I glared at Ryan's back. He was in the front, right next to the volleyball net. Rachel King, who was on the opposite team, was halfheartedly checking him out.
Rachel was on the cheerleading squad with Samantha Devereaux. I'd always liked her the best out of all the cheer clones. She was probably the second most gorgeous girl at Nightshade High—second only to Samantha.
Rachel had long curly brown hair, smooth skin the color of an iced latte, and deep blue eyes. She didn't look gorgeous today, however. Her skin had a green cast to it, like the algae that grew in Poppy's fish tank. It looked like she'd tried a home highlighting kit, and the effect was startling: there was a long white streak in her hair.
I glared at Ryan again. It was already Wednesday and he hadn't said any more about our kiss in the morgue. In fact, he hadn't said much of anything. He seemed to have urgent business on the other side of the galaxy whenever I appeared.
What was his damage? It was just a kiss between friends. It was no big deal. That's what I tried to tell myself, but it was more than a big deal. It was the kind of kiss that poets write sonnets about, but Ryan Mendez was too stupid to see it. Or maybe he was on the receiving end of fabulous kisses every day of the week.
It was my turn to serve. Ryan turned to watch me and then looked away quickly. I hit the ball as hard as I could. It went right for Ryan's head, but he ducked at the last minute and it careened into the net.
"Sorry," I called, smiling sweetly.
Samantha Devereaux had managed to dye her P.E. uniform black. She still had the pendant on as well. I thought Ms. Foster was going to read her the riot act about her uniform when she pointed to Samantha and said, "Why are you wearing that in my P.E. class?"
Samantha tried to look innocent. "What do you mean?"
"Miss Devereaux, you are fully aware that I do not allow any jewelry to be worn in my gym. It's a safety hazard."
"I'm sorry," she said, smiling sweetly.
For a minute, I thought Ms. Foster would take the pendant from Samantha, but instead she blew her whistle again. Figures that Sam would get away without a demerit for a dress code infraction. The teachers at school let her get away with murder, just because she is the captain of the cheerleading squad.
The other team rotated, and it was Rachel's turn to serve. She stepped up to the line and then crumpled to the floor.
Ms. Foster blew her whistle as a crowd gathered around Rachel as she lay on the floor. I stood in the back and hoped that she was okay.
"Step back, please," Ms. Foster said. "She needs a little room."
A minute later, Rachel sat up. "What happened?" she asked.
"You fainted," Ms. Foster said. "But I'm sure you're fine now."
"Shouldn't we take her to the nurse or something?" I asked. Ms. Foster was new, substituting for Mrs. Lamb, who was out on maternity leave, but weren't teachers supposed to know this kind of stuff?
"Yes, yes, of course," Ms. Foster said. "Daisy, could you and Ryan help Rachel to the nurse's office?"
Ryan didn't look at me as we each took one of Rachel's arms and helped her to her feet.
We kept our arms around her as we escorted her to the nurse's. I noticed that Rachel leaned heavily on Ryan's shoulder. She even fluttered her eyelashes, but weakly.
I knocked on the nurse's door. Nurse Phillips answered and then took over, tskng at the sight of Rachel's pasty complexion.
Nurse Phillips had a retro thing going. Cherry red lipstick, cat's-eye glasses, and platinum blond hair done up in a beehive do so high it blocked out the sun. She looked like someone ready to go to the hop, but I guesstimated her age to be somewhere in the midthirties.
I breathed in and almost choked on the smell of Aqua Net hairspray. Nurse Phillips's hairstyle probably required cases of the stuff.
"Let's get her on the cot," she said. Then to Rachel she added, "We'll have you right as rain in a minute. Leave it to me."
As Rachel lay there on the cot, I noticed the streak in her hair again. Had it somehow gotten even paler since we left the gym? Then I remembered that the girl in the morgue had a streak in her hair, too. Fad, or something freakier?
"Will she be okay?" I asked, but Nurse Phillips ignored the question.
"Thank you for bringing her to me," she said, "I'll take care of her now. Daisy, can you ask Ms. Meyers in the office to call Rachel's parents?"
I nodded. The big lump of worry in my throat wouldn't let me speak, but Nurse Phillips shooed us out into the hallway and shut the door firmly in our faces, blocking out Rachel's prone form.
Ryan and I stood there and examined the beige walls.
He cleared his throat. "Daisy, we need to talk," he said.
Typical. He wanted to talk now, of all times. "You heard Nurse Phillips. I have to go to the office."
"Later then?"
"Later." I went to the office, delivered my message, and then headed back to gym class.
The gym was empty. I checked the huge clock that hung on the wall opposite the double doors. The volleyball game had ended without me.
