What's In It For Me (5 page)

I smiled lightly as I remembered that
day. September fifth. I sent him a special edition funny LOLcat
birthday e-card. I never thought anyone would cry on the night of
their birthday, except of course if they were turning forty
up.

"Why?" I shouldn't have asked, but
curiosity got the better of me. And I was crying because of him,
for godsakes.

"My parents decided to split up on the
night of my birthday." He said coolly, as if it was no big deal.
But I can tell that it means a lot to him. Many kids pretend like
they don't give a damn when their parents separate, but they're the
ones who were affected the most.

"No way."

He nodded. "I know. It's hard to
believe but -"

"But why are they still living
together?"

He gave a mild chuckle, "No one wants
to give up the house. It's funny, really, when you think about
it."

Yes. Hilarious. "Your parents are
weirdly immature."

He put his hands on the back of his
neck. "Tell me about it."

Nobody said something for a moment. Me,
I'm just enjoying the way everything feels. Maybe it's not bound to
be a wretched night after all. The moon lit up the world tonight
and I could smell the scent of the pine trees carried by the night
breeze.

"We'd better get home." He said after a
while. "The authorities were on their way here."

I nodded at him and felt my pockets for
the keys.

"Can you drive?"

I winced when I tried to move my
damaged right hand. I shook my head at him. "No. I won't let you.
You've done more than enough for tonight."

He held out his hand, palm up. "Keys,
Sherlock."

I rolled my eyes and surrendered the
keys. I'm in too much pain to argue with him. Besides, he's just
trying to be nice. This rarely happens between him and me. He was
too much of a gentleman for tonight.

He grabbed the keys and immediately ran
to the driver's seat and left me leaning on the passenger seat
door. Okay, so not much of a gentleman. He's still the same Andrew
Alleyn. I sighed and opened the passenger seat door with my good
hand. That ride home was the longest journey I ever had in my
entire life.

***

You know what's the worst thing that
can happen to a right-handed person? Not being able to write down
notes because their right hand is injured. But I'm glad that'll
never happen to me, even if I'm a right-handed person and my right
hand is, in fact, injured. I've prepared for this moment, just to
make sure that I can keep taking notes and keep my grades from
faltering. Back when I was still a freshman in Greenvale, I spent
every Saturday nights practicing writing using my left hand. Now I
can write with my left hand with the same efficiency as my right
hand.

I was walking back to my locker from my
last subject, World Politics, when I noticed that everyone was
looking at me. But not just at me, they're looking at my bandaged
hand. By now, they must have heard of what happened at Tara's.
Ironically, Bruce earned more admirers than ever. He's now top two
in this virtual list of Hottest Guys in Greenvale High. Bruce
toppled Sam Gunderson (the mysterious skater boy) and Dante Cruz
(the hunky exchange student) respectively. But he never got over
Andrew Alleyn, which was, of course, still number one. You can ask
anybody in school (except me, I think I might have voted for Jason,
who's at five).

Anyway, football season's coming up and
everyone (and I do mean everyone) is really excited. There are
banners on the wall already, stickers (despite prohibition by the
student council) on locker doors and more practice than ever
before. That could only mean more work for me, Kit Sherlock, as a
cheerleader.

I opened my locker and I was greeted by
that familiar sight of books and schoolwork. I had my books
arranged by subject and alphabetically, although sometimes, just
for fun, I would arrange them in reverse alphabetical order. You
know, just to make things a little edgier and chaotic. I felt a
gentle tap on my shoulder. I closed my locker and faced the person
who just tapped me. I was now face to face with Hottest Guy in
Greenvale number two: Bruce Benet. He's not even hot at all. He was
just this more-than-six-feet-who-likes-to-terrorize-people kind of
guy. I don't even know why girls swoon as they talk quietly about
his six packs. Don't they even find that, I don't know,
disgusting?

Anyway, he was looking at me with
intense expression. I stared at him not unkindly but with the same
power. Moments later, he dropped his gaze and sighed.

"I came here to apologize about what
happened the night at Tara's." he mumbled. I cannot believe a large
guy like him was this much of a coward. Jon Dover was just
five-feet-four but he looks me in the eye and talks clearly when he
apologizes for late report. And to think this guy in front of me
has always bullied Jon since middle school. Go figure.

Good for him I just got an A plus from
World Politics that I'm in a good mood for accepting apologies. I
looked up at him. "It's fine. You're drunk. I guess the pressure of
winning the championships got the better of you." It's that or the
beer got the better of him.

He has to smile at that. You may not
realize this at first, but I've noticed that football players were
sensitive to football issues. They're really proud of what they're
doing. I don't even think they're just playing ball just so they
could bully smaller people, but so they could finally be accepted
for what they're good at. It brings a frown to my face when people
demoralize those who're just doing what they're good at or doing
what they like to do. But me, I don't care what people think of me.
I guess that's what made me public enemy number one.

"So," he said after a while, "will you
be going to the bonfire?"

The campfire, for your information, is
a yearly event usually preceding the state championships. It takes
place in the woods near the field and at night. It usually lasts
until morning. The bonfire night, not to be confused with Bonfire
Night which celebrates the anniversary in which Guy Fawkes'
Gunpowder plot was discovered in 1605, is open to all interested. I
never had the chance to attend a bonfire night because I was never
interested. Maybe I'll make an exception this time; after all, I am
a cheerleader.

I nodded enthusiastically. "Sure, why
not?"

Bruce Benet patted me on the head like
I was either his little sister or a football. "See ya
there."

***

"What else will her highness be
needing?" Winona was talking in a faux English accent as she pushed
the shopping cart. I squinted on the list Tara handed me. I was
asked to purchase snacks and drinks for the bonfire night while she
and the other cheerleaders help their selves to the players who are
still out practicing.

