Chapter 14

The next morning, Tina wasn’t at her locker as usual. Dana vaguely recalled something about a band activity, though not what, for all she racked her brain a minute. She stopped when she felt like she was obsessing over her friend—it was almost as if she could hear a band now.

No, wait—she could. Marching down the hall, an up-beat brass arrangement, played by a dozen students in green-and-gold school shirts and white pants—and there in the middle, Tina with her French horn. Dana held her ears—so, so loud, in the enclosed hallway. So loud, she could barely hear the tune, let alone recognize it.

Dana watched them round the corner, and heard them fade to blare.

“‘Kay, what’s that about?” asked the skinny freshman at the locker between hers and Tina’s.

Dana spread her hands, baffled.

“The Hilldale game,” a boy near them said.

Oh. Right. Friday they were playing the school arch-rival. There were school spirit events all week, culminating in a pep rally before the game. It wasn’t like Dana disliked school spirit—a pumped up home audience always made a team play better. A well-run pep rally raised energy levels like nothing doing. But a mini-band pounding the halls?

Dana had never heard of the like. “You know,” she said to the air, “this high school is weird.”

The freshman snorted. “High school is weird,” he said as he closed his locker and left.

He had a point.

The incident set the tone for the rest of the day. In English, they started talking about The Red Badge of Courage, of which Dana had read one chapter before tossing aside in her restlessness. In the hallways and cafeteria, she again didn’t see Nikki. At lunch, Tina still looked at her hurt, and they didn’t speak. In history, Dana was assigned an essay, due in a week, and yes they really did have to type it out. In Spanish, Tina’s hollow eyes still said nothing of sorrow, of sorry. In class conversation, Dana completely forgot the Spanish for “pregnant.”

As they changed for practice, Nikki never looked in Dana’s direction. Not that Dana looked herself—or so she intended. Still, every time she checked, Nikki wasn’t looking.

Heather, Zoe, and Summer flirted with Dana, however. Dana liked the attention, though her responses all felt off, like she was running a half-step behind the ball. Worse, Tawnia and Sue-Ellen looked uncomfortable. When Zoe, teasing Dana about her height, jumped onto a bench to see whether she’d be tall enough to kiss Dana, she bumped into Tawnia.

“Excuse me,” the team captain said, “some of us are trying to change.”

Crap. As in, Dana felt like.

“I beg your pardon?” Summer said, with a belligerent frown.

“Didn’t you hear?” Zoe said snippily, as she bounded down. “We’re not wanted.”

Heather said nothing, however, but looked to Dana. For what—guidance?

Dana felt like she’d violated some rule she’d overlooked, or hadn’t known. The goodwill in her teammate’s eyes from her date with Josh was gone. She waved the cheerleaders off, saying, “I’ll catch you later.” Even if she had felt like flirting, it obviously bothered some of her teammates. Besides, she’d said she’d go out with cheerleaders—not that she’d flirt with them.

“Sorry about that,” she said to Tawnia.

“They are shameless.”

“They don’t mean any harm.” Well, most of them didn’t.

Tawnia looked at her. “And it doesn’t help that you encourage them.”

Dana wondered whether anything short of telling them to stuff it would count as encouragement. “They are,” she said with a sigh, “less repressible than you might think.” Which sounded weak, even to herself.

Tawnia sniffed and finished tying her shoe.

Though all this, Nikki hadn’t looked her way. When Dana finished changing, she still hadn’t. Dana stood, paused a moment. Then she walked over to her, uncertain of her intention.

“Nikki?”

She whirled. “Oh. You.”

Dana didn’t like being made to feel like a particularly repulsive specimen from a biology lab. “Yes, me.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Same for me.” Which left the awkward question of why she had approached her in the first place.

“Fine.”

“Whatever.” Dana turned and stalked off. As she walked out to the gym, she told herself that however much she hated being on the outs with Tina, she was glad to be rid of a certain small, annoying cheerleader.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Tawnia talking to Sam, with a stern expression on her face. Dana refused to pay attention to them.

Practice was not good. The ball kept escaping from her, like a live animal. More than once, Coach Lipinski chewed her out for not paying attention. When she collided with Dawn during a crossing pattern, Lipinski sent her into the locker room to cool off.

Dana looked around the empty locker room. It felt like a place that had nothing for her. She very much needed the comfort of a friend. She needed to be friends with Tina. If she was honest with herself, she knew that Tina’s haggard look meant she was as sorry as Dana was, that they had both hurt each other. One of them had to swallow her pride first. She showered, dressed, and, after telling Lipinski she wasn’t feeling well, left. The excuse was true enough.

She found Tina’s house easily—a ranch house north of town, a little off the main highway. The neighbors all seemed Hispanic, which made it feel like a rural, spread-out barrio. Dana made loud friends with the two front-yard dogs before escaping to the front door. A short woman with gray hair answered. Two shrieking children ran past behind her—visiting grandchildren? Tina was the youngest but one in her family.

“Buenos dìas,” Dana said. “¿Està Tina aquì?”

“Bueno,” said the woman. “¡Adelante!” and opened the door wider.

“Gracias,” Dana said as she entered. “Me llamo Dana.”

“Nadia Herrera. Her bedroom is down here,” Tina’s mother said in perfect, unaccented English, pointing down a hallway on the other side of a living room scattered with toys. Two of Tina’s nieces played in the corner of the living room, ignoring the television. As she led the way, Mrs. Herrera added, “Your Spanish is very good.”

“Er, thank you.” Dana wanted to complement how well Mrs. Herrera spoke English, but it felt rude.

Mrs. Herrera knocked on a door. “Tina! Visitor!”

After a moment, the door opened. Mrs. Herrera smiled and left Dana and Tina looking at each other. A fat long-haired cat sauntered out, with a disdainful flick of its tail.

“I—” Dana began, then she saw behind Tina: Josh, looking as uncomfortable as Tina did, and as Dana felt. “Um,” Dana said. “I can come back—”

“No!” Tina and Josh said together. The two looked at each other, and Dana almost smiled at their startled expressions.

Somewhere in the house behind Dana, a child shrieked. Tina gestured her in. At Dana’s hesitation, she added, “No, really.”

Dana stepped in gratefully. The closed door muffled the noise a little. Enough to talk, anyway.

Tina’s room was painted heavy cream, almost latte-colored. Two walls were a riot of posters of norteño stars and classical music festivals, and a corkboard above her desk was filled with overlapping photographs. The contrast with the plain wooden furniture and buff bedspread was startling.

Dana took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for what I said, yesterday. I was hurt, and didn’t think about my words.”