"So, it was only hairline, but I didn't get it casted, and now it's worse. I'm going to see if I can find someone to give me a ride to the hospital so I can get it looked at. Don't tell anybody else. I didn't call you to tell you. I called you because-"
"Because we're your support, sweetheart. We know. Even you can get lonely and need someone to talk to." Damian was being sweet and supportive and would have all three of them sniffling any second. "Be glad you're not a twin, sugar. You can never be lonely," Steve added. She laughed as Damian was heard to be hitting his brother upside the head.
"Thanks, guys. This is long distance, so I should probably go."
"Night, Ris. Sleep well. And take care of that wrist."
"I will. You guys are awesome. Thank you both. Night." She hung up the phone with a sigh and rolled over, letting her hair flop off the side of the bed. "I miss you..."
Russ straightened from his position as eavesdropper and stared across the doorway at a wide-eyed Adam Banks. Then he knocked on the door quietly.
"Open!" Risma called, not moving. Russ and Adam walked in, trailing no less than half their team. "What's up?"
"How's the wrist?" Russ asked instead.
"No better nor worse than the last time you asked," she replied wearily. She was replaying the conversation with Steve and Damian in her head, hoping to get back some of that happy glow that she'd had. It wasn't coming back and she sighed and sat up. "Risma isn't in a very good mood right now."
"You sounded happy enough on the phone," Russ tossed back at her. She looked up and blinked once, twice, three times.
"You were listening." It was a statement of fact, not a question. She slid off the bed and walked to Russ, standing chest to chest with him, glaring up into his eyes that matched hers. "I told you earlier, Tyler. If I want you to know, you'll know. Get out of my room." He put his hands on his hips. "Get out of my room and get out of my life."
He actually laughed. "It didn't work the first time, Risma Carpenter. It won't work this time."
"Sellout," she hissed, eyes venomous. Russ' eyes widened in surprise. He'd never thought she would use that against him. "You, with your fancy team, and your fancy friends. Never mind that we were there to cheer you on when you weren't part of Team USA. Never mind that we taught you to be proud of yourself and your game, and to let nobody else make you different. At least we kept our pride, you damn sellout. At least I remembered to be true to those people who loved me along the way. Now get the hell out of my room and don't come back." Her voice was low, cold, and poisonous. Russ was firmly fixed in place by the shock of her words, like multiple slaps on the face. Then his face softened and he stared at her.
"I'm not the one lying to my friends," he said softly. The rest of the team was fixed in place, fascinated by the argument taking place before them. Risma reeled back as though he'd punched her. She kept walking back until she'd hit the wall. "Lying, stuck-up priss. No wonder they chucked you," he said, each word soft, each word ringing through the otherwise silent room. Risma's eyes kept getting wider and wider, her face draining slowly of color until it was stark against her dark hair. He knew he was only trying to get her to react, to crack her shell enough to attack him, or try.
She wasn't a violent person by nature, and she had trouble with emotions. She bottled them up. Only three people had ever been able to get her to release some. And Russ was one of those three. But while Steve and Damian did it with small jokes, making her laugh, Russ set her temper on fire, making her explode.
"You don't know anything," she whispered, not angry, but terrified for some reason. "You always side with your friends; you never have to worry about where your loyalties lie. But what if one started to prey on another? Whose side would you take, Tyler? Whose side? The side of the friend who claimed to have been raped, or the side of the friend who was accused of the raping. Whose side would you take if it meant that that part of your life was over? That that part of your life would be dead to you after? You don't know the shit and hell I've been through since you sold out to these prissy preps with their shiny new gear! You have no damn clue! So don't lecture me, and get out." Determined to ignore him, she returned to her bed, slipped on her earphones, took them off again and picked up the phone, redialing the number.
It rang and rang and rang.
"I know you're there, pick up the damn phone."
"Hello, this is Steve and Damian. Leave a message with your name and all that shit, and we'll call you back."
"Pick up the phone, dammit!" she said, then waited. Sure enough, the line clicked.
"Didn't we just conclude a conversation? Come on, Ris, you're tying up the line for all the hotties."
"What hotties?" she snapped.
"Okay, what bit your butt?"
"Tyler."
"Ah. Steve! Come help me deal with her PMSing!"
"I'm not PMSing. I am seriously considering leaving this place and running away to Mexico or some other such nonsensical place. My life is shit. My family is shit. And the only people I can talk to about it either don't give a damn or live two thousand miles away."
Steve came on the line then, and she knew Damian had left the room to give him some privacy. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse. And you want to know the best part? They're still standing here in my room listening to me and I don't seem to care."
"Honey, I'm so sorry I'm not there."
She sighed heavily. "I am too. Believe me. I went to watch this school's squad practice? First of all, there are no guys. Second of all, they have no idea what gymnastics are. All they do is jump up and down and shout things I can't even understand. They aren't cheerleaders, Steve, they're travesties! And then I went to watch the gymnastics team. And I discovered something. All this dumb school cares about is hockey. Hockey, for sobbing out loud! So, can I come home yet?"
