Ex-Factor (Diamond Girls) (4 page)

Cartwright quickly began taking roll as the class pulled out their books.

I pulled out my notebook and pencil and sat quietly. I wasn’t about to draw attention to the fact I didn’t yet have a textbook. I’d take care of that little problem once class was over. No need to draw any extra attention to myself.

“I see we have a new student in class today. Ms. Evans?”

Every muscle in my body tensed simultaneously as Cartwright’s azure stare blazed across the room, locking onto mine.
So much for staying under the radar.

“Nev,” I said, forcing a smile. The last two teachers had successfully butchered my name during roll call, and I didn’t have it in me to listen to the nice history buff obliterate it as well. My name was different for sure, but not impossible to pronounce. I didn’t see the difficulty.

Cartwright gave a small chuckle, revealing a beautiful smile. “Thanks for the help with the name. Good to have you with us, Nev.” He narrowed his eyes and scanned the empty seats surrounding me. “I don’t have a textbook for you yet, so you’ll need to share with Mr. Scott today. Bodie?”

He cast my handsome nemesis an expectant glance, and I was sure, in that moment, that the universe was out to get me. I was being forced to share a book with the hot guy who hated my guts. My stomach heaved, and the urge to flee the room was an oppressive weight I couldn’t ignore.
Damn, stinking anxiety!

Aside from a hushed “tsk” sound and a low rumble, Bodie said nothing and quickly slid into the seat alongside me. He eyed me with a heavy amount of irritation, his gaze wavering between my desk, his book, and me.

I realized he’d moved as far as he’d intended when he switched seats, and that it was up to me to scoot closer. I didn’t want to share, but knew I had no choice in the matter. I bit my lip and hefted my desk two feet to the right, leaving me close enough to read his book, but still giving me enough space to where I didn’t feel like I was smothering him.

His scent didn’t share my caution, and smothered me into silent submission.
Good God, he smells divine.
I’d always been a bit obsessive over perfumes and colognes, and I knew his well: Acqua di Gio by Giorgio Armani. Thoroughly masculine and rich, he smelled like a delicious mixture of fruit, woodsy outdoors, and the sea. My first instinct was to lean over and take a giant whiff, but my sense of propriety and his clear dislike for me kept me in check.

Silence filled the space between us, the awkward and obvious tension so thick you’d barely be able to cut through it with a hack saw, much less a knife. Unable to stand it a second longer, I choked out a feeble “thank you for sharing with me,” while privately enjoying the aromatic goodness.

He cast a fleeting glance in my direction and clenched his jaw with an irritated sigh. “It’s whatever. Just make sure you get your own damn book before tomorrow. I’m not into sharing.”

He looked at me then. I mean, really looked at me, then shook his head and turned away, mumbling something beneath his breath that sounded a lot like “especially not with spoiled bitches.”

I flinched, momentarily stunned. It felt like I’d been punched, and I fought against the angry tears threatening to give me away. What was his problem? Why did he hate me? Pulse hammering, I clenched my jaw and sat silently in my seat, taking care to keep my expression void of emotion. There was no way I’d give the handsome jerk the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt me.

It was in that quiet, embarrassed moment that I came to a very clear, very solid realization. Bodie Scott was a complete and total assbag, and I hated him.

***

The rest of the day dragged on in a blur of strange faces and tedious assignments. I’d taken honors English the past two years, so the bonehead English class my aunt enrolled me in was a total breeze. I whizzed through the writing assignment we’d been given with time to spare and spent the rest of class stewing over the elusive and utterly repugnant Bodie Scott. I didn’t like him at all. I also didn’t like the way my breath hitched every time I pictured his face. Or his muscles. Or his tattoo. Yep. I was a sick puppy. Whacked out. Crazy.

My therapist got pissy with me whenever I referred to myself in a negative manner. She insisted depression was common and normal after the loss of a loved one.

I absently rubbed at the raised bump skimming the base of my skull and sighed. The little episode I had shortly after my mom was hospitalized wasn’t so normal or common, though, and the lovely doctor had quickly prescribed a regimen of happy pills to help me cope. Pills I’d refused to take until recently. It didn’t really come as a surprise when the good doctor upped my dosage after my dad passed. Nor was it a shock when she insisted my aunt dole out the medicine to ensure I actually took it. Even with the meds, my heart still felt heavy.

