This was the only way to get the day’s retribution, though, and she wasn’t about to give that up. You had to be small and strong to be a flyer, and while Nikki had killer legs, they stretched the length of an ostrich’s. Alyssa, on the other hand, had simply never been able to get up high enough.
Isobel prepared for the lift.
They hoisted her up, and the ground dropped away. She felt herself extend upward, like the stem of a flower shooting for the sun, her roots below her, stuck in the earth.
Coach screamed out the count as she went up. “Four, five,” and they dipped her down on five, preparing for the launch. “Six!” They popped her into the air. Yes!
Twisting once, twice, freewheeling. Her world became a spinning kaleidoscope of blurred faces, of blue and gold and bright white lights. An all-too-quick half turn, and she felt the catch. She dipped into her V position, one arm clamping around Nikki’s back, the other wrapped around Alyssa. They set her to the floor.
“That was good, Iz,” Coach said, sounding a bit more relaxed. “Let’s keep it up—get it? Keep it up?” A collective groan arose from the squad. “Okay. This time with the music, boys and girls.”
Isobel tugged her practice shorts down and got into position while Coach Anne went to fool with the CD player, her frizzy grizzly-bear hair springing with each step and her loafers squeaking against the gymnasium floor.
Nikki shifted into place directly behind Isobel, who could feel Nikki’s eyes chiseling into the back of her skull.
When the pumping music started and the right beat came along, Isobel swiveled about-face to stare directly at Nikki, whose normally mirthful, cheer-ready blues glared ice.
“Why did you lie about it?” she hissed.
Well, Isobel thought, at least it seemed they were on speaking terms again.
The intro beat to the music thumped low, building in volume, and their arms lifted high while their heels pounded the floor. “Because! You run and tell everything!”
“Not when it’s important!”
“Yeah, and you’re the one who gets to decide when something’s important!”
It really wasn’t feasible to do much more talking than that. The electronic music sped up and every beat got a kick, a turn, or a flip. Coach liked flashy formation changes too, so they moved into a lot of shapes, breaking apart, fanning out, and making new configurations.
When it came time for Isobel’s big flip, the bases stood ready for her.
Four, five, up! Two quick twists came right in time with the singer’s “Woo-hoo!” but in the middle of her second revolution, for a split second, Isobel thought she saw something in the practice mirrors. A dark figure. She glimpsed it in a flash—someone standing in the gym doorway. She only caught the outline of the form in a quick blur, but whoever it was, he’d been wearing what had looked like a black hat and . . . a cloak?
She fell into the cradle and was brought to her feet again, facing the gym doors, which now stood empty.
Isobel glanced back at the mirrors, squinting, her eyes narrowing on the reflection of the vacant doorway, forgetting that she was supposed to be switching positions for the next formation when Stephanie Dorbon plowed into her. Isobel hit the floor hard and the pain from last week’s bruise reawakened with a roar. She cringed, drawing in a sharp breath between her teeth.
All around her, the whole routine ground to a screeching halt. The music stopped.
“What the hell happened?” Coach shouted, her round face blotchy red as she broke through to where Isobel sat and where Stephanie stood right next to her, hugging herself like she wanted out of the frame of blame that very second.
“I fell,” Isobel said to relieve Steph’s anxiety. She picked herself up to the grumbling of the squad, leaving her floundering dignity to choke to death on the floor. She folded her arms over her chest and shot a quick look back to the gymnasium doors.
Empty. She could have sworn . . .
“C’mon, folks!” Coach yelled. She cocked her wide hips to one side—always a bad sign. “This is dangerous stuff. Look. Bottom line. Pay attention! I don’t want any broken bones, bloody noses, or sobbing parents, okay? Okay. We’ll try it again tomorrow. Go home.” She waved a hand of dismissal and everyone turned with a mumble and trudged to collect their gym bags and water bottles.
As Alyssa passed Isobel, she leaned in to mutter, “Great going, albatross.”
Isobel kept her own comments in check. She slogged toward the bleachers to grab her bag, yanking it up from between two benches. She felt like chucking it out into traffic and watching an eighteen-wheeler plow over it.