The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading (3 page)

“So,” Kaleigh continued, “
anyone
could make the squad.” She skipped a few feet ahead. “Well, almost,” she tossed that last comment over her shoulder before bolting for the list.

Moni huffed and walked in a tight circle. “One of these days, I’m going to slap the lip gloss right off her mouth.”

“You
knew
, didn’t you?” I said.

She shrugged and gave me another Moni Lisa smile. “I know
this
,” she said. “We really need to check that roster.”

“Please. Moni.” I reached out to stop her. “I went along with this ‘for the experience,’ but even with Chantal out of the running…” I shook my head, frustrated. “You didn’t fall and hit your head during one of those round-offs, did you? Girls like us, we don’t…” I sighed. Girls like us didn’t do a lot of things, and cheerleading was at the top of that list.

Moni turned, pointing toward the trophy case, then the Little Theater, and the gym. “Think about it.” Now she pointed down the hall, toward the cafeteria and the gauntlet, that spot where Chantal, Traci, and their minions hung out. “Without them
anything
can happen.”

“So it’s what?” I said. “A cheerleading paradigm shift?”

“Now you sound like Todd.”

Yeah, it was something he’d say. Todd was forever talking about things like that. He was really into politics, and he didn’t restrict his opinions to the national level, either. According to Todd, politics and politicians were everywhere. Especially in high school.

Kaleigh burst through the crowd around the roster, arms in the air, a victory dance in progress. If she had a football, she would’ve spiked it.

“Uh-huh, that’s right. I did it. I’m the—”

“Man?” Moni suggested.

Not even Moni could bring Kaleigh down. “Made the squad, which is more than—”

Another girl broke through the crowd, red blotches already sprouting on her cheeks. She tried to hide her expression, but I saw it. “Anna?” I said.

Kaleigh whirled. “Oh God, Anna. I didn’t even look….”

That was Kaleigh for you—the kind of girl who’d start celebrating before checking whether her best friend made the squad.

I watched Kaleigh trail Anna down the hall toward the junior lockers. A lone figure stood near the end of the corridor. Blond. Lean. In the kind of outfit that sneered at Minnesota Novembers.
Chantal?

Once Chantal and I had shared the barre in Madame Wolsinski’s modern dance class. We were a two-girl front against the others, with their whispered insults and snobbish exclusionary tactics. But that was before Chantal metamorphosed into the darling of Prairie Stone High. Before I reached my full geek potential.

“You know,” I said to Moni, “this wasn’t supposed to matter.” And yet, somehow—

“It doesn’t,” she said, but her voice sounded hollow.

And that ache in my stomach? That didn’t matter either.

I tugged Moni by the sleeve. “I think we’re going to need the real thing after this—white chocolate mochas with whipped cream. Maybe even extra whip.” I stepped forward, but Moni stopped me.

“It was my idea. I’ll look.” She slipped into the crowd and under the arm of a red-headed senior. Moni stood on tiptoes, fingers pressed against the posted roster. She stayed like that for way too long. Moni could speed-read; she liked to run through digits of p in her head—for fun. She probably had the entire list memorized in two seconds.

A whine rose up from within the crowd. I braced myself; we were definitely going to need the extra whip. But it wasn’t Moni, and it wasn’t a whine. The tone transformed into a high-pitched shriek. Next thing I knew, the redhead had a handful of Moni’s T-shirt. I rushed to save my friend, but the girl grabbed me, too, then pulled us into a group hug…one that grew to include the entire brand-new Prairie Stone High School varsity cheerleading squad.

And there Moni and I were, right in the middle.

In the sea of squeals, Moni bumped me and I bumped Kaleigh, who had returned (it seemed) from hastily consoling Anna. Kaleigh gave me a look, then bumped both of us back. Moni and I stumbled to the outskirts of the squad.

“No. Way,” I said.

“Way!” Moni nodded, curls flying.

I pointed at Moni, then back at myself, because a strange fear had stolen my voice. We
both
made it?

The flying curls bounced into place. For the first time since her parents divorced, Moni looked serene. Content, even. When at last she nodded, I had to wonder, How much did this cheerleading thing really mean to her?

Sheila emerged from the Little Theater and dropped pair after pair of purple and gold pom-poms into the mob.

“Here you go, girls,” she said. “Take them home. We’ll do uniforms on Monday, but this is the best way to let everyone know you made it.”

I looked down to find gold in my right hand and purple in my left. How could I take these…
things
home? My parents didn’t even know I was trying out. All I’d said was that I was staying after school with Moni. That was normal enough. Between class projects, painting scenery for the school play, and working on the newspaper, I stayed late all the time. Sure, I had extra-curriculars. There wasn’t much else to do in Prairie Stone. But
cheerleading
?

