CHAPTER ONE
“Even when I see a beautiful woman, I think, ‘Aw her life must be amazing.’
Everyone does it. That’s human nature to believe that beauty is everything.”
-Marina and the Diamonds
GIANNA
“Gianna, you like Scott. He’s been good to you and Chance. Why do you have such a problem with his son coming to live with us?” With her face is a mixture of motherly exasperation and bewilderment, my mom stood, hands on hips, waiting for an explanation.
Before replying, I peeked out the kitchen window to see my stepdad still out back with my little brother. “Mom, I do like Scott, he’s a nice guy. I just don’t understand why his son has to move in. Can’t he just send him to military school or something? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do with delinquent sons? We’ve never even met the guy and we're supposed to occupy the same house as him. You may as well invite some stranger off the street into our home!”
Okay, I realized that was an exaggeration, but I couldn’t help it. Scott was easy to accept because my mom loved him and he’d always been awesome to me and Chance. It didn’t mean I had to like his son, especially one with a bad reputation for being a complete loser.
“Gianna Hilary Thorpe! That isn't the same thing at all. Scott’s son is family whether you like it or not. And you forget I did meet him once, when Scott and I took him out for dinner downtown. So he isn’t a stranger to me and soon he won’t be a stranger to you either.” She started stirring the gravy on the stove faster in agitation, but with skill managed to keep the liquid contained. It wasn’t so easy for her to contain her frustration.
“Fine, mom,” I conceded grudgingly, seeing that whining would get me nowhere. “But he’s sharing a bathroom with Chance.” Hopefully the loser would do something to get kicked out of the house or sent back to his mom.
“Of course, you need your privacy, honey. I’m sure he’ll need his, too,” my mom agreed with evident relief.
What he needed was a good kick to the ass that left an imprint of Scott’s shoe. Grabbing my keys and duffel bag, I told my mom, “I’m out. The first football game is this Friday and we're working on new cheers.”
“New cheers! Honey, I can’t wait to see them!” My mom always went spastic over anything to do with my cheering. If being a cheerleader ended up being my greatest accomplishment in life, high kick me in the face now.
The lot nearest the gym at school was mostly empty since school didn’t start until tomorrow. I got a text as parked and grabbed my phone from the cup holder. It was from Cece.
Cece: Found perfect song for next routine
Me: Better get it approved with picky Jared
Cece: We’ll come up with something first, then lay it on him
Me: I’ll call you later to talk I’m just getting to cheer practice
Cece: Death to all cheerleaders!
Me: Then who would make the world a peppy place?
Cece: Gay hair stylists?
Me: Quit stereotyping!
Cece: It’s true! I always leave the salon with a bounce in my step when Tony gets done with me!
Me: You always have a bounce to your step anyways, TTYL
Hannah must’ve seen me pull up because she waited outside the gym doors for me.
Never a good sign. “Gianna, you need to talk to Kendra. She’s being a major bitch!”
What did I ever do to give these girls the impression I was a therapist or mediator?
Hannah was still seething over Kendra stealing her boyfriend last March. If they stopped for five seconds and really looked at the guy they were fighting over they’d be friends again. Having a nice car and rich parents didn’t make him any less sleazy.
“Why don’t you just punch her in the face? It’ll make you feel better,” I suggested under my breath while walking around her and pulling the heavy door open. Better yet, punch him in the face.
The summer heat outside was a stark contrast to the blast of cool air that hit me. Maybe it would cool Hannah off, too. Most of the girls were already there, doing warm-ups. A couple of the girls were wearing shorts and t-shirts in the school colors, navy blue and gold, with lightning bolts on them. I wore grey Capri sweats and a black tank top layered over a white one. My sneakers squeaked on the shiny gym floor.
Along with some new cheers, we were working on a new halftime dance routine. With the girls’ input, I doubted it’d be as cool as the one I’d come up with having Cece’s help this weekend. The song everyone decided on was a pop song with corny, but fun, lyrics. At least I had more say in the dance steps than I did in the music.
“Okay, everyone!” Ashley, our head cheerleader, announced. “Let’s get started!” We got in formation in the center of the basketball court as the music began.