* * *
Final score is 98-82. Go Grizzlies! The second half went virtually the same as the first. Bryson was sent in periodically to extend our lead when it got close, and he finished the game with the high score of 34 points, as the safety net! He basically single-handedly won this game, and it's looking like we might actually have a pretty awesome season.
After getting a big hug and kiss on the cheek from my proud mom, and then briefly chatting with Becca about how awesome Bryson was, Becca hands me my bag and I waste no time getting to the bus. The two reasons for my mad dash are pretty simple. First and foremost, I want to get there before Summer does so I don't have to walk past her without Becca. She's been surprisingly calm and collected since what happened earlier, when Bryson totally rejected her and then sat with me. It's unexpected behavior from Summer, and I can't get a true read on her which makes me nervous. I don't want to be walking past her by myself when she decides to let out her suppressed rage and beat the hell out of me.
Second, I want to board the bus before Bryson comes out of the locker room, so there's no chance of him approaching me with my mom around, putting me in the awkward position of having to introduce them. I know it's going to happen eventually, maybe even soon, but I'd rather not deal with it tonight.
I've accomplished my mission as I head for my seat and sit down, hoping Bryson won't decide to sit somewhere else for some reason. As people start to pile on and Bryson finally shows up, he heads straight to me with a smile and sits down.
The main difference from the first trip is that it's now completely dark on the bus, which definitely makes the situation more exciting. And as everyone pretty much dozes off for the entire ride, Bryson and I continue on right where we left off: talking low, mainly about the game now, and listening to more music, once again in our own little world. We even exchange phone numbers before the trip is over. I never thought joining the cheerleading squad could turn out so great.
14
Strike of the Curse
"So, Mom says you were pretty great last night." Dad smiles, setting his coffee on the table and taking a seat across from me.
I yawn and shrug. "I don't know about great," I mutter. I totally play it off like it's no big deal, even though I am extremely proud of how well I did. I won't give them the satisfaction of knowing that, though.
"How about horrific? Is that more accurate?" Carson teases.
I laugh. "Well, not for last night. But give me time; it's going to be a long season," I joke as Mom puts our plates down in front of us. And instead of tearing into this stack of four thick, delicious-looking, homemade pancakes, I throw my head back and yawn once again. Except this one was way more intense than the first one. I can't imagine it was all that pretty.
The reason I'm so exhausted this morning is partly because we didn't get home until after ten o'clock last night. But the main reason is because I stayed up until two a.m. texting Bryson, and then texting Becca about what Bryson and I were texting about. So it's probably safe to say they're both just as exhausted as I am this morning.
My mom's eyes bounce back and forth between Carson and me. "No, no, no," she says as she takes a seat with her own plate. "You did great last night, and you're going to continue to do great."
Before I'm able to laugh at her nonsensical statement, the kitchen door starts to open slowly, and I notice my mom's demeanor quickly change. She stiffens and sits upright at attention in fear, as if she's an inductee in a special forces training program and her drill sergeant Hailey is about to walk through that door. And more than likely, she's well-rested and pissed off. But the good news for the rest of us is that she should only be pissed at Mom, because she's the one who didn't allow Hailey to go to last night's game, the one she had been looking forward to for over a month now ever since I joined the squad.
As she walks in, expression stoic with her lips pressed together and anger flashing in her eyes, I glance around the table and notice that we've all stiffened up a bit, myself included.
She walks right past the table and heads for the pantry, not saying a word or even glancing at any of us as she grabs a box of Trix and closes the pantry door. She goes on to fix her bowl of cereal in complete silence while slamming things around--the refrigerator door, the cabinet doors, and even slamming the cereal box all over the place whenever the opportunity presented itself--as we all sit and watch.
She then drags a stool around to the end of the bar, climbs up, and pointedly situates herself facing away from us before starting to eat her cereal.
A dead silence fills the room as we all look at each other. Literally, the only sound is the Trix pebbles crunching between Hailey's teeth. Then Mom nervously looks over at her--the back of her head to be exact--and says, "Honey, I made you some pancakes. They're on the counter." She knows Hailey has never been able to resist a stack of homemade pancakes under any circumstance. But to all of our surprise, she remains silent and continues eating her cereal.
"Oh, my God, get over it. It's a dumb basketball game," Carson says, antagonizing her.
Hailey throws her spoon into her bowl, splashing milk on the counter as she whips her head around. "Shut up, stupid!" she shouts, probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
"Okay, that's enough from both of you," my dad says firmly, filling in for my mom.
Hailey turns back around and forcefully slams herself against the backrest of the barstool, crossing her arms and frowning.
I quickly get up and make my way to the counter to get some paper towels.
"Hailey, listen?" I begin wiping up her milk splashes. "There's a home game Friday night and I better see you there, okay? I need your support."
After a few more seconds of sitting there staring straight ahead angrily, she finally looks up at me and grins.
"Okay, I'll be there," she says, as if she had totally forgotten there were more games to come. She leans forward, resting her tiny forearms back on the bar, and continues eating her cereal. Even though she's now content, I seriously doubt my mom is out of the woods yet. I'm definitely glad to be riding to school with Becca.