Free What Happens Next by Colleen Clayton Page A

sit down at my cubicle, turn on my computer, and pray she’ll wrap it up quick. My appetite for sparring with Starsha has reached its limit. It’s dried up, really. I haven’t slept in days, and I’m just too tired to deal with her.
    “Well. I just thought it was my duty to inform you of a few things,” she says.
    I sigh.
    “Great. Go. Talk.” I roll my chair back, crossing my arms and looking up at her.
    She sits a little on my desk, blocking me from my keyboard. Her hair and outfit and makeup are so perfect that she looks counterfeit, like she’s a Photoshopped version of herself.
    “You know, your little ski trip escapade made you, for once in your life, kind of interesting,” she says, looking up and away, ankles crossed, arms crossed, like she’s pondering her own existence and not actually talking to someone.
    “Such a blatant disregard for authority was almost impressive. And then dumping Kirsten and that other girl, that little book-mouse, whatever her name is… that was a smart move. Really lightened your load. So much so that in a matter of days, you were able to bypass a few rungs on the ladder and secure an invite to an exclusive gathering. Of course, I’ve rescinded that offer, but—”
    I interrupt her with a loud yawn, saying, “Are we done here?”
    She looks down at me and smiles. “Almost.”
    I muscle in and push her bony ass off my keyboard. I punch in my user name, pretending to be busy and completely bored with her.
    “Bottom line, Siddy, I don’t think it’s working out, so we’ve decided to let you go.”
    This makes me laugh. I feel a little fight in me after all. “What? Let go from TBP?” I say, feigning disappointment while typing and clicking, pretending to scan for nonexistent files. “But I just got hired. I haven’t even started yet, and The Backstabbing Posers are firing me already? Where will I go? How will I live?”
    “Cute,” she says. “The Backstabbing Posers, that’s clever.”
    Then she sighs and continues.
    “Anyhow, I’m not talking about TBP,” she says. “I mean, you might have climbed a few rungs, but our group has standards. Pedigree. If we let in every dog who wins a ribbon at the fair, we’ll be overrun by mutts. See, no, what I was talking about is your spot on the Golden Bullets. We’re letting you go.”
    The bell rings and people start settling into their cubicles. I roll my eyes, busying myself with pulling up more nonexistent files.
    “Yeah, okay. You may think you run things around here, but you’re not the cheerleading coach. You can’t fire me from the Bullets. Besides, you’ve already tried getting rid of me once, and you failed, remember? So I guess you’ll have to put up with this mutt a while longer. Because this bitch—”
    “Oh, you didn’t hear?” she says, interrupting me. She leans in close, like we’re best friends sharing a secret. She’s smiling, and her eyes are twinkling like stars.
    “Hear what?” I groan, tap, tap, tapping away at my keyboard.
    “Coach wants your uniform by the end of next week. No delinquents allowed.”
    My fingers freeze and I look at her.
    “You’re lying,” I say, staring at her.
    “Really?” she says, getting a little more fiery, whipping out a yellow booklet from her bag. “See, this is called a code of conduct manual. And it’s all right here.”
    She thumbs through the pages and points.
    “Section B, paragraph 3: Any student receiving an at-home suspension will be dismissed immediately from all sporting teams and intramurals for the remainder of the semester.” She lowers the booklet and leans into my face. “In layman’s terms, that means, ‘So long, Ginger Bitch, welcome back, Cameron.’ ”
    She walks away, her hips swaying, smiling and blowing a kiss over her shoulder. I sit in my chair, my mouth open like a fool.

    Kirsten still has me blocked and I’m too gutless to try to talk to her in person. She and Paige avoid me as though I were carrying typhoid. To