My sour mood followed me into my art class, and I’d all but ignored Ms. Wharton’s titillating discussion on the proper technique when shading. I’d chosen art for my second elective because it was low stress and I couldn’t stomach a third year of Spanish.
¿Dónde está la biblioteca? ¡Olé!

I paced back and forth across the worn carpet decorating Livvie’s bedroom floor for a good thirty minutes after arriving home. My stomach clenched and my chest ached. Home. Home was hundreds of miles away in Lincoln Township, Nevada. I’d be forever grateful that my aunt Trish had opened her home up to me after my Grammy admitted she couldn’t care for me. But her house, Livvie’s pink room, well, it all seemed foreign to me.

Uneasy, I stared at the wall of pretty shadow boxes in front of me and sighed. My cousin Livvie loved cheerleading, and it showed in the double row of shiny uniforms gracing her pink wall. Bright, beautiful, and outgoing, she’d practically grown up in her cheer gym, and it was as much a part of her daily life as eating and sleeping. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to embrace her peppy lifestyle the way she, my aunt, and my therapist hoped.

I reached up and brushed a finger across an enormous red, sparkly bow hanging just above one of the boxes. The fabric was thick and stiff and reminded me instantly of something you’d see on the Disney Channel.

Livvie breezed into the room with a giant green apple in her hand. Juice shot out from her mouth a good foot and a half as she chomped down into the succulent fruit. “Quit stressing over tonight,” she said with her mouth full. “You’re gonna do great. I’m sure of it.”

I dropped my arm, sidled over to my bed, and plopped down with a heavy sigh, my legs and back sinking into the plush down comforter. Livvie’s room wasn’t especially large, so how my aunt had managed to squeeze another bed into it, I’d never know. Regardless, I was thankful for my own little space, especially since I’d been allowed to pick out my own bedding. I pulled the edge of my white comforter over myself and groaned. The makeshift cocoon felt warm and safe, and I didn’t want to move, let alone get up, change clothes, and bounce around in front of a set of coaches.

Cool air bit into my skin seconds after my fabric shield was ripped away. Livvie stood over me, a fat frown scrawled across her pretty face. She snatched a fuzzy black throw pillow and knocked me upside the head with it, then pointed at me, the remnants of her apple still in hand. “Man up, Nev. You can do this.” Her dark blond brows knit together, creating a small wrinkle between her eyes. She chucked what was left of her fruit in the wastebasket alongside the nearby desk, then grabbed my wrist and yanked.

“Ow!” I struggled to free myself from her steely grip. Girlfriend packed a whole lot of muscle in her tiny little body. No doubt a direct result from the years of cheer conditioning. She herded me across the room, stopping just in front of her white, shabby chic dresser.

She cast me an exasperated look. “Oh please. Quit acting like a pansy. I’ve seen you in action. I know what you’re made of.” Lips pursed, she yanked open the middle drawer and proceeded to toss clothes over her shoulder.

A white T-shirt hit me in the face. “Livvie!” I barely had time to pull the offending piece of fabric from my head when I was assaulted with a black sports bra and a plain pair of black booty shorts.

She eyed me with venom. “Quit your bellyaching and put those on.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but quickly thought better of it. Livvie was a sweet girl, but if you crossed her, her claws came out. I wasn’t up for an argument with her so I bit my lip and trudged into the nearby bathroom.

The dull fluorescent lighting in the small room cast an odd, greenish glow over my black hair and brown eyes, and made my pale skin look sallow and wan. A spray tan was definitely in my near future. I pulled a hair tie from the top drawer beneath the sink and swept my hair back off my face, the motion both familiar and painful all at once. Up until six months ago, I’d worn my hair like this every day for practice at the gym.

I blew out a ragged breath and tugged at the hem of the white tee I wore. X-Factor Cheer graced the front in black and white zebra lettering. Livvie’s practice clothes were cute and comfortable. I was beyond happy we were only a year apart in age and the same size. I’d tossed all my leotards when I quit practicing gymnastics, and I was pretty damned sure that particular article of clothing wasn’t the norm at a cheer gym.

