Confessions of a Wannabe Cheerleader Read online

  Ok, so, I only understood about half of what she just said, but I was convinced!

  “Well, when you put it that way . . . ,” said Evan.

  With a little more ego stroking, Lanie and I were able to persuade Evan to at least try selling SuperBoy at one game and see what happens. Hurrah!! Victory at last!

  HOMEWORK BREAK, LIVING ROOM

  I pitched the idea for SuperBoy at practice, and luckily, the rest of the team likes it too. Jared volunteered to dress up as SuperBoy and talk to fans in front of the table.

  “I’m so excited!” said Jared. “It will be kind of like one of those Disney characters you see at Epcot. I can pose with the fans. Does he wear a cape? Or a leotard? I love leotards!”

  “Sorry, Jared,” I told him. “SuperBoy doesn’t quite have that kind of fan base yet.”

  Jared’s eyes practically started tearing up.

  “But as soon as he does, the costume’s yours,” I reassured him. Jared’s face immediately brightened.

  Oh, and turns out that Tabitha Sue is a closet SuperBoy fan (shocking, I know). Katarina thought that SuperBoy was the son of Superman, and we took a few extra minutes out of practice to straighten out her misconception. Ian and Matt even promised to beat up anyone who makes fun of Jared in his costume, which I think was kind of sweet!

  Ms. Burger commended me on coming up with the fund—raiser idea in the first place. She took me aside while everyone was practicing our routine for the math league tournament and said I had great leadership qualities. Now, normally, I’m not one to get all sentimental, but I have to admit it was really nice to hear. No one’s ever really singled me out before like that.

  I told Mom about our idea for SuperBoy when she picked me up after school.

  “That’s great, honey!” she said, and then paused, squinting ahead at the road like she does when she’s thinking about something. “Was that something you read in my printouts? I don’t remember seeing it.”

  “No, Mom,” I said, laughing. “I thought of it on my own. I am capable of having an original idea every now and then,” I said. The plan was to be sarcastic, but I think it came out with a bit of an edge to it. Oops.

  “Oh,” said Mom, “of course you are. Hey, did you come up with a cheer yet for the math league meet?”

  “Sort of.” I sighed, throwing my head back against the seat. “And it is awful!”

  One idea that the team came up with is a cheer about the quadratic formula, where every word is matched to another pose, but it still seems kind of cheesy.

  “Maybe we can kick around some ideas after dinner?” she suggested.

  “Actually, can we just have a cheer—free night tonight?” I asked.

  Thankfully, she didn’t argue. Lately, Mom is driving me C-R-A-Z-Y . . . what’s that spell? AHHHH!!! Obviously, I love cheer and it’s totally my life, but sometimes even cheerleaders need a break, you know? I think I’m just going to relax, put cheer out of my mind, and do a little bit of drawing instead. There’s this killer idea I have for a dress that might maybe possibly someday be something I’ll want to wear to a school dance with a certain someone. I mean, that’s clearly a total fantasy that will never come true, but hey, as I always say, a girl can dream, right?

  Ps-Oh! I almost forgot! Praise the cheer gods—NO ONE mentioned anything about what happened at Le French Frog. Crisis averted. Woot! Woot! But I guess you can never be too sure with someone like Clementine. Maybe she’s just holding this juicy bit of info about me for blackmail. At least I’m in the cheer for now.

  I mean, clear.

  We had our first game today, if you could call it that. See, Port Angeles believes every school activity has the right to-no, DESERVES—some level of cheer, and math league is no exception. Thank goodness, because without this policy, we Grizzlies wouldn’t exist. Now, we aren’t about to cheer in a classic, adrenaline—fueled gym or on the seasoned grounds of a football field with the bright lights beating down on us. Nope. Not us Grizzlies. We cheer in fluorescent—lighted classrooms—with the same graffiti—inscribed desks that spend the school day taunting us. Instead of coaches sitting on the sidelines, we have teachers. Grading students. At MATH.

  Still, it didn’t matter. We were all excited and even a little nervous. Our first game! Poor Tabitha Sue was sweating bullets. Katarina and I fought over the one mirror in the locker room that doesn’t make people look like circus freaks. I made sure there were no bumps in my ponytail.