The thud of a basketball stole my attention. It bounced across the lobby and straight toward my feet. I trapped it, barely, between purple and gold fringe. Then I looked up.

Jack Paulson.

He held out his hands to take the ball, and they tangled with mine in the pom-poms. His skin was warm, and I tried not to count the number of times his fingers touched mine. (One, two, three…swoon…four times?) He laughed. His normally dark brown hair was black and spiked from sweat. Jack wasn’t just cute and talented. He worked hard—harder than most boys on the team.

Too soon, the basketball escaped the pom-poms. Jack held the ball against one hip, an arm draped over it to keep it in place.

“You make the squad?” he asked.

I wanted to say…something. At that moment, though, the only thing in my head was that stupid chess cheer from a few weeks ago:
Gambit to the left, castle to the right, endgame, endgame, now in sight!
That would be worse than lame. I held the pom-poms out as if they could speak for me.

“Well, congrats,” said Jack. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you at the games.”

“Paulson!” came a voice from the gym. “You’re up! Get your butt back in here.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the gym; then, barely turning toward me, said, “See ya.” And took off.

“See ya,” I croaked.

“Oh…my…God.” Moni came up behind me. She was sounding more like a cheerleader every minute. Frankly, it was a little disturbing.

“I just knew it,” she said. “This cheerleading thing is going to pay off. Big-time.”

“What?”

“Hello! Jack Paulson.
The
Jack Paulson. He’s going to be
seeing
you at the games?”

I glanced at the gym, then inspected the pom-poms. They couldn’t possibly be a Get Out of Geek Free card, could they? They couldn’t. “I think he meant ‘you’ as in everyone on the squad,” I said. “You know, the collective.”

“Yeah. Right. A collective of cheerleaders.” Moni snorted. “A pod of whales, a colony of rats, a pride of lions—”

I stopped her before she got to her favorite—a coffle of asses.

It didn’t really matter if we were cheerleaders, right? Except, maybe it did. The possibility of it tightened around my heart. Jack Paulson was…well, Jack Freakin’ Paulson, and totally unattainable. One of the many places geek girls didn’t go. Not even ones with pom-poms.

“Girls,” Sheila said. The empty pom-pom bag at her feet looked like a deflated balloon. “Can I talk to you two?”

It wasn’t like we had a choice. She bounced forward, winter coat fluttering at her sides, and planted herself in front of us. It was an impressive move, considering the weight of wool, the canvas tote, and those killer boots. Sheila Manning could probably strike terror in the heart of the meanest mean-girl cheerleader. I resisted the urge to cower behind Moni.

“You’re new to cheerleading, aren’t you?”

Wasn’t that obvious?

“Well, I think a bit of fresh blood might be—” Sheila tucked a lock of glossy auburn hair behind one ear. “A good thing. And honestly…” Hands on hips now, she continued, “You two were the only ones who looked like you were having any fun out there. Your school spirit just shines.” Sheila dug through her tote and pulled out two spiral-bound books. “But I think you might want to acquaint yourself with this before the start of practice next week.” She handed us each a book, and I took a quick glance at the title:
The Prairie Stone High Varsity Cheerleading Guide
by Coach Sheila Manning.

With that, Sheila headed for the entrance. She halted at the door, though, nailing us with a look. “And Moni, sweetie, you really need to work on your splits.”

Only when the second set of double doors whooshed closed did we dare to look at each other. “I’ve got spirit. Yes, I do,” Moni said, straight-faced. “I’ve got spirit. How about you?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “That thing about fresh blood, you think it’s anything like fresh meat?”

“Oh, no. It’s much better.” That sly Moni Lisa smile flitted across her face. “This changes everything,” she added.

“Yeah, right.”

“Don’t you get it?
We
made the squad. Next thing you know, Todd and Brian will go out for football.”

The co-captains of the debate team? Football? Brian was destined to win a Nobel Prize. Todd would go into politics, or make a gazillion selling used cars—like his dad. More likely both.

“
I
have a better shot at the football team.”

“All I’m saying is,” Moni spread her arms wide, “we are a beacon of light to geek girls everywhere.”

“Viva la geek?”

“Cha-yeah. We’re like the cheerleading weapons of mass destruction.”

“You mean everyone’s scared of us, but we don’t really exist?” She was right about the nonexistence part, if nothing else.

“No,” Moni said, “more like—”

“A cheerleading new world order?” Sheesh, I really
was
starting to sound like Todd.

Moni scooped up her pom-poms and shook them at me. “Exactly! Welcome to the revolution, bay-bee,” she said before she twirled, stumbled, and landed on the floor.

