Confessions of a Wannabe Cheerleader Page 3

  One of the better cheerleading Titan guys was already leading the team through their jumps at the other end of the field as Katie went up to each cheerleader to correct his or her posture. Their practices were notoriously grueling and serious, and the rumor is, they get harder every year. The weary looks on the cheerleaders’ faces at the end of practice usually says it all. Just when they think they’re completely spent—after tumbling, jumps, choreography, and stunts—Katie will make the Titans review their latest cheers and write new ones. I looked back at my own team. Tabitha Sue was almost out of breath, and we hadn’t even started tumbling yet.

  “Madison?” Jared called out after we had gotten through a few rounds of pretty pathetic jumps. “Are we going to start some choreography today? I was thinking maybe something by the Artist Formerly Known as Prince. I even worked something up last night,” he said excitedly. Jared then launched into a shimmy, touched the floor, and threw his head back dramatically. “What do you think?”

  We all looked at him in stunned silence.

  “Ahem. Lo-hoser!” Matt coughed under his breath.

  “It’s . . . um . . . cool,” I said, trying not to be outwardly judgmental. “I don’t know if it’s exactly cheer material, though. Maybe we could consider it for something later?”

  Jared pouted.

  “Do you guys maybe want to try a pyramid?” I asked hopefully.

  Most of the team stared back at me with quizzical looks.

  I decided to demonstrate with myself, Ian, and Matt because I figured they were the strongest guys on the team for now. We were standing toward the edge of the track area, and occasionally runners were jogging by throughout practice, but I wasn’t paying much attention.

  I showed Ian and Matt what they were going to do. As I climbed into the pyramid, I could tell I was a little unbalanced. But I wanted so badly to show the team that I knew what I was doing, I refused to admit defeat. Although, to be honest, I don’t think the Testosterone Twins paid all that much attention during my pyramid tutorial. Everything kind of happened in slow motion. I could feel myself sort of falling backward, and instead of my teammates spotting me and catching me at my waist, I fell for what seemed like minutes, watching the puffy white clouds above me until my vision was obscured by a figure whizzing by in red sweatpants.

  Bam! Face-to-knee collision.

  “Urrrggggg.” I mumbled incoherently.

  My body lay half on the track and half on the grass.

  Then a gorgeous vision peered over me. He had brown wavy hair and eyes the color of my favorite gelato flavor—espresso chocolate, the kind with 70% dark chocolate in it. The late—afternoon sun was hitting the back of his head so that he had this bright orange halo of light all around his face, and for a minute I thought maybe I’d died and this was the angel welcoming me into heaven’s gates. “Hmm, ok. I’ll take it,” I thought.

  “You ok?” the angel asked, leaning over me. He moved a little to the right, and the halo disappeared. Phew. Ok, not dead. And that’s when I felt the throbbing in my nose. “Ow” was my only response.

  He brought one of his perfectly chiseled arms behind his head to scratch his neck, accentuating a biceps. I secretly hoped he did that on purpose to impress me. It’s true, half of what boys do is kind of just their autopilot. But once in a while, between the burping and farting, they manage to work something really cute into their repertoire of actions too.

  Ms. Burger started searching for injuries, asking me questions about internal bleeding. But I hardly noticed, because I was too busy admiring the curve of the angel’s nose.

  “Bevan Ramsey,” Ms. Burger scolded, “I’m surprised at you. How did you just run into an entire cheerleading pyramid?”

  “Bevan,” I thought to myself. Right—that IS his name. He’s been in my grade for years, but I don’t ever remember him looking quite like this. I don’t remember ever seeing those biceps before. . . .

  “Hey, I’m really sorry,” he said, looking at me.

  “I was in the zone, Ms. Burger,” he said. “And to be honest, I wasn’t really sure what it was they were doing,” he said, a little apologetically.

  I started to sit up, putting my hand to my nose. Katarina came by my side and held out a pocket mirror so I could assess the damage. (It’s NOT pretty.)

  “Is it broken?” I asked no one in particular, hoping maybe someone had medical training.

