3. A Friend

She danced it away. The embarrassment. The confusion. The sense of impending doom she couldn't shake. She jumped in the air from one foot to the other, twirled like crazy, and tumbled her frustration away. There were plenty of things he didn't know about her and this small dance studio her father had built into her house was one of them. As she pirouetted and fan kicked she resolved that she just wouldn't tell him. How would he like that? She wouldn't tell him that he wasn't the only one that was a star at something.

She cut the music that reverberated through the soundproof room off and sank onto the floor squeezing her knees to her chest and screamed.

She breathed hard and tried to calm herself. Getting angry like this was never good for her. She knew if she didn't call him soon he would realize something was wrong. She had kept her cool the entire ride home. She smiled and laughed when it was appropriate but she was fuming on the inside.

When Sheryl left and Jeremiah had gone back to finish practice, she had taken her phone and googled his name. The results were quite a shock. Article after article about him had been written. She read one that said that while he wasn't the #1 quarterback in the nation, he was still one of the top ten. Who keeps that from their girlfriend? Why did she feel stupid for being the only one in their town that hadn't known?

Telling moments during their time together came back to her. Men patting him on the back and giving him high fives randomly as he walked through town. People beeping their horns as they walked down the street. The little boys who had asked him to sign their football really should have rang a bell but it didn't. She felt so dumb.

She had no one to turn to. He was the only person she had now besides her parents.

She looked at her clutch that lied on the floor next to her gym bag and a thought occurred to her. She remembered stuffing Sheryl's card into it earlier that day. He really hadn't liked it when she had spoken to Sheryl. She had an idea.

She crawled over to her bag and sat on the floor with it on her lap. She'd never wanted to do anything to displease him in anyway before but she was feeling vindictive. She took the card out and her phone. She dialed the number. It rang twice before the Sheryl answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sheryl, It's me. From earlier today at football practice. Are you busy?"

"No, I was just working on some shots from before but I'm almost done. What's up?"

"Can we meet for pizza? I want to hear more about yearbook."

She didn't want to hear anything about stupid yearbook. She wanted a friend and she decided Sheryl would make a good one. One that would at least always be honest with her.

She got up and rushed to her room, showered, and threw on some jeans and t-shirt with the name of a French designer in gold on the front. It was similar to the shirt Sheryl was wearing that day just with a different name. She tied her hair back and went to find her mom for a ride to the pizza shop.

When she got there her phone rang. It was him.

"Hey, babe, "she answered before stifling a fake yawn, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I haven't heard from you. Everything okay?" he asked concerned.

"Yeah," she lied, "I was just really tired after practice today. I was taking a nap." She yawned louder into the phone.

"Oh, I see," he said a bit chagrined, "I guess I'll let you sleep. Call me first thing in the morning, okay?"

"Sure." She hung up without saying goodbye just as Sheryl spotted her, waved, and then came bouncing to the table she was holding for them.

Sheryl sat down opposite her in the booth. She had two thick books in her hands and pushed them towards Deja as she sat.

"Yearbooks," she explained, "Do they have them where you are from?"

"I wouldn't know. This is the first school I've ever gone to."

"Wow, really? You've never gone to school?"

"Nope, I studied under tutors."

Deja pulled the two thick yearbooks to her side of the table.

"Can I borrow these for a bit?"

"Yes, I don't mind. You should study them if you are going to be part of the crew."

Deja decided she would start things off being completely honest.

"About that. I'm sorry. I actually didn't ask you to come here because of yearbook."

Sheryl's forehead creased in a way that Deja realized it did when she was concerned.

"I see. Is it because of what happened this afternoon?"

"No. Well, sort of." She shook her head trying to clear it, "Actually, its because I realized I don't really know anyone here besides him and you were so nice to me today."

Her forehead creased more for a few seconds before it relaxed and her face broke out into a big smile.

"I see, well." She held out her hand again, "This calls for a proper introduction. I'm Sheryl Acosta; yearbook extraordinaire, Honor Society, debate team, and straight A student with a 4.0 G.P.A.– not bragging, just saying it before you hear from everyone else, haha! Just your general stressed out 16-year-old overachieving American girl at your service."

They shook hands and smiled at each other.

"Well," replied Deja, impressed, "I'm Deja Belafonte. Daughter of French Diplomat Benjamin Belafonte. Dad is American, Mom is French. As I said, I've never gone to traditional school before so no G.P.A. No teams or otherwise but I'm bit of an overachiever as well. 14-years-old. Just as stressed, I guess." She giggled.

Sheryl was looking at her with her eyes bulging again.

"Wait," said Sheryl holding up a hand, "Did you say you are only 14? I thought you said you weren't a freshman."

Deja blushed with embarrassment, "That is where the overachieving part comes in for me. They skipped me. I tested quite above the American average."

"Oh! It all makes sense," said Sheryl pointing two fingers at her and alternating them up and down, "THAT'S how you met Jeremiah. In one of those stuffy brainiac courses he takes all summer."

"Right," Deja agreed. She was happy. She knew they'd get along great.