"I thought you promised your dad that you'd try it for a semester."
"It's been almost three weeks. I would give up allowance and holiday money for the rest of my life just to have you and Damian out here to show these people what cheerleading is. To have you toss me up in the air again, like we used to in your backyard. Or even to eat lunch with you guys at Wendy's and have random people shout, 'Hey, Clovers! Nice game last night!' at us. This school apparently has two mascots: the Warriors and the Ducks, and I can't figure out which one's the official mascot." She took a deep breath. "But you know what the worst part of all is? The thing that makes me want to cry every minute of every day?"
"I miss you too. Maybe it would have been better if we had told everybody before you left. Damian knows, and for all the girls care, he might as well be me."
"I really don't want to think about that, thanks," she replied with a small chuckle. "But I do miss you. I'd even be glad to see Isis right now."
"Girl, you are lonely."
"I believe that has been established. One thing, I swear, the first thing I do when I come back for a visit, is to hug you, and then Damian, and then cry." She laughed. "Of course, not really, but if I say it out loud, ten or so people will hear, and I still like privacy. Sort of."
"So I suppose I shouldn't say I love you, then," he teased. She blushed bright red that clashed horribly with her skin.
"You're evil," she said. "But I love you too." She grinned at the sharp gasp she heard from behind her. "There, I said it. Happy?"
"Baby, I'm the happiest man alive."
"Yeah, well, tell your brother I miss him too, and thank you, for putting the smile back on my face where it belongs."
"Anytime. I'll even renew your phone card, if you want."
"You're just saying that to ensure that I love you forever, aren't you?"
"Yes." She laughed.
"It worked. Goodnight, Steve."
"Night, Risma." She hung up the phone and turned back to her audience, still standing where she left them. She glared up at Russ.
"Yeah, that's right. I'm in love with Steven Dominguez. Now get out, you've got your update." Then she rolled over and picked up a new copy of Cheer magazine. She wished spring break were now instead, of two weeks from. She wanted to go home and see everyone. Well, Steve and Damian and Lava. Lava was her best girl friend, but Damian was like her brother and Steve was her boyfriend. She didn't want to see Jenelope or Lafred ever again, and she thought that maybe Isis needed to get over herself and her captainship before they spoke again. She pulled her headphones on and almost instantly, the melodic sounds (not really) of Evanescence were blaring in her ears.
She flipped the pages and came across a very familiar face. "Holy shit!" she shouted, sitting bolt upright, flinging her headphones off into a corner, her eyes glued to the spread. Her squad was all over the glossy paper, grinning at the cameras, jumping up and down, holding their trophies and their check. She set it down flat on the bed and started to read the article. Once she'd finished, she stared hard at the team photo, eyes lingering on Lava, Damian, Steve, and herself. "I wonder if it still fits," she said thoughtfully, rolling off the bed to land softly on her knees on the carpet. She reached under her bed for the green duffel and pulled it out, unzipping it and reaching inside for her old uniform.
Eyes glowing, and an emotion welling up in her chest that she vaguely remembered, Risma drifted to the door, closed it and locked it. Then she slipped out of her t-shirt and jeans and into her old uniform. She pulled on the socks and shoes that went with it and looked at her self in the mirror. She grabbed the gold scrunchie from the hanger and pulled her long hair into a ponytail on top of her head, so it wouldn't fall out. Then she grabbed her keys and a water bottle and ran out of the room, not seeing the team on the other side of the hall, her eyes filled with memories.
Everything You Wanted to Know...Or Didn't: Lucky Clovers
Russ was the one who suggested they follow her, but the rest of them were as curious as her former friend. So they followed her, in her cheerleading uniform, down to the gym. Russ and Adam shared one window as she flicked on the lights, and the two Bashes shared the other, leaving the rest out hanging, hoping for a commentary.
"What the hell is she doing?" Adam said softly, watching her unwrap her wrist and flex the hand. "She's going to kill herself."
Russ watched avidly, a small smug smile on his face. "I think she's going to prove once and for all that she's good enough to be a Clover." The smile stayed on his face as she warmed up, stretching every muscle before starting to work on tumbling.
Then she stood in the middle of the floor with her eyes closed for a long few minutes. "What's she doing?" Averman asked from the back of the group.
"She's warming up, dude."
Risma could feel that the routine would be solid the moment she started it. She had not been a Clover for no reason. So she felt confident enough to do some of the more daring routines that she'd helped choreograph.
Grinning, sweating, and breathing slightly heavier than normal, she stood posed in the exact middle of the room after a hard twenty minutes of workout. Abruptly, she dropped the pose and started doing a little dance of triumph. "Go, Risma. Go, Risma." She punched the air enthusiastically. "What now, Isis? What now?" Then she did a back handspring, back tuck, round-off, front handspring, front twist and a cartwheel to finish out. Her face was lit with the bright smile that told the whole world that nothing could ruin her mood.
She was a Clover for life. And not even Isis could change that.
Finis