by Dana Burkey
“Ready for the big reveal?” Laura asked after removing the cape that was covering me and brushing off any hair that made it onto my shirt.
I knew she had been chopping, snipping, blow drying and straightening my hair, but at that moment I had no idea what I would see when I was turned around. At Tonya’s insistence, I hadn’t been facing the mirror since the haircut began. I was a little nervous, but the look on Tonya’s face when I was halfway around in the spin told me that my new do must have been good.
“What?” I said to my reflection, not quite recognizing myself.
My hair was still its same light brown color and I was still wearing the same clothing. But other than that I looked like a totally different person. My hair was now cut short, stopping just below my chin. It was cut on an angle so the hair at the back of my head was shorter than it was near my face. Speaking of my face, it looked somehow older and more mature with the haircut. I stared at the mirror in shock at how much a few inches of hair could change how I looked. And then I turned my head and watched as my hair swished and moved. I didn’t think I cared that much about my hair, but watching it in that moment I couldn’t help an even larger grin growing on my face.
“It’s adorable!” Tonya finally gushed, all but jumping up and down. “This is the perfect cut for you Max.”
“I didn’t know it could look like this,” I said simply, reaching up to run my fingers through my hair.
“And it will look even cuter half up,” Laura explained, holding the front section of my hair up so I could see how it would kind of look for Summit. “You can do the poof like usual and then tease just a little bit here before you pop your bow right there.”
I watched her instructions and honestly was excited to go home and give it a try. But, I knew there was still a lot more of the day to come. As we walked towards the door after I paid using the money my dad had given me, I gave Laura a hug and thanked her for my new haircut. I also took one of her business cards and assured her I would never go to the barber shop for a cut again. She made me promise as kind of as a joke, but after seeing how great my hair looked, I knew it was the best choice. Besides, spending the time chatting about cheerleading while getting my hair done was honestly a lot less girly and lame than I assumed it would be.
Three hours later, Tonya dropped me off at home wearing a new outfit, carrying shopping bags, and looking like a whole new person. Tonya hinted something about my dad mentioning my clothing or something, then all but insisted we head to the mall. I figured there was more to the story, but she wasn’t exactly ready to tell me just then. So, after our nail salon appointment was done and I was already so far off the deep end, I just went with it. I mean, I really should have expected it considering the wad of cash my dad gave me when I left the house.
At the nail salon, Tonya got her finger and toenails painted a super bright pink complete with a sparkly top coat. I thought it was a bit much, but then I remembered that she was the head coach for Bomb Squad, so she was choosing to match her team’s hot pink uniform and bows. When I realized that, I decided that matching my team would be a good idea too. So, I went with a bright red nail polish on my fingers for Blast, and bright purple on my toes for Fuze. No one would really see my toes, but I figured it was the thought that counted for that one. We both got a gel nail polish that Tonya told me would stay on through all of Summit. I knew I wouldn’t be coating my fingers in color again anytime soon, so it was nice to know it would last a while so people could take it in before it was gone for good.
When we got to the mall I tried to make it clear that I was a t-shirt and shorts kind of girl. But, Tonya wanted me to try at least one thing I normally wouldn’t. And that was a dress. We went to a few stores that were way too flashy but then ended up at Target where she picked out a nice red and white dress that was really simple while still being cute. Announcing that my black flip flops wouldn’t go with the dress Tonya also picked out a pair of gold strappy sandals for me. I was only going to try them on and then leave before buying anything, but then Tonya explained that TNT always had an end of the season banquet and everyone was asked to dress up. It was the real reason we had even gone shopping. While we were still in the store she admitted to me that my dad heard about the banquet and knew I had nothing to wear. So, with a sigh, I bought the dress. I was determined to only wear it at the banquet, but in the end, Tonya insisted I wore it out of the store so we would look extra fancy at lunch.