“Nice splits.”

“I’m serious, Bee.” Moni gathered up the pom-poms and gave them another good shake. “This means…”

I waited for her to finish, but her eyes got that faraway look. What did cheerleading mean,
really
? It meant walking through the halls in a purple and gold cheerleading uniform. Okay, I guess I could do that. It meant Jack Paulson would be “seeing” me at the games. Oh, I could definitely do that. It meant being invisible was no longer an option. That was tougher. But for Moni, sure, I could do that.

A
thump
,
thump
,
whoosh
came from the gym, and I felt a lump in my throat. Boys’ basketball was a big deal. No, a huge deal in Prairie Stone. Some towns had football. Up north, it was hockey. But here it was basketball. The school devoted weeklong celebrations to it. Social life revolved around it. Most years a slot in the state tournament was almost a sure thing.

It was the only reason anyone tried out for the winter cheerleading squad. Cheering for wrestling? Not cool, despite the presence of several hot seniors on the team. Helping out at girls’ gymnastics meets? Please. But basketball. Pep rallies. Banners. The band. The boys on the team. And at the center of it all?

The cheerleaders.

Gah. I knew exactly what this meant. It meant all those people, up in the stands, and the boys out on the court. It meant I was going to have to sing, dance, and cheer, in front of everyone.

While wearing an insanely short skirt.

I
stood at my locker with my winter coat buttoned all the way to my neck and took a pre-weekend inventory. German, history, and English books: check. Permission slip for the Victorian holiday field trip: check. A set of purple and gold pom-poms…check? I had no idea how I was going to get these things through the door, never mind tell my parents that I was now a Prairie Stone High School varsity cheerleader.

I contemplated the possibility of not telling them—ever. I could leave the pom-poms here, sneak my cheerleading outfit to and from school, and change in the locker room. Then it was just a matter of explaining my sudden interest in basketball, gymnastics, and wrestling. Oh, sure. That would work.

“Hey, Bethany!” Moni called. “My mom’s here.” I reached for the folder where I kept ideas for my Life at Prairie Stone columns and disturbed a slim paperback near the bottom of the stack:
The Art of War
by Sun Tzu. Todd had made everyone on the debate team and newspaper staff read it at the beginning of the year.

A book on military strategy might make sense for the debate team. But the newspaper? Still, maybe something in it would be useful. I gathered everything up, slipped the loops for the pom-poms over my wrist, and ran down the hall. All the while, my mind raced even faster than I did. There had to be a way to get the pom-poms inside the house without my parents noticing.

In the car, Mrs. Fredrickson’s expression went from disbelief to near ecstasy when she caught sight of the pom-poms. Her blue eyes—just like Moni’s—went wide. “Oh, honey!” Moni’s mom leaned across the seat to hug Moni and the set of pom-poms.

I didn’t remember her being this excited when Moni made the regional Math League finals last year. Moni was so busy squealing and basking in her mom’s attention that she didn’t say a word to me in the car. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out
The Art of War
.

Getting waylaid at the front door with evidence of cheerleader activity was definitely not “first in the field.” Maybe the pom-poms would fit under my coat?

We stopped at Moni’s house first. When we got to her room, Moni gave her pom-poms a ceremonial shake before arranging them in the place of honor in front of her plaster bust of Archimedes and her larger-than-life-size poster of Orlando Bloom.

She touched the scroll bar to wake up her laptop. Almost immediately, her IM program pinged.

“Oh, it’s Brian!” she said. “PQ request. He probably already senses my new cheerleader hotness.”

“PQ?”

“Party Quest, Bethany. You still didn’t sign up, did you?”

I hadn’t, and I wasn’t sure I was going to either. For the past few weeks all my friends had gone crazy over a new online role-playing game. The avatars in the game were cute, and if Moni was right, there were tons of guys who played. But the truth was, I found online boys just as intimidating as the real-life ones.

Moni’s fingers flew over the keys, but she didn’t enter the game world. There wasn’t enough time. Twice a month and every other holiday, Moni stayed with her dad, eighty miles north in Minneapolis. Sometimes she left straight from school. Other times, like tonight, she met up with her dad at a neutral location like the Happy Chef just north of town.

Her mom seemed to go a little crazy on those days. Moni never said anything, but I had the feeling I was the buffer zone in the routine. With me around, Moni could finish packing and mentally prepare for her dad’s new girlfriend without her mom hovering over her.

Moni logged out, readied her laptop for the trip, and threw a few more things in her bag. At the last minute, she grabbed the pom-poms and stuffed those in as well. She blew kisses to Orlando and Archimedes while her mom paced out in the hall.

