Chapter 33

Rivalry

-RHONDA-

We were a few says into the new semester at this point. Today was the day of the week I had been looking forward to most of all, though. Cheerleading tryouts. Of course, they were going to be a mere formality, seeing as I had been on the squad for two years at this point, but I suppose fair was fair.

"Well," I asked at lunch, "Who's joining me at tryouts?"

"Pass," Helga remarked. "I know for some bizarre reason you see the need to surround yourself with those fembots, but it's really just not my scene."

"Helga doesn't want to cheerlead. I'm shocked. Look at my shocked face, everyone." I deadpanned.

"Honestly?" she replied. "You're better than this, Rhonda. For some reason, you think you need to be in with the popular crowd, even though we both know you would rather spend time with this gaggle of yahoos. No offense, yahoos."

"Oh, no problem," Sid replied.

"Yahoos pretty much does describe us," Stinky added.

"I don't do it for the popularity," I clarified. "I do it for the attention. I just plain enjoy being on display."

"As long as you're okay with your defectiveness," Helga replied.

"I am. Very." I glanced around the table. "Anyone else? Rani? Lila?"

"Sorry, Rhonda, I'm out this year. Laura talked me into joining the music club instead. To be perfectly honest, I'm kind of down on the whole cheerleading thing. I want to be admired for my musical ability, not my body."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass too," supplemented Rani. "I heard Brandy Bristow's in charge this year. You could not pay me to spend any time around her. Let alone train under her three times a week."

Brandy Bristow. Her pop was one of those social-media billionaires, as in with a B. Speaking of Bs, her dad's wealth gave her the kind of sense of undeserved entitlement that made for a king-sized one. Why wasn't she in an exclusive private school, you ask? Well, she was until last year, but rumor had it she got in some kind of trouble that even her father couldn't bribe her way out of.

She's just the sort of person I could've been if circumstances were different. No wonder we absolutely hated each other. Being drones on the same squad was one thing; at least I had friends of my own to back me up. This time, I'd be all alone in a sea of perfectly-coiffed-and-manicured sharks. Was it really worth it? Maybe I should just skip it all and join the anime club…

…no, what kind of talk is that? I am Rhonda Wellington Lloyd! My sense of entitlement is earned, damn it! There I no way I'm going to let Brandy and her minions intimidate me!

"So, it's just me, then."

"Looks like it," Lila said sympathetically. "If it means anything, we're all rooting for you."

"She's right," Helga added. "I hate Brandy more than I hate cheerleading, so you're definitely the lesser of the two evils here. Again, no offense."

"None taken. This is your version of being nice."

Post-school, Gymnasium

"Next."

Brandy Bristow occupied the center seat of the judges' table, flanked by two of her fembots, Claire Yang and Marlene Ford. Brandy regarded me as I approached in my workout gear, a bored look on her overly-made-up face. "Oh, it's you," she said dully as she brushed a lock of her probably-fake blonde har out of her eyes. "Fine, let's get this over with…"

I set my phone into its speaker-caddy and queued up the music for my audition routine. H&H Music Foundry's "Let's All Feel the Groove Right Now" began to play. Clichéd, I know, but it set the proper tone. I launched right into my floor routine, waving the provided pom-pops to the rhythm and throwing in cartwheels, walkovers, and even a split for good measure. Just because I deserved a spot on the team didn't mean I wasn't going to show my stuff. I ended, perfectly in step with the music, flinging my pom-poms up doing a backflip, and catching them without missing a beat.

"Someone's trying too hard," whispered Claire, causing the others to giggle derisively. Whatever. I knew I had performed a flawless routine. Who cared what they thought?

"Well?" I asked.

"Oh, sorrrry," sneered Brandy. "I kind of nodded off there for a bit. I'd ask you to do it again, but I don't want to die of boredom." She waved me along dismissively. "Next?"

"Are you kidding me?" I asked. "That routine was perfect."

"I said 'next,'", Brandy repeated, ignoring my response.

"Are you going to at least give me a reason why you're rejecting me? Given that I've been on the squad for two years already…"

"Really, Lloyd, just move on, you're embarrassing yourself." She glanced aside at her henchwomen. "Old money. They think the world owes them everything." Her minions tittered their agreement.

