Perfect Shot (Sweet Valley High Book 55) Page 2

  "Wow," Cathy said sympathetically, patting her on the shoulder. "You've got it bad, kiddo." She sat down on the bench next to her friend. "Tell me what's up. Does he have any idea how you feel?"

  "No," Shelley admitted. "That's the worst part. You know how Greg is. He's the world's most confident guy. He's friendly with everyone, but he still treats me exactly like the girl next door."

  "Which is what you are," Cathy reminded her.

  Shelley had to smile. It was true. Her family had lived next door to the Hilliards ever since they had moved to Sweet Valley. Greg was a year older than Shelley, and they had grown up together, with Greg acting as her older brother. Greg had two brothers himself, but Shelley was an only child, and she had spent a lot of time with the Hilliard boys when she was little.

  In fact, Greg was the one who had first taught her how to shoot baskets. The Hilliards had a basketball hoop set up above their garage door, and by the time she was five, Shelley was shooting baskets every night after dinner with Greg and his brothers. By the time she was in middle school, Shelley was good enough to be on the team. By high school she was a star.

  For a long time Greg had been her most supportive fan, coaching her, giving her tips, talking endlessly with her about their favorite players in the NBA, accompanying her to Lakers' games with their dads. Greg's father worked in the same consulting firm as Shelley's father, and the Hilliards and Novaks liked to socialize.

  Shelley wasn't sure when things had begun to change. Probably when Greg had started going out with Carol Stern, a pretty girl who was in the senior class with him. At first Shelley had assumed it was natural that she felt bad about Greg falling in love. It made sense. Obviously she and Greg couldn't be as close now that he had a girlfriend.

  But six weeks ago Greg and Carol had broken up. Greg told Shelley about it one day while they were walking home from school, and Shelley was astonished to discover her heartbeat speeding up. All of a sudden she didn't feel comfortable around Greg. She didn't feel like horsing around or joking about the Lakers. She blushed every time he looked at her, and she felt tongue-tied and miserable.

  Now that she knew he and Carol had broken up, she felt free to admit to herself that her own feelings for Greg were more than just friendly. She had a crush on Greg, a giant-sized crush. And it was beginning to get out of control.

  "He'll never like me," Shelley said miserably. She stood up and kicked her locker shut. "Look at Carol. She's one of those tiny, adorable little things—totally uninterested in sports, probably has pink ruffles all over her bedroom. Greg probably thinks I'm an oversize clod." She glared at herself in the mirror. "Look at me. If only I could be normal like everyone else!" She hunched her shoulders to get a better look at her face in the mirror. "I can't even see the top of my head in the mirror, that's how tall I am!"

  Cathy laughed. "Yeah. You and half the top fashion models in the world can all mourn together." She collected her workout clothes and put them in her duffel bag. "Anyway, I thought you said Greg and Carol broke up. He couldn't have been too thrilled with her, tiny and ruffled as she is, if they broke up. So why don't you just go for it? Ask him to the dance. The worst thing that can happen is that he says no."

  Shelley stared at her, stricken with panic over the whole issue of the dance. "Right. The very worst thing," she repeated.

  Sometimes she couldn't believe how unsympathetic Cathy could be. Her very best friend didn't understand that she would rather die than risk asking Greg and having him reject her. Suppose she told him how she felt about him and he laughed at her—what then? She'd never live it down. He and his two brothers would all laugh at her. And so would the whole school when they found out about it.

  "Speaking of dancing, I think I'm going to sign up for those ballroom dance lessons," Shelley said. "Maybe if someone could help me move a little more smoothly off the basketball court . . ." She shook her head. "I just don't feel ready to confront Greg yet," she added, then gave Cathy a stern look, indicating that the discussion was over. It was bad enough having to think about Greg Hilliard all the time. She wasn't going to make it worse by talking about him, too!

  That afternoon Shelley walked home from practice slowly, deep in thought. She was two blocks away from her house when she saw Greg speed past her on his black racing bike.

