He never held hands with me in school. They passed by me in a wave of coolness, and I walked on, feeling alone and acutely aware that the only guy who'd spoken to me today was Samantha's boyfriend, Logan. And all he'd said was, "Hey Chelsea, where's Samantha?"

Logan is so smitten with her that my hair could catch on fire and he wouldn't notice.

I could have gone and flirted with some of the football players to show Mike that I didn't care about him anymore. That's what any other girl would have done. But I didn't feel like it. A lot of the guys on the team had known Mike was seeing Naomi behind my back and covered for him so I wouldn't find out.

How could I trust any of them after that?

Lately when I cheered and yelled, "Go team!" I mentally added where I wanted them to go.

So anyway, I didn't feel all that peppy come pep assembly time, but luckily Samantha was in charge of calling people down from the bleachers to participate in the games we'd set up. I just had to stand there, clap, and concentrate on not looking at the spot where Mike and Naomi sat. Then came our dance number to "Be True to Your School." It was the last thing we had planned for the assembly, the thing that was supposed to infuse the crowd with school spirit.

We stood in formation out on the gym floor. I told myself not to be nervous, even though the whole school sat in front of me watching. I would not trip. I would not accidentally fling one of my pom-poms into the crowd. We'd practiced this so many times that as soon as the music started, the dance moves would come to me automatically.

One of the J.V. cheerleaders stood by my boom box, waiting for Samantha's signal to start the music. Samantha walked to the microphone and smiled up at the audience. "This is a song that tells how we all feel about our school. If you know the words, sing along, and let's show the team how we feel about Greyhound pride." She walked back to our formation, then nodded to the J.V. cheerleader.

I clung to my pom-poms, already hearing the first few beats of the song in my mind. But they didn't come. What blared into the gym wasn't a Beach Boys tune at all. It took me a few moments to react, to understand, and by then the crowd was already hooting and clapping. Instead of my Beach Boys CD, one of Rick's CDs was in my boom box.

In between the howling of the electric guitar, Rick's voice sang out, "School is a waste of time! School work corrodes your mind! Who needs teachers any more? Show 'em what trash bins are for."

All that came out before the J.V. cheerleader realized that this wasn't the song we had meant to play, and she needed to shut off the music.

Amid the noise from the crowd, everyone in the squad turned to me. "Where did that come from?" Samantha asked.

"What happened to our CD?" Rachel said at the same time.

Aubrie ran over to the boom box, I guess to check and make sure that our Beach Boys song wasn't somewhere hidden in it. I felt my face flush. "I don't know. I never took our CD out of my boom box last night so I didn't bother to check to see if it was still there . . . Rick must have switched them after I left."

From the bleachers some of Rick's friends sang out the words to his song. Several teachers hurried over to stop them but that didn't keep the audience from joining in. After all, we had told people to sing along. Across the gym at the boom box, Aubrie held up Rick's CD and talked with Mrs. Jones, who kept shaking her head angrily. Then she strode over to us. "Well, it looks like you'll have to do the dance without the music."

We all glanced at one another. None of us wanted to stand in front of the school and do a dance number without music. It would be like synchronized miming or something.

"We won't be able to keep track of the beats without the music," I said. "We'll get out of synch and it will look strange. Let's just perform the number next pep assembly."

Mrs. Jones's voice came out in a clipped rhythm. "Tonight at the game our team will have to improvise when things get tough. Do you want to show them and the entire school that you're not willing to do the same?" She waved us back to our positions. "If you can't do the number without music, I'll go to the microphone and sing it for you."

"But . . . " I said, then looked at Samantha for help because I was too surprised to think of anything else to say.

Samantha said, "We don't mind waiting. It'll be better with the real music."

Mrs. Jones put her hands on her hips. "We are not ending this pep assembly by broadcasting a song about how school corrodes the mind." She waved a hand as though to wipe away any more protests. "It will be fine. I know the song by heart."

What could we say to that? We walked to our places in stunned silence—well, silence except for the crowd, who hooted and clapped when they saw us retake our positions. Crowds can sense when humiliation is about to happen.

Mrs. Jones walked to the microphone and took it in her hand. "I want you all to join me in singing, 'Be True to Your School.' It's for our team." Then she started singing.

No one joined her. I'm not sure whether it was because they didn't know the words (probably) or whether they just had more sense (also probably).

I'd like to say that Mrs. Jones is a great singer, but that would be lying. She sang the first few lines off-key and from there plunged into what could only be described as a rendition of the Beach Boys being pummeled by waves.

The only advantage to doing a dance number while your advisor butchers a song, is that everyone is so focused on her, they don't pay much attention to what you're doing. Rachel kept lagging behind the rest of us, I assume because she'd gone into shock or something, but I don't think anyone noticed. Then halfway through the first chorus Mrs. Jones stopped, then repeated the line she'd already sung—this is certain to throw off dancers, and half of us repeated the move that went with that line while the other half went on to the next move.

Which goes to show you that even when you don't think things can get worse, they really can.

She stumbled over a few more lines, repeated another one, and then stopped. It was clear she'd forgotten the words. It wasn't clear what we were supposed to do about it. After that "You have to improvise when things get tough" lecture I didn't expect her to quit, but I was a little afraid she'd start on another song altogether, and then we'd have to, I don't know, improvise Rockettes-style leg kicks in the background just for something to do while she sang.

Without thinking long enough to talk myself out of it, I jogged up to the microphone and stood by Mrs. Jones. She may have forgotten the lyrics, but I hadn't. I sang out and my voice stayed surprisingly steady. Mrs. Jones stopped singing all together and let me do a solo. Thank goodness I'd taken choir for three years. My voice never cracked.

A verse and a chorus later it was done. Everyone clapped, although this may have been because they were glad the whole thing was over.

I walked back to the group and it hit me, really hit me, that I'd just sung an a cappella solo in front of the whole school—friends, enemies, and ex-boyfriends alike. I'd probably be called Beach Girl for the rest of my senior year.

I was so going to kill Rick and Adrian for this.

After the assembly the principal called the cheerleading squad into her office. We stood in a line—like soldiers in miniskirts—while she lectured us about playing anti-school music in a school-sponsored pep assembly. She asked us if "Show 'em what trash bins are for," was some sort of threat against the teachers and then quoted, word for word, the nonviolence policy the school had. She kept saying that the school took threats against people very seriously. I tried to explain that it had all been a mix-up, but she listened to my explanation with her lips pressed together in an angry frown, like she didn't believe me.