  “Nope, I don’t think so,” said Bevan, looking closely at my face. “I’ve had, like, five broken noses from sports injuries. That doesn’t look broken to me,” he answered, showing a nearly perfect smile with one really adorable gap in his bottom teeth.

  “Hey, dude!” someone shouted from the other end of the track. “You comin’?”

  Bevan brushed off his sweatpants and stretched one of his perfect biceps across his chest.

  “Again, sorry, um. . . . What’s your name?”

  “Madison,” I said, the embarrassment of the situation hitting me all of a sudden. I actually fell onto that gorgeous creature. OMG!

  He started to jog away but turned and said, “Ice always helps, by the way,” then ran off down the track.

  Thank goodness at that point Lanie appeared by the bleachers, because I just could not have handled the rest of practice without her making stupid faces at me. And she was wearing her “ironic” pigtails, which made for even more comic relief because she was able to pull them and blow her cheeks out at the same time, which is one of my fave Lanie moves.

  We tried the pyramid a couple more times—far away from the edge of the track—and it took a lot to convince people to be flyers after seeing my heinous fall. The Twins either grabbed ankles too roughly or reached for inappropriate places on people’s bodies. SO. GROSS.

  Jared wanted to try, because he liked the idea of hitting the pose at the top of the pyramid. He called it “the showstopper.”

  “Uh, yeah. No way are we touching him,” said Matt, crossing his arms defiantly.

  I tried to spot Jared along with Tabitha Sue, but Jared mistakenly picked Tabitha Sue’s nose as he nearly lost his balance while he lifted his hand out and up.

  At the end of practice, I wearily trudged toward Lanie.

  “Jeez, Lanes, I knew practice was gonna be bad, but I didn’t think it was gonna be that bad.”

  “Even worse than we suspected, huh?” said Lanie. “Ooh, Mads. What happened to your nose?”

  “Yeah, embarrassing story, actually. I fell onto Bevan Ramsey,” I said, shaking my head. “But not, like, in a romantic way. I kind of collided with him,” I clarified. I waved good—bye to my teammates, who were making their way off the field.

  I told Lanie what happened, and she couldn’t help but laugh at me. I totally would too if I were her.

  “I thought he played soccer,” said Lanie.

  That was my Lanes. On top of every social group, including the sports guys. But still, I was surprised. “Even I didn’t know that, and I’m supposed to be a cheerleader.”

  She shrugged. “Well, he’s pretty popular. Word gets around, I guess. Where’ve you been hiding?”

  “I can’t tell you how helpful you’re being in raising my morale right now. But seriously, I don’t know how I didn’t really notice him before,” I said. “And now,” I whispered, “I think I’m a teeny bit in love with him.”

  “Ok, whatever.” Lanie laughed, checking her phone for messages. “Let’s talk next week and see if this lasts longer than your last crush.”

  She did have a point. The last guy I liked was Sean Kwong, who was part of the skater posse. We shared a moment one day in study hall, and after that I downloaded pics of him from Facebook and inserted my face next to his on iPhoto. The next week, I actually saw him skate, and let’s just say he is one of those guys who wears his skateboard as an accessory. I guess I kinda share Lanie’s distaste for poseurs.

  “Hey,” said Lanie, “I don’t have to be home till eight thirty. You want to go to the Shack?” she asked. The Shack is a
place around the corner from school that has outdoor seating and order-at-the-counter service. On almost any night of the week you can find, like, half the school there.

  “Nah,” I said. “Maybe another night.” I looked at where the Titans were still going strong. “I’m going to stay and practice some stuff I didn’t get to do today.”

  “No worries,” said Lanie. “I’ll hit up Evan.”

  I said good—bye and started on some backflips. I know it’s kind of loser-y, but I pretended that I was a Titan and that Katie had just asked me to go farther down the field, where I’d have more space to flip.

  “Yep,” I said under my breath, looking at the corner that my very challenged team had occupied just a little while before. If anyone should still be practicing, it’s the Grizzlies.

  “Lots of space here. A whole team’s worth.”