  "Hey, Shel!" he called, putting on the brakes. He got off his bike and waited for her to catch up with him. When she did, he removed his helmet and started walking the bike beside her. "Congratulations on making the playoffs. Are you psyched for the game on Saturday?"

  Shelley nodded, her heartbeat speeding up as Greg looked at her. She couldn't stop thinking how good-looking he was. He was well built for someone so slender and had thick dark brown hair, and eyes that were a beautiful shade of gray. He was tall, although an inch or two shorter than she was.

  The whole way back home he talked to her about the basketball playoffs. Ordinarily Shelley would have loved to discuss Emerson's chances, their best players, the team's strategy. But today she wished that just once they could talk about something besides basketball. Something like . . . the dance. Shelley tried to imagine Greg noticing how pretty she looked or making a comment about her appearance. But, no, the playoffs were coming up, and the only interest Greg had in her was as a fellow basketball player. As always, Shelley thought. He treats me like he treats his younger brothers.

  "Hey, I'll see you later," he said when they reached her driveway. "Take it easy, champ." He leaned over and rapped her lightly on the shoulder with his helmet, then got back on his bike and zoomed off.

  He called me champ, Shelley thought to herself, her face crimson with embarrassment. As if I'm a prizefighter or something! She fumed and walked in the back door of her house, her shoulders slumped. What was the use of trying? Greg would never consider going out with her, not in a million, trillion years.

  And how could she blame him? Look at yourself, Shelley commanded herself, glancing at the mirror in the mudroom. Six feet of totally undistinguished, overtall human being. Thin, not slender. Gangly, not elegant. Hair curly and "convenient" for sports, not sleek and pretty. Everything about me is wrong, Shelley despaired. She plodded into the kitchen, where her mother was busy making a salad for dinner, and dropped into the nearest chair.

  "Hi, sweetie. How was your day?" her mother asked brightly.

  "Lousy. Mom, why couldn't I have inherited your genes instead of Dad's? People on your side of the family aren't giants. You're normal height and so's Nana. Why did I have to turn out to be such a freak?"

  Mrs. Novak laughed. "You happen to be very lucky, Shel. I'd give anything to be your height. You're a beautiful, graceful girl, and your height happens to be an asset in your favorite sport, too." She picked up the salad server and began to toss the lettuce. "Wouldn't it be terrible if you were too short to play on the team?"

  Shelley scowled. "Believe me, I'd manage. Cathy's five feet nine, and she's one of the best guards in the state. Besides, think of all the things you can't do, being my height," she complained.

  Mrs. Novak was familiar with Shelley's self-consciousness about her height, and she always tried to understand just what her daughter was feeling. "Like what, honey? What is it you want to do that you can't do?" she asked.

  "Well, take dancing, for instance. I'm an incredible klutz. I can't even walk gracefully, let alone dance!" Shelley cried. "The only place I don't make a total fool of myself is on the basketball court. Everywhere else I just stick out, like a giraffe."

  "Sweetheart, you're just self-conscious. That's the worst part of being a teenager—you think everyone's staring at you," her mother said soothingly. "Just wait a couple of years. When you get to college and the guys have had their growth spurts . . ."

  Shelley rolled her eyes. She'd been hearing the same thing for years: "Just wait till the guys get taller." What good did that do her now? For as long as Shelley could remember, she had been the tallest girl in her class. Every time they had to line up in order of hei
ght, everyone called out her name to go first and laughed. And the boys seemed permanently stuck at the same height: shorter than she was.

  "You'll see," her mother was saying. "You're going to find yourself very glad that you're a few inches taller than other girls. You've got such beautiful long legs, and you've got the kind of build that clothes are made for." She smiled warmly at her daughter. "Now, tell me all about today's practice. Are you excited about the game on Saturday? Mrs. Hilliard was telling me that you girls are getting all kinds of media coverage—apparently there'll be reporters from the News and a camera crew from Channel 5 there!"

