“Yes!” shouted Isobel, jumping.
“Go on,” Coach Anne said, waiving them toward the door. “I’m not writing any notes. Get your butts back to class.”
“Come on!” said Isobel.
Together they hurried out of the gym and took a shortcut through the courtyard, their footsteps crackling through strewn leaves.
“Isssobel.”
She stopped and whipped her head around. A breeze washed past them, carrying with it a rush of crisped leaves, the singed smell of autumn.
“What is it?” Gwen asked, jogging up to meet her.
Isobel’s gaze darted toward the cafeteria Dumpster, where she thought she’d seen someone. Her eyes snapped to the oak tree in the courtyard’s center. She caught a dark blur of something just as it vanished behind the trunk. She heard a low rustle. A group of nearby pigeons, pecking at a pizza crust, took off in a flurry.
She tilted her head back to follow their scattered flight. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she caught a glimpse of several dark figures peering down at her and Gwen from the ledge of the roof.
That couldn’t be right.
She dropped her gaze, stepped back to a better angle, and looked again.
What she had first taken for the silhouettes of people’s heads, Isobel could now see were crows. They all sat on the edge of the roof, beaks rifling through feathers, heads turning in small jerky movements.
Someone snickered.
“What was that?” Isobel whispered.
“What was what?” Gwen asked. “And what are we looking at?”
Isobel revolved in a slow circle, her eyes scanning the empty courtyard and the vacated cement tables strewn with stray pieces of trash. “Nothing. I just . . .”
Inside, the bell rang.
“Now look what you did. You made us late. Y’happy?” Gwen said. Taking her by the wrist, Gwen led her toward the doors. Isobel followed. Confused, she stared back at the courtyard and up along the building. When they reached the doors at the opposite end, Isobel could see around to the other side of the oak tree and behind the Dumpster.
But there was nothing there.
She was already dressed and ready by the time she walked into the gym that afternoon, wearing a dark blue sports bra and her pair of short shorts with the little yellow megaphone in one corner.
Coach Anne gave her whistle a sharp blow. “Okay, gang,” she said, raising her hands for silence, “find a seat, Isobel has something she wants to say.”
This was met with murmuring and even one or two arm crossings, but with another short blast from Coach’s whistle, the squad complied, piling with heavy footsteps onto the squeaking bleachers.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alyssa groaned.
Taking a slow, deep breath, Isobel marched forward to stand in front of her less-than-enthused audience. Alyssa, who’d found a seat next to Nikki, pivoted away with a noise that made her sound like a hacking cat. She leaned back against the bleachers, crossing her thin legs and draping her arms over her lap.
“Whenever you’re ready, Lanley,” said Coach. With that, she took a spot on the bleachers too. Leaning forward, she braced an elbow on each knee.
Isobel scanned the listless faces of her squad mates. Well, she thought, here goes.
She straightened, nodded, and brought her arms down sharply against her sides. “Ready? Okay!”
She fell into the movements she’d only had time to practice in her mind, trying to ignore how ridiculous she sounded shouting at the top of her lungs all by herself.
“Don’t mean to make a ruckus,
Don’t mean to make a fuss,
But there is just one thing
I think we should discuss.
“I shouldn’t try to meddle!
I shouldn’t try to fight!
’Cause pushing fellow teammates
Is simply just not right!”
She turned toward Alyssa now. With one knee up, one fist at her hip and one arm held high, Isobel brought a finger down to aim straight at the other girl. She beamed her hardest, putting on her biggest, brightest cheer smile. Wake up, Alyssa. Pay attention.
“I’m sorry that I shoved you!
I’m sorry that you fell!
I’m sorry that I nearly
Kicked your little tail!”
A chorus of “Oooh!’s” rang through the gym, drowned out only by the raucous laughter that followed. In an instant, Alyssa’s smug expression dissolved. Her face reddened. Out of the corner of her eye, Isobel saw the gleam of Coach’s whistle as it rose to her lips. Before she could be stopped, though, she plunged forward, still smiling. She snapped into a T position, then hit into a toe-touch. She landed with a nod, pouring as much energy into the cheer as she would in any competition, knowing how infectious enthusiasm could be to those of the cheer persuasion.