I knew she was a bitch – everyone knew she was a bitch – but I figured she at least had some level of integrity. But now it had become clear that Brandy was running the cheerleading squad as her own personal fiefdom. "Hey, I didn't have to have my daddy buy my way into running the team," I protested. "I earned my spot. Let's see you try to duplicate that performance. You can't, can you."

The fembots looked to their leader to see how she would respond to this challenge. Brandy simply smirked. "I don't have to. I'm the one in charge, and that's that."

"You're scared," I said, returning her smirk. "If you weren't, you'd answer the challenge. But you know that even your dad's money can't buy talent."

If my barb had gotten to her, there was no sign of it on her face. "Here's the thing about money, sweetie... it talks. And bullshit… that would be you, by the way… walks. So. Get to it. Walk." She waved me on. "Maybe you can salvage a little bit of your dignity."

"Fine," I said, turning on my heel. "You need me more than I need you. See if you make State this year." They may have cut me from the team, but they could never deny me a proper storming out.

I was almost to the school's exit when I realized that, in my haste to storm out, I had left my gym bag there. A fresh wave of embarrassment hit. Now I was going to have to go back there. Well, tryouts were probably over by now, so maybe I could just sneak back in and grab the bag with nobody noticing.

Quietly, discreetly, I made my back to the gym. Thankfully, everyone was gone, and even more thankfully, my gym bag was still there. I ran in and grabbed it, then made my way to the exit when I heard someone enter from the gym's rear entrance, a male/female pair giggling suggestively, likely as a result of having taken advantage of the privacy to engage in a little hanky-panky. I ducked out of sight, once I recognized who the voices belonged to. One was Brandy's. The other…

"You always did have some talented hands, babe," Ludwig remarked.

"Play your cards right, you'll find out just how talented," Brandy replied. "Now, you know the price, right?"

"*groan* Fine… 'So, how was your day?'"

"Get this… you would not believe who came in to try out today. The Little Dutch Girl herself."

"Amy Van Guilder?" asked Ludwig cluelessly, not getting the rather crude double entendre.

"No, idiot, Rhonda Lloyd."

"Oh. *beat* I don't get it."

"…you know, because she sticks her finger in a d-"

"Oh! Ha ha ha ha! I get it now!"

"Right. Anyway, you'll be happy to know I sent the skinny bitch packing."

"Cool. Uh, why did you do that?"

"Because she hangs with that Pataki chick who beat you up. Also, because she's a wannabe tryhard loser, but… mostly the other thing."

"Awesome. You're the best, babe."

Skinny? Wait… wannabe tryhard loser? Wait… she didn't even do it to get back at me, but at Helga? On behalf of Ludwig?I didn't even know what to be offended at first!

This… was not going to stand.

"I'm telling you, she did you a favor," Helga stated. "Cheerleading is the biggest waste of time imaginable."

"But it was my waste of time. And she took it away from me."

"Why do you even care?" Helga asked. "You know you're better than her. I know you're better than her. That's all that should matter. And besides, now you have that time free to do things that are actually worthwhile."

"No, I totally get it," the criminal I was dangling over the edge of the rooftop by his ankle interrupted. "Sounds like this girl you're talking about is constantly getting away with stuff. Unlike me, am I right?" he chuckled.

"Hey. quiet, you. Girl talk." Helga shot back.

Oh, did I not mention Helga and I were out on patrol at the time? This guy was one of a bunch of people attempting to break into BleepBoop Inc. HQ – ironically, Brandy's dad's company – to steal corporate secrets. I'd caught this particular guy after he learned the folly of trying to use a taser on a girl who controls electricity. Don't worry… we weren't using any real names for this conversation.

"I'm just sayin'," he said, "I get that it's not always so easy to pretend that people's words and actions don't have an effect on you. 'Cause they do. When I was your age, I had terrible acne. Everyone used to call me "pizza face" and "spots" and "Maurice" – trust me, that last one made sense in context – and I would pretend that I was above it all, but it really hurt."

