Exposed by Susan Vaught Page B

taken.”
    Stroke puts a little distance between himself and Devin. “I just heard you don’t waste time on local losers. So if there’s a tryout list, put me on it.” He shrugs, keeping up an I’m-so-handsome grin. “I’m no local—and no loser, either.”
    As he struts off, I glance at Devin, then groan at the smile on her face. “You are
so
not considering that guy. He’s all mouth.”
    She’s still watching Stroke fade into the gathering crowd of band members ahead of us. “He’s cute. And good with those sticks.”
    “But you just said yes to Tevo, and Tevo’s nice, and—”
    “You have raccoon eyes.” Devin’s tone dares me to say anything else. “Better use heavy cover-up this afternoon, or the Bear’s gonna let you have it.”
    Look the part. Play the part
. Yeah. Right. Okay.
    I’m already feeling sorry for Tevo, Devin’s boyfriend du jour, as I do my practice and take position to rehearse lead-out. Not much I can do, though, so I leave it alone.
    Thankfully, the Bear spends most of warm-up hollering at freshmen, not examining my eyes. I don’t drop a toss, and I keep rhythm pretty well, even though Devin gives me a few worried glances. When we get back to the lockers to change, she asks me how much sleep I’ve gotten.
    “Not much.” I extend one of my bruised legs. “Lauren’s having more nightmares and she got in my bed last night. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could tie her feet down so she couldn’t kick me.”
    Devin rolls her eyes. “Your mom needs to get that child some pharmacological intervention. This whole scared-all-the-time thing’s just not normal.”
    “She was in my practice garage as long as I was last night.” I keep my gaze on the lockers as I slip my dance shoes out of my bag. “If I hear ‘My Favorite Things’ one more time, I really might vomit raindrops on roses.”
    “Whiskers on kit-tens,” Devin sings as she smooths her hair, and I scream loud enough to shut her up.
    It’s not like I don’t want to tell Devin about the chats with Paul, but … actually, I don’t. Well, I do, but … not. It feels complicated.
    As we pull out our leotards, we ignore Ellis the witch-monster and her whole entourage, and they ignore us right back. No time for crap. Not right before the game, anyway. If I give her a black eye, it’ll just make us all look bad.
    Devin and I lotion up and powder up, then pull on our tights and strapless bras. Devin does my hair and I do hers, complete with the light purple glitter spray we special-ordered to match the leotard. Devin also does my eyes, because I always get the liner too thick. I take her advice and use cover-up to conceal the dark circles earned from my late-night chats and Lauren’s I-had-a-nightmare kicks. Like always, my heart starts to race when we pull on our leotards and do the final inspection, first in the mirror and then for each other.
    Almost time.
    Nearby, Ellis and her minions finish their fancy dos and makeup, and Carny and the freshmen and other sophomores are already dressed and doing little twirlsand tosses, muted, since we’re still inside. Right outside the gym door, the clang and whistle and whine of instruments warming up mingle with the increasingly louder crowd murmur. And the popcorn-hamburger-hot-dog smell filling up the airspace definitely makes my stomach growl.
    The Bear steps into the locker room wearing her best purple and gold warm-ups, with the team logo embroidered on the cuffs, thighs, and back. “Are ve ready?” she asks in her room-grabbing voice as she takes baton cases from the sophomores who have to carry the flags.
    “Yes, Coach!” we yell back, just like the football team does with their coach.
    A rare smile graces her sharp face. “Then line up. Ve march!”
    She bangs open the door to the parking lot with a flourish, and a blast of cool air makes me shiver. The sophomores head out first, holding their folded flags. The freshmen go next, then Devin and me, and the seniors and