“I’ll call you from my cell,” Moni said when we pulled up to the curb in front of my house. These days, she never used the D-word (for Dad) around her mom. It always made me wonder when her parents would start acting like grown-ups again.

I stood on the front porch until I saw brake lights and the turn signal; then Moni was officially gone. I sighed. Things had been bad enough right after the divorce; but once both of her parents started dating, Moni’s spirits had sunk even lower. On weekends she had to put up with Monica, her dad’s walking, talking Barbie doll. And lately, Mrs. Fredrickson spent a lot of time in coffee shops with a younger man whom Moni had dubbed “Starbucks Boy.”

In comparison, sneaking in a set of pom-poms was a minor problem. Still, I shoved them under my jacket—hoping it just looked like I’d had a big lunch—and opened the front door. Inside was dark, but I caught a whiff of chicken cutlets and my dad’s special biscuits. Okay, so he popped them from a can and baked them, but somehow that made them dee-licious.

In the entryway, I dropped my backpack and everything nonessential to my mission. I willed my stomach not to growl and crept up the small flight of stairs to the living room. Three tiptoed steps down the hall to my bedroom, I ran into my nine-year-old sister, Shelby.

“What’s that?” she asked, poking the front of my coat.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” I race-walked to my room.

“Come on, Bee. Show me what it is.”

I shut my bedroom door, shoved the pom-poms under the bed, hung my coat in the closet, then sat at my desk, like nothing had happened.

A few seconds later Shelby poked her head inside. “Let me see.”

“What?” I said, a little breathless.

“Beth-a-nee, come on.”

I shrugged and glanced at the closet, then pretended I hadn’t. Shelby sprang forward, threw open the closet door, and said, “Ah…ha?”

I laughed.

“I’m telling Mom!” Shelby ran from the room.

“What?” I called after her. “That I have nothing in my closet?”

Dad yelled from the kitchen. It was time to eat. I waited until partway through dinner to drop the C-bomb. I figured with the carbohydrates from the biscuits making everyone drowsy, I might be able to slip in a reference to cheering between the talk about college politics (Dad), and Science and Math Sisters Club (Shelby), and tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma’s (Mom).

Once everyone settled into a rhythm of eating and talking, I plunged in. “Could you please pass the salt?” I said to Mom. “And by the way, I’m-cheering-for-winter-sports-this-year.”

My mom sighed. For a moment I thought that was the end of it. I didn’t have the salt, but hey, I didn’t have any explaining to do either.

“Really, Bee.” Mom studied the shaker in her hand before passing it to me. “If you don’t enjoy athletics, just don’t go to their contests. Taunting the jocks will only make things worse.”

“Huh?” Dad, Shelby, and I all said at once.

Mom raised a spear of broccoli on her fork and used it to indicate my dad. “Oscar, you have to agree, nothing good can come from
jeering
at them.”

“Dear.” Behind his glasses, Dad’s expression looked perplexed. “I think she said…cheering.”

The broccoli fell from Mom’s fork. Her brow wrinkled, then she smiled and nudged me with her elbow. “Cheering?” She laughed. “Oh, right. Bethany. A cheerleader. Of course.”

I thought she might spurt green tea out her nose.

“That
is
what she said,” Shelby chimed in. “Isn’t it, Bethany? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?” Her eyes glittered as they swam from me to Mom and back again to me.

“Well—,” I started.

“Well?” Mom echoed.

“Well, yes,
cheer-
ing. Moni and I tried out, just for fun.” I shrugged, probably because I still didn’t believe it myself. “And we made the squad.”

“Do you have real pom-poms?” Shelby gushed. “Can I see them? Will you teach me the cheers?”

“Hold on there, Miss Firecracker,” Mom said. “Bethany, honey, are you sure this isn’t some sort of—”

“Some sort of what, Mom? Mistake? Joke?” Chantal Simmons and her gauntlet girl groupies probably thought Moni and me making the squad was some sort of hilarious error. But my own mother? I expected my parents would have trouble accepting the “Bethany as cheerleader” concept from an intellectual standpoint. Smart girls like me didn’t participate in such frivolous things.

“Why shouldn’t I be a cheerleader?” I demanded.

“Now, Bee.” Dad reached over to pat my hand. I pulled it away. “I’m sure your mom didn’t mean—”

“No, no. Of course not.” Mom pressed her fingertips against her closed eyes—a sure sign she was aggravated. “I just…I mean, are you
certain
that you…and Moni?”

Enough was enough. I picked up my plate and headed for the kitchen.

“Bethany,” said Dad.