"See, Temper? This guy totally gets it."

Helga smirked. "He is a surprisingly insightful piece of criminal scum."

"Thank you. I stole a psychology book last week and it was really fascinating."

"So, how do I get back at Queen Bee?" I asked.

"Well-" the crook began.

"Violence is not an option." I specified.

"Well, that puts the kibosh on my first idea. You got any dirt on the girl?"

I sighed. "Sadly, no. I'm just not the gossip queen I used to be these days."

"Personally, I think it's a mistake to stoop to her level," his partner, who was cuffed to a standpipe at the moment, interrupted. "Temper's right. Take pride in the fact that you're the better woman."

"Don't listen to him," Perp 1 responded. "You ignore her, she's gonna walk all over you."

How did I wind up in this position, wondering which career criminal's advice to take?

"If you ask me, you're better off…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, Helga… 'Cheerleading is for brain-dead bimbos who get off on being stared at.' But what can I say… I enjoyed it! Besides, it's the principal of the thing! She's abusig her power for revenge!"

"So that's what this is all about? It's some kind of ass-backward way to get back at me for beating up her boyfriend?'

"That's exactly it. I'm not even the target, I'm the splash damage…"

"You do watch my videos!" Nadine trilled happily.

"Of course. I don't know what the hell's going on, but I love listening to your voice. Anyway, I doubt that girl's going to stop at making my life hell, she and her minions are going to go after anyone connected with you. And I seriously doubt Ludwig himself is going to play innocent bystander in all of this."

"Okay… so this is some vendetta on her part. And we should probably be concerned about that. I get that. But really, losing out on being on the cheerleading squad? Is that such a great loss?"

"Helga," Phoebe advised. "Perhaps you should show a little empathy. What if Brandy took away something that you held dear, but others might not understand? What if, say, she decided to have her father cancel Wrestlemania?"

"…she. Would. Not. Dare." Helga stated coldly.

"Wouldn't she? Her father has, to use the vulgar terminology, 'Fuck you money.' Imagine the depths she could stoop to."

Helga seemed to consider this for a moment. "Damn, I never really thought of it that way. Hey, maybe we can take your mind off it, Rondaloid? C'mon… you wanna get ice cream?"

"No…"

"You wanna go take out your frustrations on the criminal element and then get ice cream?"

"*sigh* Yes…"

"Good. We'll do that, then."

Oh, right.

'J, I'm getting tired of this," Helga said. "Let's just bring these guys in and get on with it, okay?"

"I dunno, these guys are making some pretty good points. Sweet black revenge has its appeal, but I can see the advantages of taking the high road as well. I want to be the bigger woman, but I also think someone has to take that bitch down a notch."

"True… she does have it coming," agreed Helga. "Are we sure violence isn't an option here?"

"Yeah, sorry," I said. "It's only momentarily satisfying."

"You could go to the head coach or the principal, tell then what you overheard…"

"And have snitching on my record? Why don't I just find a way to make my social standing tangible and then throw it directly into a wood-chipper?"

"Just playing devil's advocate. Okay, so what would revenge from the high road look like? We'll have to brainstorm this…"

"So," Perp 2 asked, "Do you guys go to a normal school, or is there some kind of special school, like that one Captain Picard had in the movies?"

"Yeah, I think it's time to bring these guys in," Helga determined. "So, there's a Creamatorium a couple of blocks away from the station that's open all night. Wanna give some insomniac ice cream hounds a little thrill? Pose for a couple of selfies, sign a few autographs?"

"I do love both of those things," I conceded. "Very well, shall we?"

Two days later

Coach Jack Wittenburg surveyed his current starting line. After a long, rocky career, he'd finally landed a pertinent gig two years ago (with a bit of help). And while his first year as football coach had been fruitless, he'd managed to take the team to State last year. He'd never been this successful before, and was eagerly anticimating a repeat of said year's performancy.

So it was with a heady heart that he registrated that an integral part of last year's team was missing.

"WHATTAY MEAN, BERMAN GOT HIS GED?" he bellowed.

"Sorry, coach," Gerald replied. "I guess he got tired of being the oldest guy in school."