  “Hey, Katarina?” I called. “Maybe you might want to, uh, tone down the makeup a little? I think you look great without it.” Katarina had this full arsenal of makeup out. She’d gone from looking about twelve years old to thirty in ten minutes. Maybe she’s more Titan material than I am. They always doll up before games. (Note to self: To play the part, you have to look the part. Perhaps a trip to Mom’s bathroom is in order. . . .)

  Katarina gave my face a look that made me feel like perhaps I should consider a trip to the Mac counter. “Vat you are choosing to make to your face is your business. I like my face much more beautiful zen yours,” she said, resuming her application of deep red lipstick.

  I decided to butt out at that point. Though I really hope something was lost in translation or else I’ll be very offended.

  At five minutes to “game time,” the Grizzlies filtered into Room 303, where the tournament was held. “Tabitha Sue,” said Katarina, “you are looking like sveat. Here, you must be of use to my towel.”

  Tabitha Sue smiled and took Katarina’s towel. She was well accustomed to Katarina’s “beautiful” way with language by now, a little more so than I am. “Thanks, Kat,” said Tabitha Sue gratefully.

  The math leaguers looked a little annoyed at having cheerleaders in the room, even though our sole purpose was to be SUPPORTIVE and BRING CHEER and PEP to their otherwise boring competition.

  Two scrawny—looking guys wearing nearly identical, too—tight argyle sweaters cowered in fear as soon as they saw Ian and Matt enter the room. They LITERALLY shrank back and brought their arms over their heads.

  “Hey, Matt, what did you two do to those guys?” I asked.

  “Oh, those little dudes?” A look of pride washed over Matt’s face briefly. “Hey, Ian, check it out. It’s Thing One and Thing Two.” He pointed at the two nerds across the room, who were now whispering to each other and pointing in our direction.

  “We might have hidden their clothes while they were showering after gym one time,” said Ian, stroking an imaginary beard. “And they might have had to walk back through the gym naked to find a teacher to open the lost-and-found box for them so they’d have something to wear.” He laughed nastily.

  After a few minutes, it became obvious that the nerds were no longer cowering in fear but pointing at Ian and Matt and laughing. Like, full—on cracking up, buckling over in their seats. People were staring. It took me a moment to realize why.

  “Hey, nice outfits!” said the brown—haired nerd, motioning at Ian and Matt’s cheerleading attire.

  I guess at first Thing One and Thing Two—I mean, the two little guys—thought the Twins were coming in to rough them around again. And in the middle of their math tournament, no less! But then, when they realized that Ian and Matt were cheerleaders, man oh man, I can only imagine the satisfaction they felt.

  Matt and Ian were a little slower on the uptake. Almost in unison, they looked down at their white sneakers, their pleated, fitted, high-waisted, pants, and their shirts with the gold tassels on them. The nerds had a point. There was no bigger FAIL in school than a football jock becoming a cheerleader. Especially when it wasn’t even by his own choice.

  “That’s it. I’m outta here,” said Matt, under his breath.

  “Me too,” said Ian. “Let’s bounce.”

  They began to shove their way past a group of students from the rival school that had just walked in.

  “Hey! Get your butts back here!” I shouted over the chatter of students and teachers filling out papers and forms. I c
aught up to the two of them and started tugging on their shirts. Yeah, good luck to me, single—handedly trying to drag two guys who were each twice my size.

  Jared, Tabitha Sue, Ms. Burger, and Katarina were looking on at our scene with puzzled expressions.

  “You can’t leave now,” I pleaded. “Who else is going to say ‘Yeah, yeah,’ in our ‘Let’s Get Quadratic’ cheer?”

  “And you’re the bases in the pyramid, remember?” Tabitha Sue pointed out in her chipmunk voice. (Apparently, yelling at jocks makes her nervous.) “No one else on the team is strong enough,” she said drearily.

  At first, neither of them seemed like they were going to give in. But then Matt looked at Ian and shrugged. “Fine. We’ll do it for you guys. But if one of those science experiments over there starts messing with me, he’s going down. Ok?”

  “Deal,” I said, hoping that the nerds kept their comments to themselves.

