Young Writers Society

If I didn’t foster such contempt for cheerleaders as a whole, I might have actually felt sorry for Jenny in the weeks following the publication. My nagging conscience incessantly reminded me that I was responsible for casting light on her impeachment, the destruction of the cheer hierarchy, and the crushing defeat at the regional competition. Little heed was paid to my morals. I was still preoccupied with the football fake.

“Just tell me if you have a C average,” I begged, straining my neck to look Matt in the eyes, as I had done seemingly a million times since the beginning of the month.

“NO!” He exploded,”I’m not going to tell you my grades! Just go away already!” Anger emphasized his words, letting loose a fierceness he had never before used with me. It was a finality that even a determined journalist had to accept.

“Plan B,” I whispered, throwing myself into a straight-backed library chair.

“Which is?” Chelsea countered, her brown eyes raised in amusement.

l breathed deeply, staring blankly towards the librarian’s desk and arguing with my conscience silently.

“Check his Internet ReportCard.”

Chelsea’s mouth gaped slightly, a look of shock plastered across her face. “This is going way too far,” she announced, “Just how are you going to get your hands on his Internet password? I’m not going to help you with this anymore.”

“But I need you to help me find his password!” I begged.

“No.” She had the same finality as Matt.

My mouth twisted into a disappointed pout while I gathered my books and left the silence of the library. I looked back hopefully. Her mouth was a set line, her eyes cold, and not a look of remorse was visible.

Katie was not easily distracted from the hackey sack game that had formed in the main hallway. Still cheering, she reluctantly broke away from the circle of onlookers and followed me into the girls’ bathroom, where we had so often in the past gossiped and giggled.

“What’s up?” she asked, now that I had her full attention.

“Ok, you know how you’re in one of Matt Faron’s classes?”

“Yeah,” she spoke slowly and deliberately, “Do you like him?”

“NO!”

She smirked knowingly.

“Really, I don’t. I need you to help me find his password for his internet ReportCard account. You know, where all his grades on every assignment are listed?” I added, in response to her blank look.

“Yeah,” she laughed, “I know what you mean. Why?”

A brief explanation was all that was needed before she consented. I outlined the plan for her, focusing on her role of the helpless, innocent blonde.

“You’re sneaky,” she complimented, “I never would have thought of that.”

Chelsea’s defiance replayed itself in my head. My stomach tightened, leaving me to wonder if I should have thought of this.