School clothes in hand, I exited the bathroom and presented myself to my younger cousin for inspection. “Well?”

She grabbed my dirty clothes, chucked them into the nearby hamper, then turned to face me and smiled. “You look great. Like you’ve been cheering your whole life.”

I didn’t share her enthusiasm but kept my trap shut. Livvie had done her best to make me feel accepted and at home, and as uncomfortable and nervous as I was, I wanted to show her I was trying. Maybe not wholeheartedly, but I was trying.

Having changed into practice clothes while I was in the bathroom, she shoved the new pair of cheer shoes Aunt Trish had purchased at me and inclined her head toward the door. “C’mon,” she said, picking my book bag off the floor. “We’ve got one hour to hit the books and eat before we head out. My mom will kill me if you’re late to your tryout.”

The anxiety building inside me spiked, and I followed Livvie down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen. Tonight would go one of two ways for me: I’d suck it up and power through the anxiety and pain I experienced when tumbling, or I’d fall to pieces and freak everyone the hell out. Either way, it was sure to suck.

Chapter Four

Status update:
Squeeze it ‘til it screams!

Few things in life were more humiliating than upchucking in public, especially for a sixteen-year-old girl. Public breakup? Definitely. Period accident? God yes. Discovering a pair of underpants had somehow attached themselves to my favorite hoodie in the wash?

Kill.

Me.

Now.

My stomach gurgled. Bile and lumpy bits of the nasty sandwich I’d forced down at lunch rocketed upward, threatening to blow past my lips in a violent and altogether embarrassing protest. I tore my gaze from the blue springboard mat in search of a way out—a back exit or a window to catapult my body through.

There were none.

Livvie stood in front of the only door leading into the spacious room, an excited smile spread across her mouth.

Oh God. I’m trapped.

I bit down on the inside of my lip, and to my utter freaking shame, proceeded to calculate the amount of time it would take to knock her happy butt to the floor and flee the building.
Pull yourself together, girl. You will NOT spew in public. Nor will you trample Livvie in a desperate attempt to escape.

My breath hitched as the ground swayed beneath my feet. For a second, I wondered if “the big one” had finally hit California, but then realized the ground wasn’t shaking—I was. I closed my eyes, inhaled slowly, and tried to swallow the tacky lump crowding my throat.
Dammit.
You can do this, Nev. You have to try.

For Livvie. For Aunt Trish. They’d allowed me to invade their lives, their home. They’d graciously taken me in when my grandmother could no longer care for me. I owed them big time, and would soldier through my impending cheer tryout with or without a mouth full of vomit.

Preferably without.

A thin coating of sweat covered my palms, and my pulse pounded in my ears. Unwilling to disappoint my only remaining family, I squelched back my anxiety, focused on my choppy breathing, and took a good long look at my surroundings.

The gym was enormous and housed what looked to be eighty plus cheerleaders. Dressed in a variety of T-shirts, sports bras, and booty shorts, each athlete was either in some sort of formation, working on routines, or participating in a tumbling class.

To my immediate right spanned an enormous white wall with a set of metal bleachers and a handful of chairs stationed just in front of it. Large, black script spelled out the words “Dedication, Determination, and Perseverance.” A spattering of cheer moms sat on the uncomfortable looking seating, chatting away, not really paying attention to anything outside of their conversation.

Thank God. Less people to see me freak out and eat mat.

The wall directly across from me was covered in mirrors, a long, narrow trampoline flush with the blue springboard floor spanning its length. A dismount mat sat at the end of the track, also level with the surrounding floor. A small line had formed at the end of the track, a tall blond with—

Oh, God. It couldn’t be. Please, don’t let it be…

My shoulders fell and I groaned. It was her, all right—the nasty Queen Bee I’d argued with that morning at school. Dressed in a sparkly pair of booty shorts and a bra top that looked two sizes too small, she sprinted down the narrow trampoline and launched into a beautiful round-off back handspring full.

Great. Just great.
I puffed out my cheeks as I exhaled and tried to put Little Miss Pissy out of my mind. She looked like the type of person that snapped at everyone who crossed her path. Maybe I’d get lucky and she wouldn’t remember me.