  Shelley couldn't answer right away. She knew how excited her parents were about the basketball playoffs. But she just couldn't bring herself to share what they were feeling. Shelley had always loved the sport, but lately it was beginning to seem to her like another symbol of being different, of standing apart. OK, so she was a good player. Maybe even a great player. She had a chance at being all-state, and she knew she ought to be thrilled. But Shelley couldn't help wondering if the only reason she scored so many points was because she was the tallest girl on the team!

  "Mom, I'm going upstairs. I'm pretty tired," she told her mother, keeping her real feelings inside. Shelley knew how upset her mother got when she went on and on about her looks, even though her mother tried to be sympathetic.

  Shelley jogged upstairs to her room, kicked off her sneakers, and flung herself down on her bed.

  She looked at her sneakers with loathing. How could she possibly expect to dance well when her feet were twice as big as most girls' her age?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to imagine herself in a beautiful dress with her hair done perfectly for the big dance. After she received her award, Greg would walk up to her and ask her to dance. Instead of calling her champ, he would call her Shelley, and together they would float across the dance floor, the perfect couple, arms wrapped around each other—and she wouldn't miss a step. They would look into each other's eyes, and she would see he felt the same way she did: ecstatic to be with her and madly in love.

  Three

  "This is going to be great," Amy whispered to Jessica in the gym Wednesday afternoon as they waited for Patrick McLean to arrive and the first ballroom dance lesson to begin.

  "Not a real big turnout," Jessica said dryly. Only a handful of students had shown up, and most of them were girls, Jessica noted with disappointment. She was surprised to see Shelley Novak among them. Elizabeth was there with Jeffrey, and the only other boys there were Winston Egbert, self-proclaimed clown of the junior class; Bruce Patman, the richest and most arrogant boy in the whole school; Jim Roberts, who Jessica knew only by name; and a few seniors, including Greg Hilliard, who was with his old girlfriend, Carol.

  "We need more guys," Jessica complained.

  "Guys with names like Kurt Campbell, right?" Amy joked.

  Jessica flipped her hair back over her shoulder. She was about to come up with a retort when the door to the gym opened and the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life walked in.

  "Omigod," Amy said, grabbing Jessica's arm. "Don't tell me that's—"

  "Hi," the young man said cheerfully, setting a tape player up in the front of the room. "My name's Patrick McLean." He surveyed the group with a friendly smile. "Not that many people interested in learning to dance, huh? Well, maybe we'll get some more people interested by the time we're through."

  Amy was pretending to swoon. "I'm going to faint," she told Jessica. "Hold me up."

  Jessica couldn't speak. All thoughts of Kurt Campbell had flown right out of her head. "Amy," she said softly, "if I ever told you I was in love before, I was lying. This is it. I'm going to follow that man around till the day I die!"

  "Oh, no, you won't," Amy whispered. "Whose idea was it to take lessons from him, anyway? I'm the one who's in love with him." She glared at Jessica. And as if to prove that she could get Patrick's attention before Jessica, she spoke up right away. "I bet I could get some more people interested in taking lessons," she cooed loudly, in one of the most flirtatious voices Jessica had ever heard.

  Jessica was ready to kill her, but luckily Patrick didn't seem overly excited by Amy's promise. "Well, there's no point forcing people," he said calmly, plugging the tape player into an outlet.

  Jessica was trying to guess how old he was. He was really tall—at least six feet three, she thought—with light wavy hair, chiseled features, and penetrating dark eyes. With his slender build and European-style clothes, he looked like a model. Everything about Patrick was cool, down to the tiny diamond stud he wore in his left ear.

  Luckily Jessica didn't have to rely on guesswork for his age because Patrick began class by telling them all about himself. "I'm graduating this semester from UCLA, and I'm majoring in dance and theater," he said. "My hope is to start a series of dance studios in Southern California, and the first one I'm opening is going to be in Sweet Valley." He winked at them, and Jessica's heart beat faster. "So I'm hoping to get all of you to fall in love with ballroom dancing and tell your families and friends. That way McLean Studios will really get off the ground."

