by Burkey, Dana
“Kind of,” she sighed. “I can’t land it consistently.”
“You will soon enough,” I assured her, pausing to drink from my water bottle. “So how was the meeting with TJ?”
“Let me get my stuff first,” Lexi said in reply, moving off the mat to gather her things. I waited patiently, not getting an answer until we were standing outside the gym. “He said the spots are filled.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, certain I had heard her wrong.
“He said that he appreciated my drive and desire to be on a Worlds team, and that he was certain I would be placed on one of the teams next year,” she explained. She was speaking very formally, likely repeating what TJ said word for word. “When I asked why I couldn’t even try filling in the spot to see if I would be a good fit, he said that there are people that will be doing just that next week. He didn’t say who or anything like that, just that people were going to be filling in and kind of trying out.”
I took in her words, trying to make sense of what she had just told me. The idea of people filling the open spots on the team was great, but the fact that no one on the team had heard anything about who was stepping in was confusing. Or, I should say, no one heard anything as far as I had been told. When Connor walked out of the gym a second later I quickly called him over to where Lexi and I were standing.
“Did you hear anything about who’s going to be filling in on Nitro as a try out?”
“Hold on, what?” he asked, not quite ready for the way I shot the question at him as soon as he was close enough to hear me.
“TJ said the open spots on the team are being filled with some people next week,” I tried again, this time talking a little slower so he could understand everything I was saying. “Have you heard anything about who it could be?”
“Nope,” he replied, a confused look on his face. “Whoever it is, why wouldn’t they be here today or even Friday for practice?”
“I don’t know,” I said, although I had a feeling his question had been rhetorical. “Gary’s just an alternate on Detonators, so why doesn't he cross over? He’s already at the gym all the time.”
“Maybe TJ’s getting outside people,” Lexi said, suddenly pulling out her phone and tapping furiously on the screen. “Oh my goodness, look!”
Confused by what had her so shocked, I look at her phone to see she had TJ’s Twitter account pulled up on the screen. I wasn’t sure what was so exciting at first until she used her thumb to open one tweet near the top of his feed. It read: “Accepting video submissions for strong level 5 athletes. One male and one female. Must have standing full. DM for details.” The tweet had been posted almost two weeks prior, right after Aaron told TJ he was going to be out longer than expected due to his knee injury. It was also the same week Paula made her decision to leave the team in favor of school cheer. More surprising than the tweet, however, was the fact that it had over 400 likes and over 100 retweets.
“So that means someone from who knows where could be joining the team?” I asked, trying to understand what I had just seen.
“Looks like it,” Lexi said, scrolling through the reply tweets to see if she could get any more details.
“Has something like this happened before?” I asked, looking at both Lexi and Connor for answers.
“Not really,” Connor said, then seemed to think about it. “But I guess it makes sense in a way. A lot of people move or change gyms to be on their dream team.”
“But that only happens to the big teams,” I reminded him.
“You mean big teams like one that got second at Worlds and had another team from their gym win gold?” Lexi challenged, clearly picking up what Connor was hinting.
“Oh, I guess you’re right,” I finally said. “But who do you think it’s going to be?”
“I guess we get to find out next week,” Connor shrugged. “The time gap makes me think it’s someone coming from pretty far away though.”
“This is so weird.” I know my comment was a little lame, but it was all I could come up with. “It’s just going to be so weird having someone who doesn’t even know the gym come in and just join the team after we’ve all spent so much time bonding and conditioning all summer.”
“You’re right, it is weird,” Lexi said, a smile growing on her face while she spoke. “Kind of like when you joined Blast two years ago.”
“Okay, okay,” I said reluctantly as my friends both laughed.
“Let’s not worry about that just yet though,” Lexi offered.
“Wait, why were you worried in the first place?” Connor asked, turning his question to Lexi.
“I talked to TJ earlier about maybe trying to fill one of the spots on Nitro,” she said rather sheepishly.
“Because of Catherine?” Connor asked, lowering his voice slightly.
“Yeah,” Lexi nodded. “I feel bad even saying it, but since I almost have my standing full and I’m a lot lighter than her I could do a good job in the spot.”
“I agree,” he replied, but still looked a little unsure. “But she did a good job on Bomb Squad last year. Maybe she just needs a better stunt team under her.”
While Connor and Lexi talked about it a little more, I used the time to unlock my bike and get ready for the ride home. Since our summer practices were earlier in the day I had to bike to and from practice when my dad was still at work. It was a short enough ride that I didn’t mind it too much, even when the weather got extra hot. This was mostly since I knew I had a pool waiting for me at home.
“Maybe I’ll just ask him,” Connor said as I checked back into their conversation.
“Ask who what?”
“Ask TJ who’s joining the team,” Connor explained. “I can just tell him I saw it on Twitter and that I was curious.”
“Do you think he’ll actually tell you who the people are though?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “But it’s worth a try. I’ll ask the next time I’m at the gym.”
“Let me know what he says,” I told him immediately. “I’ll be off hopefully getting some good news of my own.”
