Harsh Pink with Bonus Content

Moon White
(NavPress)
Bright Purple
(NavPress)
Faded Denim
(NavPress)
Bitter Rose
(NavPress)
Blade Silver
(NavPress)
Fool’s Gold
(NavPress)
Burnt Orange
(NavPress)
Pitch Black
(NavPress)
Torch Red
(NavPress)
Deep Green
(NavPress)
Dark Blue
(NavPress)
D
IARY OF A
T
EENAGE
G
IRL
series (Multnomah)
D
EGREES
series (Tyndale)
Crystal Lies
(WaterBrook)
Finding Alice
(WaterBrook)
Three Days
(Baker)
On This Day
(WaterBrook)

A
PRETTY BLONDE GIRL SAUNTERS OVER TO WHERE
I
‘M SEATED ON A CEMENT
bench in the courtyard. It’s a warm September day and I’ve been reading a book and basically minding my own business, waiting for the lunch break to end so I can go to class. I continue looking down at my book, pretending I haven’t noticed this girl, pretending I couldn’t care less that she’s staring at me. I don’t actually
know
this girl, although I’ve seen her around. And I definitely know her type. In some ways I
am
her type.

For starters, she’s the kind of girl who wears the right designer and wears it well. Not in the flashy, overdone Paris Hilton sort of way, but in a way that shows she has a good sense of style and class. She keeps her makeup impeccable without looking cheap and her highlights appear totally natural. She’s looking at me with an expression of superiority mixed with boredom, as if I’m not really worthy of her attention, but for some reason she has set her sights on me. She places one hand on her hip, striking a pose I’m sure is for the benefit of her friends who are packed together, whispering, about twenty feet away. Her upper lip curls ever so slightly, as if she’s just gotten a whiff of something that smells bad. And then she speaks. “So
you’re
the one.”

I close my paperback and study her carefully, taking my time to respond, waiting just long enough to make her a little uneasy, or so I hope. “The one
what?”
I keep my tone even. No way do I want her to know she’s making me uncomfortable. The first step toward losing power is to let them see you squirm. I know this because I know how to make others squirm. Sometimes it’s necessary.

“The one who
somehow
made it onto the varsity cheerleading squad.” Now she’s actually looking down her nose at me. And that’s when I notice there’s a slight ball on the tip of her nose and, from my angle, it’s just a bit reminiscent of Miss Piggy Enough so that it makes me actually smile. So she’s not so perfect after all.

“What’s so funny?”

I just shrug as I slip my book into the oversized Burberry bag that I snagged from my mom’s closet last weekend. “So, I assume you stopped by to offer me your hearty congratulations.” I make sure she can hear the sarcasm in my voice, then I slowly stand. Of course, I wonder why I bothered, since she’s at least six inches taller than me and I’m still looking up at her. My five-foot stature has some perks, like when it comes to gymnastics or being tossed high in an exuberant cheerleading stunt, but it gives me a definite disadvantage in power struggles like this.

“Who
are
you anyway?" she asks as if she’s the reigning queen of Belmont High. And maybe she is.

“Reagan Mercer,” I say lightly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, uh, whoever
you
are.”

“Everyone
knows
who
I
am.” She glances toward her friends, who are slowly meandering over as if on cue. Now I notice they are some of the same girls who tried out yesterday. “I’m Kendra Farnsworth,” she continues in that smug, superior tone, “the girl you
barely
beat out for varsity squad. In fact, I’m first alternate. Not that I care.” She looks as if she’s about to yawn. Perhaps she’s boring herself as much as she’s boring me. But she’s not finished. “I’ve been cheering since middle school and I was on varsity last year and if you hadn’t dropped in, like out of nowhere, well, I’d still be on varsity right now. Not that I care so much, since I think I’ve outgrown that whole scene.”

Suddenly I remember this girl with clarity. As usual, I had tried not to watch as the other girls did their routines during tryouts. It’s just my way. I figure if they do really well, I’ll get discouraged and lose my competitive edge. Or if they totally flop, I’ll get overly confident and not give it my best shot. For me, it’s better to just not watch. But I remember this girl and exactly what went wrong. She started out fine, but then she forgot the second half of the long routine. Oh, she did it with a fair amount of grace and style and actually laughed at herself, then did a couple of really good jumps that made the crowd cheer. Still, to forget that much of the routine — well, it didn’t look too promising to me. And apparently it had cost her a position on the squad. Like that’s my fault.