“Bee, sweetie, come back and finish your dinner.” That was Mom.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, and stomped to my room.

Later, as I made my way to the bathroom, I overheard my parents still discussing it.

“Our little girl is growing up,” Dad said. “It’s time she started making her own decisions. And if some of them are poor ones, then, well, that’s a learning experience too.”

“You just don’t know, Oscar. You were never a teenage girl. They can be so cruel.”

“You’re talking to the man who went through high school as Oscar, as in Mayer wiener. You don’t have to tell me anything about cruel. But I don’t think the athletic department would—I mean, this isn’t a prank, not if the administration is involved.”

“Oh.” Mom’s voice brightened. “I could call the school….”

That
was the last thing I needed. And even though Mom hadn’t called the school—yet—the shame of it scorched my cheeks. I ran cold water and splashed my face. By the time I returned to my room, they were all there on my bed—Mom, Dad, and Shelby.

Mom smiled weakly. “Someone wanted to see those pom-poms.”

I reached under the bed, pulled out the handfuls of purple and gold fringe, and dropped them—one, two—on the floor by Shelby’s feet.

“Can I touch them?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. Then, glaring at Mom, I added, “They won’t bite.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” said Mom. “It’s going to take some getting used to. We’ve never had a cheerleader in the family before.” Except she said “cheerleader” the same way someone else might say “ax murderer.”

Shelby gave the pom-poms a tentative, then a more strenuous, series of shakes. Over the rattle of fringe, I said to Mom, “Please don’t call the school.”

“But—”

“Please?” I tried to keep the whine from my voice and looked to Dad for help.

In the end, I got it. Sort of. Mom wouldn’t call the school, but I had to be available for occasional babysitting. Dad hoped I’d continue to help him with the family website. They both hoped I would keep up my grades. No problem.

Or so I hoped.

After a long holiday weekend of explaining to my geeky relatives—No, Shelby doesn’t just have an active imagination. Yes, I really will be cheering this winter. Right, I did say varsity squad. No, they don’t have separate crews to cheer for the Brain Bowl team—actually getting a cheerleading uniform seemed beside the point.

That Monday after school, the entire squad stood in the equipment room, in various states of purple and gold.

“It’s supposed to be short,” Moni said.

“Not this short.” I held the microskirt to my waist. “I don’t want to show this much leg.”

Moni, who was several inches shorter, scowled. “At least you have legs to show.”

“I don’t care. No one wants to show this much leg,” I said.

“Chantal Simmons would.”

Chantal. Despite her current status as Queen Bee, the Chantal I used to know would not relish flashing butt shots at the student body.

“I bet Jack Paulson likes leggy girls,” said Moni.

“So?”

“So, I’m thinking we need to get you an even shorter skirt.”

In less than two weeks, I’d be the one flashing the student body. That felt…wrong. At least we were allowed to wear a turtleneck beneath the normally belly-baring vest.

“I’m telling you.” Moni shook out a uniform and struggled into the top. “This changes everything. It’s like Clark Kent transforming into Superman. Only it’s, you know, us.”

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Wonder Geek?” I held the skirt against my waist again. No way.

Coach Sheila threaded through the group, inspecting each girl, adjusting a skirt here, trading sizes there.

“Sugar, I know it’s strange at first,” she said, a big-sisterly hand on my shoulder. “But you really need a smaller size.” In a single swoop, she swapped skirts. “It’s supposed to fall four fingers below the butt cheek.”

That was information I didn’t need.

“For freedom of movement,” Sheila added. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to look…frumpy.”

I inspected the even shorter purple and gold skirt. It was so small, I wasn’t sure it qualified as actual clothing. And besides, what was wrong with frumpy?

Sheila moved on to Moni, who now wore the outfit over gym shorts and a T-shirt. “Very cute. I don’t suppose contact lenses…no? All right. We can work with it.”

“You know,” Moni whispered, “we could kill her now and bury her under the pom-poms. No one would find her until next fall.”

I snorted.
Death by pom-pom.
“A jury of
our
peers would never convict us.”

Sheila clapped her hands. “Listen up. We’ve got a lot of work and not a lot of time. Here’s the winter cheer schedule. As you know, we have just under two weeks’ prep time before the first game, but we support more than just the boys’ basketball team.”

Some girls shifted from foot to foot. The veteran cheerleaders stared at the floor.

“We’ll be cheering at these upcoming sports events, and I expect you to show up at your appointed time and place. Now.” Sheila’s sparkle turned fiery—downright deadly even. “I’ve arranged it with the wrestling coach. We can use the weight room between three thirty and four fifteen. That’s not a lot of time. So last bell, you’re in workout clothes and downstairs immediately.”