  Dad called tonight. Whoop dee doo . He wants to take me to dinner on Friday with Beth, his new “friend.” Can’t wait! Gag, gag. Mom says I should learn to have a better “team attitude” when it comes to our family. I tried to tell her that the team attitude is one thing when it comes to cheer, quite another when it comes to your dad’s new girlfriend. She laughed when I said that, and I know she totally agrees with me but can’t admit it because she’s trying to take the high road.

  “So? Did you make the team?” Dad asked me as I climbed on top of our granite kitchen counter next to the phone on the wall. Mom refuses to get a cordless. I think she likes to eavesdrop on my conversations with Dad.

  I know he was just asking out of obligation. First of all, I’m positive Mom already briefed him on my joining the Grizzlies, because that’s just something she would do. Second, he doesn’t really approve of my obsession with cheerleading. He never liked it when Mom was into cheerleading either. Well, I think he did at first. See, they were high school sweethearts. He was the football jock, and she was the hot cheerleader. It’s a cliché, but I guess there’s a reason for clichés, right? I think the problem for him was that she was still fiercely loyal to cheerleading even after they left high school. According to Mom, he didn’t understand why she sometimes traveled to cheerleading competitions long after her days of cheering were over. When I was little, I even remember them fighting over Mom wanting to sign me up for gymnastics class—which I was, like, begging them to do. Dad was all about signing me up for Science Camp, where activities included collecting bugs and making volcanoes out of vinegar. And I hated bugs. I still do.

  “No, Dad, I didn’t make the Titans.” I sighed into the phone, wrapped the cord around my pinky, and began twirling. “But I decided to stick with it and joined this other team called the Grizzly Bears.”

  “Grizzly Bears?” Dad laughed. “What, do they put out forest fires and cheer at the same time?”

  “Ha-ha,” I said. “No, they’re, like, this B—squad of cheerleaders. They basically suck, but I’m hoping to change that a little. And to stand out so that maybe the Titans will pick me to be on the team later in the year.”

  Dad was quiet on the other end of the line.

  “Dad?”

  “Madison, I just wish you’d consider giving this cheerleading thing a rest, maybe for a little while. Focus on your schoolwork. Don’t you want to have some other extracurriculars? Like voluntee—”

  “Dad!” I cut him off, trying to throw the phone cord off my hand but instead almost yanking it out of the phone itself because it was so tangled in my fingers. “For the hundredth time, this is not a ‘cheerleading thing.’ This is my life. It’s what I love to do. I don’t know how you don’t get that by now. And I do care about my schoolwork. You make me out to be some kind of delinquent. My grades are great. Besides, I do have another extracurricular—my drawing, remember?”

  I think he would rather I just study and do homework 24/7. His dream must be for me to become a dowdy librarian with long braids and oversize glasses with ten cats (i.e., the opposite of Mom).

  “All right, honey, let’s not argue.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, uh, Beth is really looking forward to meeting you on Friday.”

  I tried to conjure up an image of what his latest girlfriend would look like. The name Beth, for some reason, makes me think of a woman in a boring dress with sensible shoes.

  “Um, ok. Me too, I guess,” I mumbled. “I gotta go do homework, Dad,” I said, knowing this would be a perfect out. Dad just loves homework.

  I could tell Mom was hovering nearby, because her blond hair kept on poking in and out of the doorway of the kitchen. She gets protective when Dad and I start fighting about cheerleading.

  We said good-bye, and-surprise, surprise—a second later, Mom appeared.

  “You were so listening in, weren’t you?” I teased her.

  “I certainly was not!” she said, her eyes wide with indignation. “I was merely coming downstairs to grab”-Mom looked around the kitchen-“a fresh set of hand towels from the closet.”

  “Mom,” I pointed out, “the hand towels are in the upstairs closet.”

  “Oh.” She smiled, flinging her blond ponytail behind her shoulder. “I guess you’re right. Well, I’ll just get them later!” she said brightly.

  I hopped off the counter and opened the fridge. “You’re the worst liar.” I assembled some leftover pasta to take upstairs. “Mind if I just eat in my room?” I asked.

  “Be my guest,” she said. Her tone was totally cool, which I am sooo glad about. I can usually tell when Mom is mad about stuff like that.