  Everyone smiled and murmured appreciatively—all but Amy, who whispered loudly to Jessica, "I'm in love all right!"

  Jessica stared murderously at her and said nothing. If she was going to have to fight for Patrick, she was ready!

  Patrick popped a tape into the player and turned to the assembled group. "Now," he said, looking them all over. "I need a partner so I can show you all how to do the box step. The box step is the building block we're going to use for a number of other dances, so you'll need to learn it well." His gaze landed on Shelley Novak. "You—what's your name?"

  "Uh, Shelley," she stammered.

  Patrick held out his hand to her and smiled. "OK, Shelley, please come up front, give me your hand, and we'll show them a thing or two. Now, watch me, everybody. This is the position you want to assume when you begin. Guys, notice the place where I'm putting my hand on Shelley's back."

  Amy nudged Jessica. "That," she whispered, "is going to be me."

  "Shut up," Jessica said, exasperated.

  Patrick demonstrated how to hold a partner's hand, how the neck and head should be aligned, how much space there should be between the partners.

  "When I get him in my arms, there isn't going to be any space," Amy continued in a rapturous whisper.

  Jessica covered her ears with her hands. She was really glad when the music started and Patrick slowly began demonstrating the box step, with Shelley as his partner.

  She couldn't bear hearing Amy make such an idiot of herself. Jessica wasn't going to be a total baby about Patrick like Amy was being. This wasn't just a silly crush, it was the beginning of a serious relationship. And Jessica had every intention of making as big an impression on Patrick as he had made on her.

  "Now," Patrick said, turning to face them with a smile when the music ended. "Did everyone understand that?"

  Jessica was racking her brains, trying to think of what to say, when Amy spoke up. "Uh, I didn't really get it," she said sweetly, staring up at him and batting her eyelids. "Do you think you could show me?"

  "Sure," Patrick said with a good-natured smile. "Thanks, Shelley. You were a great partner." As Shelley moved back toward the assembled group of dancers, Patrick held out his hand to Amy. When he put his hand on her back, Amy threw Jessica a look that said, "OK, he's mine now, so stay away!"

  But Jessica wasn't about to let Amy get away with such a rotten trick. She just waited for the music to end before letting Patrick know that she hadn't quite gotten the hang of the box step, either.

  Patrick looked a little puzzled. "Generally people catch on right away," he said, looking at Jessica with concern.

  Amy could barely hide her delight. "That's right, Jess. Couldn't you figure it out after watching it twice?" she demanded in a very loud stage whisper.

  "Let's just move on to the next step and see how it goes," Patrick said, tur
ning back to adjust his tape player. Jessica felt her face turn scarlet, but she wasn't going to show Amy how upset she was.

  She would have to plot her revenge very carefully. But she would get it, all right. There was no way she was going to let Amy have Patrick McLean. He was hers!

  Shelley was ready to die of embarrassment. What a disaster! First of all, when she had returned to the gym after her shower, who had she run into but Greg and Carol. Greg—and Carol! What were they doing together? She thought they had broken up! Greg had acted awfully cool toward her, too, which probably meant he was trying to impress Carol. Before Shelley could even begin to try to figure out whether or not they were getting back together, the dance teacher had dragged her in front of everyone to dance with him.

  Actually, if Greg and Carol hadn't been there looking on, it might have been kind of nice dancing with Patrick. He was the right height, for once, and he was very handsome. And he was so sure of himself and so absolutely in control that she couldn't help moving correctly when he was leading. However, she still couldn't relax, no matter how well they were dancing together. She felt about as stiff as a six-foot ladder, which was probably what she looked like. When the song was over, Patrick stepped back, bowed politely, and turned to the rest of the class.

  For the next few minutes, Shelley was so deep in thought that she barely paid attention to what was going on around her. But she was jolted back to the present when Patrick said, "Now, I want everyone to pair up. It doesn't have to be boy-girl, just grab someone and do the steps that we just did."

  Shelley stared at Greg, trying to will him to look at her. But he was too busy looking at Carol.