“If the baskets I saw you doing today were any indication, then I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Lexi said with a nod of her head.
“I couldn't agree more,” Connor chimed in, before pulling me in for a side hug.
Their support was great in that moment, but I knew even after how great practice went, only my doctor could make the final call on whether or not I was finally going to cheer like before. It would be a few weeks until I could do everything like usual, and likely still with my ankle wrapped while I was at practice. But first, before anything could happen, I would need to undergo tests and let my doctor determine if the surgery had actually done its job. Even thinking about it made me super nervous. The fate of my cheerleading career would be determined in less than 24 hours, like it or not.
“You’ve barely touched your lunch,” my dad commented Thursday as we sat on the pool deck.
“I’m too nervous to eat,” I explained, giving my burger a little push with my fingers for emphasis.
“Well, save it to eat when we come home then,” he suggested. “And there’s nothing to be worried about. I would be shocked if Dr. Hapkin thinks you need more time off your ankle. Light duty for a little while sure, but I think we’re out of the woods on this one.”
I looked at my dad, trying my best to build my own confidence off of his. But it was hard. If I found out I needed to miss more cheer, or worse, needed another surgery to fix the damage in my ankle, then it would leave me broken, to say the least. Despite not wanting to start cheer when the idea was first thrown at me, it was my life now. Sitting out much longer would be more than I could handle. It was bad enough I already missed so much of getting the routine together over the summer.
“Max, look at me sweetie,” my dad said, clearly aware of just how much stress I was under. “What’s the worst case scenario?”
“I need another surgery,�
� I said immediately.
“Okay, what happens if you have surgery again?”
“I miss another month or two and then still have to ease back in slowly.”
“And then what?”
“Then I might be so far behind that TJ doesn’t let me cheer this season.”
“But after that?” I noticed a smile growing on his face the more questions he asked.
“I guess then I would wait and cheer the year after that,” I shrugged.
“Exactly,” he nodded. “You would cheer every year until you’re too old for TNT Force, and you would have plenty more chances to win Worlds. Missing one year would be hard, but it’s not the end of your cheer career. Just the end of this season at most. But that’s worst case scenario. There’s no guarantee things will be that bad.”
As his words sunk in, I could instantly feel my hunger building. My stress and worry were subsiding at least a little, allowing me a few bites of the lunch in front of me. With the fading of the stress came even more thankfulness for my dad. Things weren't always easy for him. He had to raise me on his own after my mom died of cancer when I was only six years old. But he always seemed to help me take things in and process them and get through them as best I could. What he lacked for in “motherly instincts” he more than made up for in his ability to know just what I needed to get through every obstacle that came my way.
What was surprising though was that in recent years the help I needed the most all revolved around cheer. My dad was there to encourage me as I reluctantly tried joining a team for the first time, as I tried to decide if I should leave cheer in favor of softball, and even when I put my health on the line for a shot at winning Worlds. He did all of it with enough love to make me occasionally forget I only had one parent. Even as we prepped to head to the doctor’s office he was wearing a teal shirt with the words ‘Cheer Dad’ proudly shining from the front. To most people that knew him, he was Dr. Turner, the lead research scientist at a local lab working on cancer research. But he always made sure to let people know he wasn’t just a cheer dad, he was a proud cheer dad.
“Okay, we need to get going,” my dad said, hopping up and taking his empty plate inside. I followed with my half-finished meal.
“Here dad, let’s take a selfie,” I suggested once I set my remaining lunch in the fridge.
Without question, my dad leaned in and smiled with me. I snapped the photo, noticing how much we looked alike thanks to our similar color shirts. Sure, his hair was slowly being taken over by grey, and his eyes were a stormier green than mine, but in all matching Nitro colors, we looked like the perfect pair. I smiled for the photo then quickly posted it on social media, noting in the caption that we were heading to my doctor’s appointment. The replies and well wishes were streaming in almost nonstop by the time we reached the doctor's office across town.
“Welcome back Dr. Turner,” the receptionist said as soon as we walked in the door. “How are you today Max?”
“Hopefully great,” I replied with my best attempt at a smile.
“I hope so too.” she nodded. “You two are all clear to head on back. Dr. Hapkin is in Exam Room 3 waiting for you.”
“You ready kiddo?” my dad asked, likely sensing my nerves.
“Sure,” I managed weakly. “Good or bad, I just need answers.”
“That’s a good way to look at it,” he encouraged as we walked through the hallway to find our exam room. “Once we know how things really stand then we can go from there. Don’t get too worked up until we know everything for sure though.”
I tried to take his words to heart as we entered the exam room and were greeted by Dr. Hapkin. He had been a good family friend since we moved to Texas, so despite his large muscular frame, he wasn’t the least bit intimidating to me. Instead I was happy to see him, even if he might have bad news. After we went over a basic exam of my ankle, I was x-rayed and had a CAT Scan to see how everything was actually doing on the inside. It felt like a lifetime of waiting, but before too long we were sitting back in the exam room with two images of the inside of my ankle attached to the light board on the wall.