By the time I made it home, after a large BBQ lunch at what turned out to be Tonya’s favorite spot in town as well as my own, I was feeling exhausted and ready to change. I knew my dad would want to see my hair and dress before I put on normal clothing, though. After calling his name in the house a few times without a reply I was confused as to where he was. I knew he wasn’t at work, and yet he wasn’t at home like I expected him to be. So, when I saw Peter and Kyle playing in the pool through the back patio door I walked out immediately. In that moment I was so focused on finding my dad I didn’t even think about what I was wearing.
“Hey!” I called out, getting their attention instantly. “Do you know where my dad is?”
“Yeah, he’s- what are you wearing?”
Kyle’s question caught me so off guard I froze completely for a few seconds. I just stood there and stared at the boys swimming in the pool and tried to think of what to say. Finally, I managed, “Tonya took me shopping after I got my hair cut.”
“You look like a girl,” Kyle said again, a rather confused look on his face.
“I am a girl,” I reminded him simply.
“But you look like one,” he added. “You even painted your nails. You never do that.”
“Well,” I said trying to think of an answer quickly. “My coach wanted to take me for a girl’s day after we got my hair done. I only got my nails painted so they’ll look good for Summit.”
“So why are you wearing a dress?” At Kyle’s question, I looked at Peter who was standing waist deep in the water just watching me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking one way or another thanks to the strange look on his face
“Why does it matter?” I replied, starting to get a little annoyed at how Kyle was reacting. “You’ve seen me in my cheerleading uniform a bunch of times, and that’s a skirt.”
“This’s different,” Kyle said quickly. “You wear that when you do cool stuff and flip around and all that. That’s not something thing a lot of girls can do.”
“I can still do stunts even if I’m wearing a dress,” I told him, although in that moment I knew I wasn’t going to even try if he asked me to. Without cheer shorts on under my dress, it would not be a good idea.
“It’s still weird,” Kyle said one last time then turned and started swimming around the shallow end of the pool once again.
Glancing at Peter, I saw that he was still just staring at me, with the same unreadable expression on his face. With a sigh, I turned and walked back into the house. Kyle was annoying me for sure, but more than that, I actually wanted to swim. Walking down the hallways to my room, I tossed the shopping bags that had the outfit I wore out of the house near my closet and started looking for my swimsuit in my dresser. Digging out my dark green one piece, I tossed it onto my bed and started to unbuckle my new sandals. While I attempted to remove the shoe I heard someone walking down the hallway towards my room.
“What?” I said in a less than kind voice when Peter appeared in my bedroom doorway.
“Uh, hi,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. He only looked at me for a second then shifted his eyes to stare down at the floor.
“Did you come in here to tell me I look like a girl too?” I asked, finally getting one of my sandals off after struggling with it for what felt like forever.
“No,” Peter assured me, his eyes still locked on the carpet.
“Well, then what do you want?” I was losing my patience with both Peter and the other sandal that was still strapped onto my foot.
“You, um,” he began, be
fore clearing his throat and trying again. “You look really nice.”
“What?” I asked, stopping in my attempt to remove my sandal and looked at him.
He looked pretty ridiculous. He stood there, his wet swim trunks dripping water onto the carpet, and his curly black hair matted to his head and dripping water onto his bare shoulders.
“I just wanted to let you know that you look really nice,” he finally said, his eyes moving from the carpet to actually look at me. “Kyle was just being weird. But your hair and nails and the dress and everything is really nice. It’s just, well, nice.”
“You said that already,” I reminded him.
“Sorry, yeah,” he nodded. “I know you don’t dress like that all the time, and I don’t think you plan on doing it all the time or anything. But, I think it looks good. I think it all just makes you look older or more mature or something.”
“Yeah, I won’t be dressing like this much at all,” I assured him. “Tonya kind of went overboard.”
“Okay,” Peter said after a rather long pause. “Well, see you out there.”
“Hey, Peter?” I called as he turned away. Once he turned back I continued. “Thanks.”
“Uh, yeah. You’re welcome.”
