Know Your Enemy

I tapped my pencil against the top of my desk, eraser to tip, again and again and again. Why couldn’t I remember anything about the Revolutionary War? It was just a jumble of dates and names and locations inside of my head, and I couldn’t keep any of them straight.

The sounds of pens scratching against paper almost seemed to mock me from every side. Why was it they couldn’t give me any of their intelligence for ten minutes, just enough for me to speed through the rest of the exam that I hadn’t completed yet? It would have been quite helpful in that moment. But maybe it was what I deserved for helping a couple of new girls on the squad with the dance routine until nine o’clock the night before instead of studying.

Letting out a nearly-inaudible sigh, I marked off one of the multiple-choice answers and hoped to God it was right. I used a similar method to get the next fourteen questions completed, and then, the bell rang, snapping everyone out of their history-induced trances. It was almost like a blanket of tension and concentration had been sliced, and the air grew thinner and easier to breathe.

I deposited my failed exam on my teacher’s desk and made my way out to the hallway, one of my hands going up to make sure the curls in my dark brown hair hadn’t unraveled, the other tucked against my chest to make sure my books didn’t slip.

As I walked through the hallways, a few people I knew said hello in greeting, which I responded to with a grin and a wave. I felt almost like royalty as I struggled to get to my locker through the throng of teenagers around me, or maybe a celebrity like Elvis or something.

When I made it to my locker, I spun the dial to the correct combination and opened the door. The inside had pictures of the other cheer girls all over it, with their long skirts and sweaters emblazoned with a huge W for the name of our school team, the Wildcats. Their red and white pompoms were raised in the air, the smiles on their faces huge, thanks to the giant trophy that was sitting in front of us. Winning the state championship for cheerleading had been the biggest accomplishment our school had ever seen, and as far as I was concerned, we could only get better.

“Hi, Clara!” a peppy voice greeted. I glanced over quickly to see my assistant captain, Hailey. Her dirty blonde hair was looking especially shiny that day, but just as I went to comment on it, she cut me off. “I just wanted to make sure you were going to be at practice this afternoon.”

“Of course I will,” I replied, trying not to sound too concerned or suspicious. “Why?”

“Just making sure,” she laughed. “Oh, have you met the new girl yet?”

I furrowed my eyebrows as I slammed my locker door shut. The two of us started down the hallway as I asked, “What new girl?”

“Her name’s Harlow,” Hailey filled me in. “She’s actually kind of pretty. I tried to find out where she transferred from, but nobody seems to know.”

“Hm…” I pondered. “Do you think she’d be good for the squad? We could use some more pretty faces. If she’s halfway decent at dancing, anyway.”

“I don’t know.” She bit her full bottom lip and fixed the light yellow sweater that was hanging off her shoulders. “She doesn’t really seem like the cheering type.”

I shrugged, adjusting my books in my arms. “It doesn’t matter. Our cheering squad will kick butt this year.”

“Righto,” Hailey replied with a grin. “Alright, this is my class, but I’ll see you after school!”

“See you then.” She disappeared into a classroom, immediately taking up a conversation with someone else. There was just something about Hailey that made her magnetic, a girl that people needed to be around. Like they used her energy to make sugar or something.

My flat white sneakers made pattering noises through the almost empty hallway as I hurried to math class at the end of the hall. I could almost hear the clock ticking closer and closer to the time where the bell would ring, and I was petrified that I would be late to class. Clara Osbourne was never late to class.

And then, I saw her, out of the corner of my eye. She was wearing a leather jacket that she probably stole from that hoodlum she always hung around with, Zayn Malik. When she got up, I swore I could see her underwear peeking out from the short skirt that left nothing to the imagination, and her breasts were practically pouring out of her shirt.

Immediately, my eyes narrowed, sending Lana all the negative energy in the world. At first, I’d gotten intimidated by her in-your-face demeanor and somewhat harsh attitude, but as the years wore on, I learned to match her threats, whether I had backup or not.

“Bitch,” she snapped with a voice full of venom and a crazy, homicidal twinkle in her eye.

“Whore,” I retorted with the same tone. Almost as if to emphasize the difference between us, I could feel my long, powder blue poodle skirt brushing against the middle of my calves every time I took a step. I had no idea how a girl could wear such little clothing and respect herself in the least, or think of herself with any dignity.

But maybe she didn’t. She was probably easy, playing backseat bingo with Zayn Malik every night. Just the thought made my skin crawl. Didn’t she want any respect?

Then again, who would give it to her anyway?

Despite my small detour, I managed to make it into math class with three seconds to spare. My teacher gave me a warning look, probably to say that I’d cut it a little close, but I couldn’t be bothered with it. I slid into my desk, next to one of my good friends, and opened my composition book to start taking notes.

“Hey,” I heard his deep voice whisper, “Clara?”

I glanced over at him with my dark blue eyes and gave him a small smile. “Hi, Liam,” I replied just as softly.

“Did you want to go to Cal’s Diner tonight? Me and a bunch of other people are going. I think it’d be fun.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I agreed. “What time will you pick me up?”

“Maybe seven, if that’s okay?”

I nodded silently before turning back to my notes. Liam was an absolute sweetheart, and we’d known each other since we were in preschool. A lot of our friends were trying to push us together, saying that he was a football player, and I was a paper shaker, so we were meant to be. But Liam and I were perfectly content on keeping our relationship platonic. At that point, we were more like siblings than a couple, and that was the way I wanted it to stay.

My hand took down the notes in front of me while my mind wandered and thought about how much I could have gone for a double chocolate milkshake. Just thinking about the cold, sweet taste was making my taste buds cry with desire.

That night could not have come quickly enough.