I wasn't heartbroken about it or anything. Gym was, thankfully, my last class of the day. I mean, who wants to go through the day with sweat sticking to their clothes? Or worse yet, get naked and take a shower with twenty of your classmates?
Mandatory showers had been dropped in the fall, when Lilah Porter protested the archaic practice by staging a sit-in in the gym, where she set up a projector and played the shower scene from Carrie in a continuous loop until the school board caved.
I headed for the locker room to change. I wondered what Ryan wanted to talk about. The kiss, probably. The thought made me squirm. I hoped he didn't think I'd get all clingy and that he'd have to let me down gently.
I'd tell him the kiss meant nothing, I decided. Absolutely nothing.
Still, I didn't want to dwell on the question of who else Ryan had kissed in the morgue. But however much I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Which is why I wasn't quick enough to avoid Ms. Foster.
I was walking into the girls' locker room when she found me. She wore designer sweats in white with red trim. Nightshade High School colors.
"Daisy," she said. "I was so looking forward to a chat with you."
"Me?" What did Miss Foster want to talk to me about? Then I realized she'd want to know how Rachel was doing.
"We left her with Nurse Phillips," I said. "Her parents are on the way."
"Who?" She stared at me.
I stared back. She couldn't have forgotten about Rachel already. It wasn't every day that someone fainted in gym class, although some people had tried faking it.
"Oh, yes, the Davis girl."
"Rachel King," I prompted. "Ms. Foster, don't you remember?"
"Yes, yes, I'm sure she'll be fine," she replied, "And it's Miss Foster, not Ms. Gotta let them know you're available, and a silly ol' Ms. won't do that, now will it?"
Miss Foster? It sounded so last century. I didn't think anybody used that term anymore, except Miss McBennett at the post office, and she had to be eighty.
She studied my troubled face. "You mustn't worry. It causes wrinkles," she said.
Her face was pink and smooth as a baby's. Clearly, Ms.—I mean Miss—Foster didn't worry much.
There was a gleam in her eye that I recognized. I'd seen ladies at the skin-care counter at Nordstrom with that exact same look. Two-hundred-dollar face cream, I guessed.
"You probably know that not only am I the physical education coach, I am also the cheerleading coach," she continued. "I can tell that you are physically fit."
"I guess," I said. She was looking me up and down so thoroughly that I knew she could probably guess my weight to the nearest ounce.
I was glad I'd given up chocolate. Not really, but it sounds better than the truth, which is that I had been jonesing for chocolate the way Poppy longed for unlimited cell minutes. My habit was so bad that I finally put a stop to it after I spent a week's worth of lunch money on some imported Swiss dark chocolate, 92 percent pure.
I'd lost track of what Miss Foster was saying. Chocolate will do that.
What she said then shocked me so much that I made her repeat it. "You want me to do what?"
"I want you to try out for the cheerleading team."
I was stunned. Me, a cheerleader?
"I don't think so," I said.
"Just think about it," Miss Foster said. "Cheerleader tryouts aren't for another week. With the Davis girl out sick, we're short. We have no choice but to replace her, and fast."
I didn't bother to try to correct her again about Rachel's last name. I was too busy trying to dodge trying out for cheerleading, but Miss Foster wouldn't leave until I promised I'd at least think about it. But deep down I knew that I didn't fit in with the cheerleaders. There was no way I was going to try out.
When she walked back to her office, I changed into my street clothes, stuffed my gym uniform back into my locker, and gathered up my stuff.
It had been a weird day and it was time to go home. Unfortunately, the weirdness wasn't over.
Ryan was waiting for me just outside the girls' locker room door, but far enough away that everyone wouldn't think he was a perv like Tommy Landis, who drilled a hole in the wall between the locker rooms. He got caught, eventually, but all the girls were really glad that Lilah Porter had already won the shower-after-gym battle.
"It's late," he said. "What did Ms. Foster want, anyway?"
"Apparently, it's Miss Foster and she wants me to try out for cheerleading."
Ryan snorted. "You, a cheerleader?"
"What's that supposed to mean? You don't think I'm good enough for the cheerleading squad?" My voice was climbing an octave or so.
"It's not that," he said. "You just don't seem like the type."
"But Samantha Devereaux is the type?"
"Well, yeah," Ryan said, "but—"
"But nothing. I've got news for you. I'm trying out and nothing you say can change my mind." What gave him the right to tell me I couldn't try out? I was just as good as Samantha any day of the week. I took tumbling with her in third grade, as a matter of fact. She had trouble with her cartwheels and was sloppy with her splits.
I whirled around and stomped outside.
I was going to try out, and I was going to make it. I was going to be the best damn cheerleader Nightshade High had ever seen.