Before he turned and left I watched as Peter’s cheeks turn red. It took me a minute to realize he was blushing. But that couldn’t have been right. Why would a thank you from me cause him to blush? I assumed it must have been because he had gotten too much sun, so I closed my bedroom door and changed into my swimsuit. Hopefully returning to the pool without a dress would help both of my friends start acting like normal.
Despite my hoping that things would be like usual, Peter continued to act oddly around me for the rest of the day and Sunday morning as well. He just stayed quiet while he was acting weird, so I was able to ignore him. Having him constantly staring at me was a little annoying, but thankfully after we swam Sunday morning and had lunch, I had to leave for my pitching clinic. Sitting in the car with my dad on the way to the gymnasium I was suddenly nervous. Not until that moment did I think about the fact that I had my hair now cut short and ‘cute,’ plus I had bright red polish on my nails.
“Are you okay?” my dad asked as he pulled into the parking lot. Clearly, he was picking up on my nerves.
“I think so,” I shrugged. “I just want to do a good job and show people I’m a good catcher.”
“You’re a great catcher, so just try to have fun in there,” he suggested. “You have the skills, you just need to stay calm. Whether you work with a pitcher that is really good or really bad, you’re going to do great at catching and that’s what's important.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said with a smile, giving him a quick hug before climbing out of the air conditioned car and into the hot Texas air.
I walked into the now familiar school gym and checked in at the table just inside the entrance. I once again pinned the number 12 to my shirt, then walked towards the girls that were standing and chatting before the clinic got started. My goal was to be outgoing and try to talk to them first, rather than be annoyed when people didn’t go out of their way to say hello to me. But, as I got closer, I instantly knew the plan might not be a successful one.
“Hey,” I said to Cate who was talking to a few girls I more or less recognized from the other days of the clinic.
“Hi,” she said, taking a long pause to look me over. “You sure look fancy.”
“Yeah, I got my hair cut yesterday,” I said simply, not bothering to address my nails. “So did you want to work together tonight?”
“I’m already working with Ella,” she explained, gesturing to a girl standing next to her.
“Oh, okay.” I tried to say the words with a smile, but I got the feeling Cate had chosen to work with Ella on purpose. As in, chose to work with her so she wouldn’t have to work with me.
Cate and Ella turned to walk to the other side of the gym then, leaving me alone with the other girls I didn’t know. They were all talking to each other with their backs pretty much turned to me, as if to point out the fact that I was not a part of their conversation. When I stepped closer to the two girls, hoping to pause their chatting so I could introduce myself, it took a solid minute for them to get the hint.
“Hey, I’m Max,” I said to the girls. They were both quite a bit taller than me, wearing matching green shirts featuring a logo I recognized as of the best teams in town.
“Were you on Diamond Plumbing last year?” one girl asked me, squinting her brown eyes at me. I nodded, kicking myself for not wearing a team shirt like everyone else. “Oh.”
And that was it. With the one word, the girls turned their backs on me and went back to talking just like they were before I walked up. I looked at the other dozen or so people around me and realized that if I tried to talk to someone else, I would likely get the same response over and over again. While that was sinking in, I tried to not let it get to me too much. Maybe some of the girls were not talking to me because they were just in important conversations. Or maybe they were just not feeling friendly. Either way, I walked over and put on my catching gear to fill the time. My hope was that once I was in my gear, someone would need me to catch for them. And thankfully, I was right.
“Are you catching for anyone yet?” a girl asked me, approaching with a less than excited look on her face.
“Not yet,” I told her with a smile as I pulled the front half of my hair up in a clear hair tie so it would stay out of my face.
“Can you catch for me then?” The words were accompanied with a facial expression that was more or less an eye roll.
Nodding, I followed her down the gymnasium, telling myself over and over again not to take it personally. Like everyone else in the gym around me, the girl I was following was a good bit taller than me. She had on a thick strap tank top that showed off her muscled arms and skin that looked like it was peeling from sunburn on her shoulders. When she turned to me to start pitching I finally got a good look at her face. She had dark brown hair and matching dark brown eyes, along with eyebrows that were thick and made her look like she was giving a constant scowl. Honestly, though, it might have been how she chose to look at me that was causing the real scowl.