“I have to say I’m pretty impressed with how well everything has healed,” Dr. Hapkin said, mostly to my dad. “This break fused together nicely, and the pins in there did exactly what we hoped they would.”
“So, I can go back to cheer like usual?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement.
“Yes and no,” Dr. Hapkin replied. “You can start back on everything but I want you to keep it wrapped for long sessions. If you have any swelling at all you need to ice and elevate. Putting it under too much strain too fast could make all the good work your healing did go right down the drain.”
“That means basic tumbling only, and likely only on a trampoline or air mat for at least a solid week,” my dad explained, translating things into the breakdown I was really looking for. “We can chat with TJ tomorrow about what that will mean as far as stunts go, but I’m thinking you can slowly work into that over time as well. Single leg stunts are going to need to be mostly on your left leg until you build up more strength.”
“Seriously?” I asked, a massive grin already growing on my face.
“Seriously,” Dr. Hapkin confirmed.
The news was so wonderful I immediately jumped up off the exam table and gave Dr. Hapkin a hug. Most doctors might have been a bit shocked, but he seemed to have been expecting it. Ever since I first saw him after I hurt my ankle, he knew how serious me getting back on the cheerleading mat really was. He hugged me back, then let go of me as I all but climbed onto my dad for a hug as well. Spinning me around before finally setting me back on the ground, my dad planted a kiss on my cheek then turned to thank Dr. Hapkin for the good news. They shook hands, which was basically a hug for the two serious doctors they were.
“Well, you’ve clearly made our day Eliot,” my dad said with a laugh. “If you and Ragina are free this weekend you should bring the girls by for dinner. We haven’t had a good BBQ night in a while.”
“I’ll give you a call tonight and let you know,” he agreed. “In the meantime, I think Max here needs a hot fudge sundae to celebrate all the good news.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I nodded, while pulling out my phone. I had a lot of people that I knew were eagerly awaiting the news. Thankfully, I was going to be giving them great news, which only made my fingers type faster than I thought possible.
Friday morning couldn’t come soon enough. Knowing I would be at the gym way before practice, my dad gave TJ a call Thursday afternoon once we were both full of ice cream and hot fudge. They talked for a while, then I talked, or rather listened, for a while as well. TJ went over all of the expectations for me, likely since he also knew I was eager to get back to work. So eager in fact, that I begged my dad to bring out my air mat once we were finally done on the phone. He assured me he would over the weekend, which was at least a step in the right direction. And in the meantime, I was at the gym within an hour of its opening Friday to spend some time on the trampoline track and air mat to finally throw the skills I had been itching to perform since Worlds.
“Why don’t you throw a full?” a voice asked after I did a tumbling pass down the long trampoline track and ended with a whip into the foam pit. It was the same pass I had done at least a dozen times, my joy at finally doing more than a back tuck in the gym pushing me to work on perfecting each motion.
“What?” I asked in reply. I was fighting through the foam to see who was speaking, and failing to make progress.
“You have a lot of height. Plenty to do at least a full.”
When a hand reached out to me I took it, and was surprisingly lifted straight out of the foam pit. I managed to get my feet on the ground quickly enough, then brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes only to come face to face with a guy I had never seen around the gym before. He looked to be a little under 6 feet tall, but still easily towered over me. He was muscular in a stocky way that more than made up for being shorter
than a lot of the guys I was used to cheering alongside. He had tan skin, dark blonde hair, and what looked like the makings of a beard growing in along his strong jaw line. The thing that stood out the most, however, was the way his eyes were both light brown and green at the same time. I found myself just staring into them for much longer than I should have before I remembered he had spoken to me.
“I’m not allowed to do fulls just yet,” I finally managed, only then pulling my hand away from his.
“Who says you’re not allowed?”
“My coach, my dad, and my doctor,” I shrugged. “I got hurt a few months ago so I’m still working back to where I used to be.”
“Oh, you must be Max?”
I nodded slowly, even more confused about the boy standing in front of me. He was wearing a Dallas Cowboys shirt and khaki shorts, not giving me much info on exactly who he might be. But if he was at the gym, I assumed it meant he was either a cheerleader or related to someone who was.
“So, you know who I am,” I finally began. “But who are you?”
“Oh right, sorry,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “I’m Jackson.”
“I’m Max,” I said, giving his extended hand a shake. “Although you clearly already knew that.”
“You made an impact at Worlds this year,” he shrugged. “I feel like most people in the cheer world know who you are.”
I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing at TNT Force, but before I could TJ stepped out of his office and called Jackson over. With little more than a “See you later,” he turned and walked away. I found myself watching him go, unable to take my eyes off him until he stepped into TJ’s open office door. It wasn’t until the office door was closed that I realized Connor was not only in the gym, but also coming toward me with a confused look on his face.
“Max? Hello, earth to Max?”
“What?” I asked finally.
“I said your name a bunch of times,” Connor explained, then seemed to brush it off and move on to what he had been waiting to tell me. “I talked to TJ and he said the new athletes joining Nitro are from some gym in Fort Worth. He wouldn’t say anything more than that though. Just that I would get to meet the new people next week when they started practice.”