  Unfortunately, our first performance as a team was . . . What’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, right . . . abysmal. It didn’t help matters that the other school’s math league team didn’t have a cheer squad, so we stood out—but in a bad way. Maybe it was because it is a little awkward trying to motivate people while they’re scribbling away at intense—looking math problems. We might as well have been yelling, “Write harder! Write faster! Gooooo, calculators!” Ultimately, I think we were more distracting than supportive.

  What was even MORE embarrassing was that our formations were totally off. Tabitha Sue, who was in the front row, was supposed to be kneeling, but she stood instead. I tried to make the whole team stand so that she didn’t look bad, but by that time Tabitha Sue realized what she’d done and started to kneel. Then we all looked like idiots. (Big surprise there )

  Ian and Matt dropped Katarina during her pyramid. DROPPED her! And she’s, like, five pounds! (T.G. no one in the room spoke Russian, because she let out a cacophony of curse words on her way down.) Miracle of miracles, they were able to handle Tabitha Sue’s pyramid just fine. But Jared was over the top as usual. When he forgot some of the moves during our “Port Angeles is Mathtastic” cheer, he decided to do an exuberant Macarena to kill time. With exaggerated hip thrusts. No joke.

  Even worse, a Titan who I usually see at practice stopped by to give her brother who’s in math league moral support. She stood by the door to Room 303 for about twenty minutes and saw most of our routine. I can only imagine what a joke we must have looked like to her. Scratch that. I don’t have to imagine it. I was there. UGH.

  On a good note (the ONLY good note), Lanie and Evan set up a SuperBoy stand outside the room. It was our first stint at fund—raising for the team. It was really cool that they did that for us—even though they’re not even Grizzlies. (Well, they ARE getting a percentage of sales, but still.) In between cheers, Ms. Burger was totally fine with me sitting at the stand and acting as treasurer. Mom helped too—she made a huge sign of the SuperBoy cover for us and met up with Evan and Lanie right before the meet to set it up. It looked really professional. At first I was a little annoyed that she’d gone to all that trouble without consulting me first. I never would have asked her to do that for the team. But then I thought it was kind of nice and it looked awesome. Evan sold out of the whole stash that he had brought with him!

  And later I was like, “Duh, of course!” How did we not guess that math league would be the perfect place to start selling SuperBoy comics? The geeks are his supreme fan base! And now Evan has a list of e—mail addresses from people who want their SuperBoy as soon as it comes out—we even have fans from the other school now. Yippers! This actually might work! Now let’s see if we can sell SuperBoy at, say, a swim meet. . . .

  Dad called tonight. All of a sudden he’s way interested in my cheerleading. At first I heard Mom answer the phone downstairs and say, “Oh hi, Steven,” and I thought she’d do the usual drill: call for me, linger nearby so she could listen in, you know. But actually, she TALKED to him for a bit. About what, you ask? About me and my cheerleading! And I was like, hello! Since when did this become, like, the topic of the ten o’clock news?

  So I did my best impression of Lara Croft and crept down the stairs as stealthily as possible. I had a great image in my head of myself in an awesome Lara Croft—inspired unitard. One day, when I have my own fashion line, I’ll have to design something like that.

  As I tapped my foot ever so lightly on the second-to-last stair, I thought I’d almost given myself away, but Mom didn’t seem to notice. She was standing in the kitchen with her back to me, running her hand through her just-stepped-out-of-a-salon hair and balancing on her dainty little toes like a ballerina en pointe. (PS-Who just stands around like that?)

  Eavesdropping isn’t normally my thing, but I firmly believe that when the topic of the conversation (me) and the eavesdropper in question (me) are one and the same, they cancel each other out, no harm done.

  At one point I heard Mom’s voice get all snappy, and she was like, “No, Steven, they’re called the Grizzlies, not the Geek Squad. And they’re just a little rough around the edges. But they are certainly not geeks. In fact, they have a lot of heart.”

  Ok, Eww #1: I knew Dad didn’t like that I was cheering, but I didn’t know he had a problem with me being a Grizzly Bear! So now he thinks I’m a giant dorko. Awesome. Eww #2: “A lot of heart?” Somehow, hearing Mom defend our “ungeekiness” left a bad taste in my mouth. I mean, I know she was only trying to help, but hearing her say that just really annoyed me.