"Her highness seriously needs to work
on her writing," I showed Winona the list.

Winona rolled her eyes and took the
piece of paper. "Tell me about it. I think this one's root beer."
She pointed at one item on the list and I tried to confirm her
guess.

"I guess so. Besides, I love root
beer." I dumped several six-packs of Mugs root beer in the cart. My
favorite. "Are you sure you don't wanna come?" I asked
Winona.

"I'd rather dye my hair pink." She said
with a scowl.

"That would be fun." We laughed out
loud and a guy with glasses who looked like a businessman shot an
angry glare at us. Grumpy old man.

After another fifteen minutes of
deciphering Tara's handwriting and finding the items on her list,
we dumped all the goods in my mom's minivan. I dropped off Winona
at Barney's, where she's working the night-shift. It's already nine
so I drove a little faster than usual. I have to deliver the
supplies at nine thirty sharp.

This is the first time that I drove to
school at night. Normally, I've left school by four in the latest.
I maneuvered the minivan through the woods guided by the light of
the bonfire. The first people I saw were Jaden and Ollie, who were
strolling hand in hand. I finally stopped the ignition and hopped
out of the van. I'm lucky I was wearing my school sweater for it
was a really chilly autumn night. I opened the cargo door and tried
to get the cooler out. It's already filled with ice and beer cans
that I can barely move it. Heck, it won't even budge. I cursed and
started pulling with all my strength when I heard Andrew behind
me.

"Need some help?" He was wearing a
plain gray shirt over a blue-long sleeve shirt. This was
surprising, because players normally wear their football shirt the
night before the game, for good luck. I always thought it was
disgusting.

I stopped pulling and faced him with an
irritated expression. "Oh gee, what gave me away, Alleyn?" I said
sarcastically.

He smiled crookedly and said as he
reached out for the cooler, "Calm down Kitty, I'll get your box for
you."

I felt my insides burn. I've always
hated it when he calls me Kitty. Nobody calls me Kitty except him.
The last time he called me Kitty, I almost socked him in the nose.
But since he's helping me this time, I think I'll let him
pass.

With an effortless pull, he took the
cooler out of the minivan and walked to the camp. I wondered how he
does that. That guy doesn't even eat meat, for crying out loud. And
he was just five-foot-eight. Several people were already settled by
the bonfire. It was a pretty awesome sight; the bonfire was at its
brightest. Coach Culkin was giving his famous pep talk over the
megaphone. The students were cheering enthusiastically.

"Make sure to get a good night's sleep
you guys," Coach Culkin finished his speech, "and kick Jackson's
sorry little backsides tomorrow!"

The crowd gave a loud hearty cheer. Not
to spoil the spirit, I tried to applaud enthusiastically. I can't
believe these people enjoy music too loud you can't even hear your
own thoughts. Worse, my mom even forced me to join the campfire
because, and I quote, "it's your last chance to experience the
spirit of the bonfire." Double jeez.

I caught a glimpse of Tara by her pink
tent. Her blond hair shone brighter by the light of the fire. She
was sitting on the grass next to Jason Bland. By the looks of it,
they were most probably dating already. I heard from Jodie Kimmel
that Jason helped Tara out the night of her party. He didn't need
to do much though; Andrew pretty much did all the work. Anyway,
Tara eventually found him more attractive than he already is. By
now she had her head rested on his shoulders. The heat of the
bonfire (or maybe it was the view) dried out my throat so I headed
to the cooler. All I found inside were cans of Heineken beer. I put
the lid back on and lazily walked to the minivan, were I was
keeping another cooler with root beers in it.

The cooler was buried in a pile inside
the minivan so I have to put myself partly inside. I finally found
the cooler when suddenly, someone grabbed my leg. Acting on
instinct, I kicked my leg and hit whoever it was squarely on the
jaw. The person moaned and backed away a little. I saw the person's
identity through the light of the moon. I was not truly shocked
when I realized that it was Andrew.

I stepped closer and tried to help by
checking if he had a broken jaw. "I am so sorry. You shouldn't have
surprised me like that. No broken bones, though." But I was not yet
taking my hands off his face. You know, if you really think about
it for a while, he is pretty good-looking. I have never seen eyes
like his. They were even bluer tonight, if that's
possible.

He broke my stupid trance when he put
his surprisingly warm hands on mine. "Don't fall for me, Sherlock."
He said with a mocking smile. I shoved him and grabbed two cans of
Mugs from the cooler. I handed him a can and opened mine. I savored
the sweet smell and taste of root beer.

"Why aren't you there by the bonfire?"
I asked him as I climbed the minivan's hood. Wesley and I do this
all the time when observing phenomena in the night sky like meteor
showers or such.

He shrugged, climbed the hood and sat
next to me. "I just don't like it there."

"Yeah," I sighed, "the view kinda
sucks."

He chuckled and put his hands behind
his head as he leaned on the windshield. "You mean Jason
Bland?"

"No." I glared at him angrily. I
supposed I was being too obvious. "Why does it always have to be
Jason?" I said quite frustratingly and leaned on the windshield
too.

"Well, you had a crush on him since
third grade."

"That is not true."

"Oh yeah? You can't even say his name
without blushing."

I sat up straight. "I can." I cleared
my throat. "Jason Bland. There."

He too, sat up straight. "You're
blushing, Sherlock." He sounded so serious that I'm beginning to
wonder if I'm really that into Jason Bland. "I don't even know why
you liked him in the first place. He can't even spell Shakespeare,
you know."

"You really think you know more about
me than I know about you?" I raised my left eyebrow at
him.

He shifted a little, "Well, I know for
a fact that your middle name is Emerald. Because of your
eyes."