I hate this, Ava thought. I really hate this.
But for the plan to work, she had to keep moving. Keep smiling. Keep tossing her hair.
She was so not a girl who tossed her hair!
Yet here she was, Wednesday morning in the school hallway, tossing away. And everyone was watching her.
Deep breath.
She heard the whispers. And not just from the boys. The girls were staring too. A cell phone camera clicked, and she cringed. In seconds, everyone in the school would have an eyeful of her.
In her new outfit. The new Ava.
Leopard-print jeans, black sequined tank, and black heeled booties. Big silver hoop earrings and a stack of bangle bracelets jangling on her wrist. Glitter plum lip gloss and thick brown eyeliner.
She’d undergone an extreme makeover, courtesy of Alex.
“I look like a little kid playing dress-up,” she’d complained to Alex early that morning, as her twin carefully applied the eyeliner.
“You look great!” Alex exclaimed. “A bit much, maybe, but plenty of girls get this dressed up for school. You’ll be one of them today.”
Now, with the shellacked gloss weighing on her lips and the booties pinching her toes with each wobbly step, she wondered why any girl would dress like this. She debated ducking into the locker room and changing into her practice jersey and cleats. That would be heaven.
No, she told herself. She was a team player, and she was doing this for the team. And for Kylie, too.
She’d spent a lot of time last night feeling guilty and sorry for herself. Then she’d realized that everything was happening around her. It was as if she were upset about not scoring a touchdown when she stood frozen in the middle of the field while the ball was run and passed around her.
“You’ve got to be part of the action,” her dad always coached.
Today she was following his advice.
If Owen can suddenly decide he likes me, then I can make him unlike me, she’d decided. She wouldn’t be mean. She’d turn herself into the kind of girl he didn’t like and let him do the rest.
She forced herself not to look his way when she entered math class. With a confidence she never knew she had, she strutted across the room. Thankfully, Mrs. Vargas was facing the board, writing out problems.
“Holy moly, Sackett!” Jack cried.
“Hi there, Jack!” she called, her voice purposely high. She wiggled her fingers in a wave and giggled. So very unlike her. She was not a giggly girl.
Waves of confusion rolled across Jack’s face. He looked like he was trying to decide whether this was a joke or she’d truly crossed to the dark side.
Ava felt bad. She wished she could have clued Jack in, but Alex had told her she couldn’t risk someone spilling to Owen. She edged away from him, afraid she’d lose her nerve, and stopped at Bridget Malloy’s desk.
Bridget was one of the girls who dressed up every day in skirts and sparkly shoes. A force field of perfume surrounded her. Ava barely knew Bridget, but as luck would have it, they’d been paired up yesterday in social studies for a group project—it was the perfect excuse.
With a quick glance toward Owen—he was watching—she greeted Bridget loudly, as if they were long-lost best buds, and asked about the project.
If Bridget was surprised by her sudden transformation, she rolled with it. “I love your outfit! That top is to die for! Where did you get it?” she squealed.
“The mall,” Ava confided loudly enough for Owen to overhear. “I love, love, love the mall, don’t you? It’s my favorite place ever.”
“I know, right?” Bridget grinned. “I could live at Spruce. Did you see the pink dress on the mannequin in front?”
“So cute!” Ava forced herself to giggle. “And tucked in the back was a shirt with the most adorable pink rhinestone kitty on it.”
“Really? I missed that.” Bridget actually looked concerned. “Do you like cats?”
“Like them? I’m crazy for cats. For my birthday this year, I’m getting three kittens!” Ava exclaimed.
“Three?” Bridget puckered her glossed lips in an O of surprise.
“I’m such a cat person,” Ava said. Out of the corner of her eye, she detected Owen grimacing, and that fueled her confidence. “Do you know what I’m going to name them? Larkin, Louie, and Linus!”
“After Three Amigos? You like them too?”
Three Amigos was a silly teen boy band. Ava hated their high-pitched warbling. The three singers had floppy hair and chiseled good looks that all the boys on the team ridiculed.
“I thought you were one of those sporty girls. You seem so different today. What happened?” Bridget asked.
Ava felt Owen, Jack, and the rest of the class lean in to hear her answer. She giggled and waved her hand. “I like sports, but this is the real me. I was just afraid that they wouldn’t take me on the team if I dressed pretty like this. The whole jersey-and-jeans thing was a costume. Did I fool you?” She giggled again for good measure. She hoped she wasn’t overdoing it.
“Totally!” Bridget cried.
As Ava slid into her seat and Mrs. Vargas started class, she allowed herself to turn in Owen’s direction.
He wrinkled his forehead, looking perplexed.
Ava crossed her fingers. Had her performance worked?
Alex tried to add the line of numbers in her head, but she kept messing up. Usually math class was a breeze for her. She hated that she couldn’t concentrate today.
While Ava had entered the school to a flurry of amused gasps, Alex’s own reception had been harsh. Boys openly glared at her. People gave her the silent treatment. A few weeks ago, she’d ridden her wave of popularity to be elected president. Now she was being frozen out.
All because of a scoreboard.
Not everyone was unkind. The drama kids loved her. Probably the art and music kids too. But she’d suddenly realized that those kids weren’t her friends. At least, not yet. The first friends she’d made in Ashland were the football players, the cheerleaders, and the halftime dancers.
And then Andy Baker came up to her before math class and, in front of Corey, Lindsey, and Emily, accused her of being “anti-football.”
“Me? You think I’m anti-football?” she cried.
“All the other towns around us have high-tech boards, but because of you, we don’t.” Andy crossed his beefy arms. “So, yeah, I’m calling you anti-football.”
The idea was so ridiculous that Alex thought she might laugh. She was a Sackett.
Instead she countered, “It was not me. The student council presidents made the decision.”
“Ignore Andy,” Emily said, as they took their seats. “He’s such a hothead.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“Yeah, a lot of the guys are going to the principal. They want her to overturn your—I mean, the student council’s decision,” Emily informed her.
“Seriously?” Alex wondered if this would work.
“That’s what I’ve heard. Logan Medina is leading the charge. You know what else he’s doing?”
Alex could only imagine. Logan had been her competition running for seventh-grade president. He played football and was crazy popular with the athletic kids. Losing to her had been a shock—one he hadn’t taken all that well.
“He’s been saying that he would have been a better choice than you,” Emily confided.
“Girls!” Ms. Kerry, their math teacher, called. “No more chatting. Start solving the problem on the board.”
What if Logan found a way to unseat her as president? Alex’s stomach tightened at the thought.
Everything was spiraling out of control. She couldn’t just sit here.
She had planned to meet up with Ava to hear about Owen, but as soon as class finished, she bolted to the West wing. Ava would have to wait. She had to see Ms. Palmer now, even if it meant being late to French.
Ms. Palmer stood in the hall outside her classroom door. “What’s wrong?”
Alex told her about the football players going to the principal.
“Nonsense. The administration is behind the decision one hundred percent,” Ms. Palmer told her. “It’s a fait accompli. Do you know what that means in French? A done deal.”
“That doesn’t change that they all hate me,” Alex said. “They called me anti-football!”
The bell rang and the stragglers filed into the classroom, but Ms. Palmer remained with Alex. She looked truly upset. “I’m sorry that you’ve become the face of this controversy. You did make the correct choice.”
“I know, but that doesn’t change how kids are acting.”
“Let time work its magic,” Ms. Palmer advised. “Something else will come along and they will all move on. People have short memories.”
Alex pointed to the wall behind her, decorated with football game posters and pennants. “Maybe in the rest of America people have short memories, but I think it will take something major to distract Ashland, Texas, from football.”