  Anyway, today was another frustrating day of practice. No one except Katarina—who knew them already—was able to learn any of the simplest sets of jumps I tried to teach. And now, after this conversation with Dad, I just don’t really feel like getting into any of it with Mom. She’s just a reminder of everything I’ve worked for that I haven’t gotten.

  Yet.

  The only thing making this day better right now? Cold pasta. Yummy!

  In English we’re reading The Grapes of Wrath. I just keep picturing what the Joad family’s road trip would have been like if a few cheerleaders had gone along for the ride. I mean, maybe if there’d been cheerleaders to pep up Grampa Joad when he was on his last leg, he wouldn’t have died. Or at least not that early in the story. I really like Grampa Joad. He has spunk.

  Right before English, I passed Tabitha Sue in the halls, so we stopped to chat about practice. I guess since I’ve never had to rely on her voice for any other reason before, I’ve never noticed it—but her voice is the squeakiest, shrillest voice EVER. It’s like a chipmunk on helium, in outer space. I mean, it’s not always like that—just when she’s nervous. I must make her nervous, and cheerleading must make her nervous, because in the classes we have together she’s totally normal sounding.

  Tabitha Sue was asking me how my morning was going, but I couldn’t help but think, “How is this chipmunk-in-space voice going to make us sound during a cheer? What are the Titans going to think when they hear us? We won’t even be able to do THAT right!” (Note to self: Maybe there is something I can do to help Tabitha Sue learn how to not be so nervous?)

  But I have a soft spot for Tabitha Sue. That girl has got dedication with a capital D. The Titans practically laughed her off the mat, but here she is, on the Grizzlies, with a smile on her face.

  “See you at practice!” I shouted after her as she tottered down the hallway. Oh, yeah. For a cheerleader, she’s also lacking this thing called “grace.”

  I had fifteen minutes to kill before English. I leaned against the bulletin board near my locker and wrote in my journal. I wanted to jot down some ideas I had for later. I guess I’m becoming some kind of de facto captain. Not like I should be superproud of that—who else is going to do it? Ian? Ha-ha. I also tried to keep an eye out for Bevan in case he happened to walk by. Ever since the day I almost broke my nose on him, I’ve been dressing a little nicer in hopes that he’ll see me in the halls.

  Suddenly, my journal went flying out of my hands.

  “Hey, watch
where you’re going,” Evan said in a mock bullying tone. This is one of our oldest tricks with each other.

  “Er, ok,” I said, trying to approximate the same baritone voice.

  My journal was lying perfectly on its back, with the pages open for all the world to see. Anyone walking by could take a gander at my Top Secret page of Grizzlies uniform designs. I’ve been working on them since Monday night. After drooling over the Titans and their Teen Vogue-perfect uniforms, I couldn’t stop thinking about how ours can use a total reboot. That is, if our school feels like coughing up some cash. (Big chance there!)

  Evan’s striped tie (an older—brother hand-me-down for sure) mopped the floor as he stooped down to swipe my journal.

  “Lookie what we got here,” he said, an amused grin on his face.

  I grabbed the journal away from him. “Hands off, mister.”

  “Ooooh, sorry. Top secret zookeeper stuff?” he said, loping after me down the hall.

  “Great comeback, Comicon! By the way, nice tie.” I tugged on it playfully.

  “Cool, huh?” he said, holding it in front of him like it was some alien accessory. “My big bro gave it to me from his college—interview days.” (I was so right.) “Oh, did you check out last night’s SuperBoy?”

  (Sidebar: SuperBoy is this awesome blog that Evan started last year, and it actually has been getting pretty popular among the comic geeks. You could even say he has kind of a following. It’s about a guy who everyone thinks has superpowers to save the planet from horrible disasters and stuff because of this one time he happened to be in the right place at the right time and he helped prevent something horrible from happening. But the truth is, he’s just a regular kid. He doesn’t dispute the SuperBoy rumors, because he totally enjoys the spotlight. And now people come to him for every problem—big or small. He listens to their problems, and in each story the characters think that SuperBoy solves them. Somehow each problem resolves itself more or less, and each time they think he was the reason.)