Good. They could wait for a few minutes more. There is something to be said for building anticipation, after all.
From above, a throat cleared pointedly. I glanced up. Veronica Lodge, of course. A talented Vixen, and only marginally less endowed in the respective departments of brains and beauty than moi, but perennially a thorn in my ever-so-shapely side. While I enjoy a challenge, I did often find Veronica’s fire exhausting. She tends to need reminders as to who the HBIC is around here.
(Me, always. In case you needed reminding as well.)
“Yes?” I asked, my tone challenging.
She rolled her eyes. “Cheryl, I beg you—spare us the dramatic buildup. You summoned us. We obliged. Can we just … get on with it?”
I waved her off. “Your enthusiasm is noted.”
Another eye roll from Veronica at that.
“Of course, now that we’re all gathered, I’ll dive right in to our exciting news.” I nodded to Tina Patel, who’d been standing at attention by the side door to the coach’s interior office, and she now pulled it open.
“Principal Honey, Coach Grappler—please do come join us anon!”
A wave of murmurs broke out amid the bleachers as Honey strode out of the office with our fearless new leader in tow. Honey was smiling, a somewhat rare sight for the generally stern man. But the Vixens weren’t focused on him. It was the woman beside him who had everyone all atwitter with curiosity.
Greta Grappler was a solid, formidable presence who announced her authority with every step she took. She was as tall as an Amazon, thickly muscled thighs and calves revealing themselves as she walked across the gym floor. She wore her regulation coach uniform: athletic shorts like the ones we Vixens wore for practice (though I knew from having helped her place the order that she’d had to source a pair of extra-tall warm-up pants for the encroaching colder weather). Her shirt was a polyester button-down (regulation—it couldn’t be helped, even though I’d been lobbying to abolish synthetic materials for eons to no avail) in the Bulldog blue and gold. Her dark, curly hair was pinned into an unmoving topknot high on her head. When she reached the bleachers, she scanned the eager-eyed girls and offered a broad wave hello. In response (and in eager curiosity), the Vixens shuffled in their seats, angling to get a good ogle and murmuring confused questions to one another.
I held up my hand, signaling for silence, and the assembled team obliged. “Vixens,” I said, smiling, “how better to usher in the new school year than with a new coach?”
A fresh flurry of whispers broke out at that.
“Yes, it’s true,” I confirmed, ignoring the rising commentary.
I went on, focused. “Coach Grappler comes to us from the warmer climes of sunny Florida, where she single-handedly led no fewer than three separate squads to the top of the national rankings. I just know she’s going to do the same for us.”
“We’re thrilled to welcome you,” Principal Honey chimed in.
Now Coach Grappler held her waving hand up, blushing modestly. “I appreciate the glowing introduction, Cheryl—and the welcome, Principal Honey,” she said. “But they definitely weren’t single-handed victories. I believe in the value of a team effort.” She placed heavy emphasis on the word team, her lips mashing together over the consonants.
“Of course,” I agreed. “But surely your own vision was key to the various successes.”
She shrugged, seemingly resigned to the flattery, if obviously still not completely comfortable with it.
(I will never understand why some people are so loath to toot their own horns. If we can’t be our own biggest champions, pray tell, who will?)
“But, Cheryl,” Veronica protested, “this is so … out of the blue. A good ‘out of the blue,’ ” she added, casting a look at Coach Grappler. “Greetings and salutations, of course, Coach Grappler.” She turned back to me. “But exciting as this news is, it’s surprising nonetheless. The Vixens have never even competed in the nationals before.” She glanced around at the rest of the team, looking for either confirmation or contradiction. “Right?”
“Nope,” Ginger Lopez said, sleek black ponytail bobbing as she shook her head.
“Don’t I know it,” I snapped. “And while consistently placing first in the regional division all these years has been a pretty feather in our collective cap, this is my senior year. I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m planning to go out with a bang. Being a big fish in a small pond is all well and good for some of us. But why not aim higher? There’s a whole ocean out there, you know.”
I watched the emotions flit across her face as Veronica considered the information. I knew, of course, that plenty of my compatriots would just as soon rest on their well-padded laurels senior year rather than go to the effort of gearing up for one final, shining victory lap. But even knowing my spot in my college of choice was secure wasn’t enough to deter me or dim my fire. Veronica had La Bonne Nuit and Pop’s—other considerations beyond high school. And I would, too, soon enough. But as reigning queen of Riverdale High, I wasn’t going to abdicate the throne without adding a few final jewels to my glittering crown.
Betty leaned forward, tentative. “I think it sounds great!” she said, giving a wide smile at Coach Grappler. “I mean, V and I were just saying at breakfast that it’s been … kind of a rocky road for us in Riverdale these last couple of years. A new coach, some new competitions? That could be totally fun, right? Just normal, regular-high-school-student stuff. We deserve that.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Betty,” I said. “And I love your enthusiasm.” I’d lost my dear brother Jay-Jay twice in the last two years: First, literally, when he was brutally murdered at the hands of our own villainous paterfamilias; and then, more symbolically—but no less painfully—when that huckster Svengali Edgar Evernever hypnotized me into thinking Jason was back among the living. (Whether or not I’d fully said my good-byes to him was a different story altogether.) If soaring to the top of a human pyramid in pursuit of a gleaming trophy and a title to match would bring me even a modicum of joy? I was going for it. All the way.
“I hope you’ll all join me in making Coach Grappler feel right at home here in Riverdale.” I applauded, encouraging the girls to do the same, and the sound of scattered clapping broke out across the room in staggered bursts.
Coach Grappler stepped forward and waved again, still somewhat shy and reserved. “Let me just say, I’m so glad to be here. I’ve seen videos of your performances, and I’m excited to be working with some real next-level talent. I have a lot of ideas for how to freshen up some of your routines—taking what you’re all known for and just turning up the dial with some totally up-to-the-minute choreography and a few more high-powered acrobatic sequences. I know you guys can handle it, and I know it’s gonna rock.”
Just the mere thought of shiny new dances to practice sent shivers down my spine. It went without saying that the Vixens were known for our halftime dances. With a world-class coach behind us? There was nowhere to go but up. I caught Toni’s eye, and she gave me an approving wink.
“Feel free to swing by my office anytime—to ask questions, or even just to say hi.”