  I quietly slid down to the floor outside the kitchen so I could listen through the wall. Here’s the deal, plain and simple: Mom was a Titan cheerleader. She always has been and always will be. But the question is, IF Mom and I had gone to school at the same time and her jock boyfriend had made fun of a Grizzly Bear cheerleader, would she have taken that cheerleader by the hand and said to her boyfriend, “You don’t understand. They’re so not geeks. They’re just like us but with less practice.” Answer: DON’T THINK SO.

  When I heard her walking toward the stairs, I got off the floor.

  “Honey, it’s your dad!” Mom shouted in the direction of my bedroom.

  “I’m right here,” I said in a normal speaking voice.

  “Oh,” said Mom, jumping back a little, surprised.

  I yanked the phone out of her hands.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  Dad apologized for getting angry at Le French Frog last Friday, which I must admit makes me a little bit happy. He said he understood why I’d been grossed out by the food and said he shouldn’t have taken his “embarrassment at the situation” out on me. That still kinda sounds like he’s embarrassed by me, but honestly, at this point, whatever.

  “Next time, I won’t make you suffer through eating something you don’t like. You can order for yourself, ok, honey?”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. I’m sorry I made such a scene, though.”

  “I understand. I’m not really a fan of the foie myself.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Hey, dating is like Survivor. You have to eat some nasty things in order to impress the judges.”

  “Ok, Dad, whatever.”

  Eww #3: Dad talking to me about dating is, like, the most disturbing thing EVER. Please, please, please make him stop!! (BUT, note to self: When (if) I ever start dating and it starts to feel like I’m trapped on a desert island with strangers who are trying to make me eat supergross things, then I’ll consider living as an old maid forever.)

  I soon realized that, unfortunately, Dad also had another reason for calling.

  “Beth wanted to know if you knew her friend Irene’s daughter, Ramona Bowens. I think she’s in your class.”

  I opened the pantry cabinet to see if we had any gummy worms. We did-eureka!

  “Yeah, I know her,” I said, popping a gummy worm in my mouth. “She’s a year younger than me. Total Model UN devotee.” (Also, one of the most boring, predictable, goody-two-shoes girls in our grade. She’s, like, one of th
ose young geniuses who skipped a grade and takes all honors classes, goes to computer school on weekends, AND takes summer classes. Excuse me while I go throw up.) “Why?”

  Dad laughed. “Beth thought that maybe you should talk to Ramona. Invite her over sometime?”

  I spit out the gummy worm midchew (which is when it occurred to me that maybe I do have a chewing/swallowing problem??!). But this flavor was seriously gross. When did candymakers start allowing such disgusting flavors? But back to my point: Who is Beth to suggest that I throw out years of dance, gymnastics, and tumbling so I can moan on endlessly about global warming and the oil crisis??? No, thanks. I mean, I care about that stuff, but not enough to devote, like, five hours after school to it. Who does he think I am? Does my dad not know me at all?

  “Uh, Dad, I’m happy with my current crew of friends, thanks.”

  “I’m not saying you should be her best friend, Madison. I’m just trying to encourage other interests. That’s all,” he said.

  “All right, Dad. I’ll, um, think about Model UN.” Yeah, I’ll think about it in my NIGHTMARES. I immediately pictured Beth sitting right next to him, smiling encouragingly as he called his wayward daughter (me) and told me about her amazing idea to get me off the cheer train.

  Dad and I had an awkward good-bye. I’m sort of beginning to feel like a stranger in my own family.

  Update: The gummy worm was just a root-beer-flavored one (blech). The rest of the bag was completely delish!

  OMG to the nth degree. Major draams in Titanville. Here’s what went down.

  I showed up early to cheer practice and saw that the Triumvirate (Katie, Clementine, and Hilary) was also gathered in the gym, on the opposite side from where we Grizzlies usually hang. Lately, the Titans had still been out practicing near the sports field, while Ms. Burger had moved us indoors. (Jared had been complaining of fall allergies.) I thought something was up when I saw those girls, but I didn’t think much of it until the rest of the Titans started filtering in.