"But what am I supposed to do without him? My entire offense involved around that slab of meat! No one could plow through a defensive line like he could!" He began to sob. "It's over. I'm ruined. Back to scrubbin' toilets at the Y for me…"

"Dude, you're not being very encouraging right now." Wolfgang remarked.

"Well, whattaya want from me?" the coach asked. "The rug's just been pulled out from over me!"

"C'mon, man!" Gerald reasoned. "We got a solid team even without Harold. All we need is to replace everyone who graduated last year."

"Replace? What are the odds of replacing Berman?"

"Uh… excuse me, I heard this is where tryouts are taking place?" a new voice asked from behind him.

"Yeah, yeah, line up over th-" He stopped in mid-thought and turned. That was a voice unmistably of the female precision.

"Do I know you?" he asked. There was something about the tall, slim, black-haired girl that was promoting a memory.

"Actually, I was on your bowling team seven years ago. The 'Zephyrs'."

Coach Wittenburg snapped his fingers. "Crazy Legs! I thought I remembered you from somewhere. Well, I think you might be confused, little lady," he said. "The cheerleading tryouts were two days ago."

"Oh, I know," she acknowledged. "I'm here to try out for the football team."

He blinked incredulously as a few members of the team chuckled. The girl looked as if she'd blow away in a stiff breeze. How on Earth did she think she had what it took to play football? "This is a joke, right? You're filming me right now for one of your Tik-Vine or Me-Toob prank videos or whatever."

"No, I'm absolutely serious, Coach. I'm here to try out."

"Are you out of your mind, Crazy Legs? Bowling is one thing, but the gridiron s no place for someone like you!"

"What, because I'm a girl?" she asked, hands defiantly on hips.

"No, because you look like you weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet!" he pointed out. "This is a brutal game and someone like you is gonna get clobbered! That's why I wouldn't let Rooney over there on the team."

"I may be puny and sickly, but I have what really counts in a football game, grit and *cough* determination!" the diminutive aspirant insisted.

"I told you, Rooney, it's not happening." He turned back toward Rhonda. "And it's not happening for you either. I can not, in good conscious, let you on this team. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen, and your pop could probably afford the good lawyers."

Rhonda raised an eyebrow. "I had a feeling you might react like that, so… I went over your head."

Coach Wittenberg felt something nasty forming in the pit of his stomach. "You… you didn't…"

"Jack?" a husky voice asked.

"Uh… hello dear," the coach stammered.

"Hello yourself," Head Coach Tish Wittenburg answered. "Now, am I to understand you're attempting to deny this young lady the opportunism to try out for the football team?"

"Well, you gotta understand… I mean, she's not really… just look at her!" he pleaded.

"Need I remind you, according to state law, coaches are forbidden to deny any student a tryout on the basis of race, religion, or gender?"

"I… kinda remember readin' something like that some years back…" Jack hemmed.

"So, ipso fatso, you are obligated to offer Miss Lloyd a tryout."

"What about me, Coach?" Rooney asked hopefully.

"No," Tish replied. "That would be criminal negligence."

"But I'm an underdog story waiting to happen!"

"You are literally on crutches," she pointed out.

'Awww," Rooney whined, hobbling out of the gymnasium.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to it, Jack. You better give her a fair shake, or you're gonna face the consecrations." Tish concluded, exiting.

"Never get married," advised Jack to the team. "Especially to your boss."

A.N.: Coach Wittenberg is kinda hard to write. You have to make his malaprops feel natural and not forced.

Jose: Turns out the band's actual name is "Moon Goat", apparently, but maybe they changed it. Also apparently Chunk quit but maybe he came back? These are the risks with crossovers with an ongoing show.

JayDogg: Siamese.

And speaking of crossovers with an ongoing show, I have one coming up. I was trying to figure out how I would resolve the mysterious shop plotline, and I realized that it was the perfect opportunity to have the storyline cross over with a certain show that I've gotten really into lately, so stay tuned! It's still a bunch of chapters away, though. In the meantime, I've got a bunch of other stuff that I hope you enjoy.