Brushing off my worries about how the pitcher might have felt about me, I crouched down and got ready to catch. I balanced my weight on the balls of my feet, allowing my body full range of motion while reaching for the pitch coming my way. I held my mit in a standard strike zone and got ready for the first throw, only to be all but blown away by the pitch that was hurled at me. On top of that, the noise of the ball making contact with my mit was easy to hear around the room. The softball was thrown faster than anyone I had ever caught for before. To say my hand stung from the throw was a bit of an understatement.
In response to the pain in my palm, I mentally took a deep breath and tried to remind myself to keep a level head. I couldn’t show anyone that the throw had made my hand hurt. Even though it was a clinic, every coach there was likely going to be watching not only how I caught, but also how I reacted to things like zooming pitches. My hand was numb after a few more balls, so catching got even easier. Or rather the feel of the ball hitting my hand got easier to be used to. The pitches themselves, however, got harder and harder to catch. The pitcher was slowly losing control of the ball. Clearly, she was trying to throw as fast as possible, but it was tiring her arm out just as quickly. The result was unreliable pitches that were only getting worse.
After catching a dozen or so throws that were getting farther and farther from the strike zone, I was starting to get nervous. If I let any of the pitches go by me they were likely going to make a noise when they hit the wall loud enough to stop the rest of the athletes in their tracks. Not to mention it might hurt anyone behind me or at the very least dent the plaster. Her pitching was much worse than Zoe who I caught for on the first night of the clinic. The only difference was that the speed never changed, even as the pitches got more and more crazy. So c
razy, in fact, that I finally missed one.
As one particular ball left her hand I could tell it was going to be a low one. Reaching my glove forward, I tried to snag it before it hit the ground. Unfortunately, my reach wasn’t far enough and the ball slammed into the gymnasium floor before ricocheting towards me. With my right arm stretched forward, I couldn’t pull it back in time to make up for the new path of the ball. So, instead, it continued its extremely fast pace until it made contact with my arm. As if the pain of impact wasn’t bad enough on its own, the ball managed to hit my arm in the exact spot of my still healing bruise from cheerleading. And if the loud smack of the ball on my skin wasn’t enough to get everyone's attention, I also managed to let out an extremely high pitched yelp thanks to the searing pain.
“Are you okay?” a coach asked, rushing towards me as I dropped to my knees, clutching my right arm.
“I think so,” I said, trying hard to blink back tears.
Pulling up my sleeve I could see a perfect red circle, already raising up in a massive welt. It was purple is some parts, but this was from the previous injury. People were walking towards me, but it was hard to see who everyone was with the tears in my eyes. I was mad at myself for even starting to cry, but it felt like the ball didn’t just hit my arm. It hit hard enough that the impact made it all the way down to my bone. I took off my glove and tried opening and closing my right hand, feeling my arm throb from the motion. I was relieved when someone reached forward and held an ice pack on my arm. I wasn’t sure who placed it there, or even where it came from, but it felt amazing, so I didn’t worry or think about it too much.
“Let’s get you to the bleachers,” a voice suggested from the crowd.
Everyone around me helped to lift me up to my feet then walked with me to the bleachers that were just a few feet away. Once I was sitting down, I looked up and saw that none of the people helping me were the girls that were also at the clinic. All of them were coaches. Glancing behind them, I saw the girls were standing and watching in silence. Or at least everyone aside from Cate. She was talking to some of the girls and mocking me, pretending to cry and acting extra girly with hair flips and everything. It was in that moment that I realized that she had more than likely told the other girls I was a cheerleader before I arrived. Holding the ice to my throbbing bruise, I tried to think how to keep the situation from going from bad to worse. Now it was no longer just about making them see I wasn’t being a baby. I also suddenly felt the need to make sure they knew being a cheerleader wasn’t a good enough reason to make fun of me. After all, I knew first hand that often the perceptions people had about cheerleaders were far from accurate.
