Say Yes to the Cheerleader

by Abby Crofton

  By the time I twisted back around with my bag, my soon-to-be study partner had opened the passenger door and was getting out of the car. Just in time for me to get a perfect view of her behind as she pushed to her feet. I was a lesbian with a pulse—I had to look. Which I did for about two seconds before I turned away and opened my own door. What a great way to start the morning.

  Even though I felt like I was going to throw up at any second.

  As we walked out of the parking lot, I noticed a lot more cars than when I’d first pulled up. It must have been later than I’d thought. It was as if the time Kate Monroe and I had spent in my car was outside the regular timestream. I thought we had been talking for just a few minutes, when actually it was probably closer to half an hour.

  It was even more nerve-racking walking with Kate Monroe than sitting with her in my car, which was saying a lot. But as we were walking, I couldn’t help glancing around. I could feel other people staring at us. Were they wondering why Kate Monroe would be walking anywhere with me? She was popular, and despite the brief surge in interest in me after I came out, I was invisible. I did not like being the center of any type of attention.

  Among the different faces around us, I noticed a very familiar one. Marie was standing by her car, obviously having just gotten out of it. She lived farther from the center of town, in the opposite direction of my house; otherwise we would’ve shared a ride in the mornings. She had definitely spotted us. Her eyes were wide with glee, and I could almost see her bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

  For a second, I had a horrible vision of her skipping over to Kate Monroe and me and gushing about how cute we looked together or asking when our first date was going to be or saying something else equally as embarrassing. Thankfully she remained where she was, though I was sure I would be corned by her at some point and asked about a million questions. But that time wasn't now.

  We walked to the front doors, and I panicked for a second over whether I should open the door for her. Was that too forward or weird? Did she know that I was a lesbian? I had assumed that everyone in school knew since I had come out during a class and the gossip had definitely spread, but had it reached the higher levels of the school's social hierarchy that Kate Monroe inhabited?

  I had never been so glad to be almost smacked in the face when one of the doors suddenly opened. I barely had enough time to jump back before it hit me. I dimly heard a muttered apology before some freshman skittered away. And then my ears started buzzing, because when I had moved to avoid getting hit by the door, I had accidentally backed up straight into the person behind me.

  Who, of course, was Kate Monroe.

  My back was flush up against her front, where her decidedly feminine attributes were pressing against me. I instinctively jerked away from her, but not before the feeling of her had imprinted itself on my body and mind. I would think more about that later. Most likely in the privacy of my room, with the door locked.

  This time, my luck didn't hold. The door opened again, too fast for me to get out of the way. It collided with the side of my head and knocked me to the side. It really just grazed me, so it didn't hurt, but it was enough contact to make me stumble. I was able to keep to my feet, but I was a little disorientated by how fast everything had happened. As I was trying to steady myself, an arm tightened around my shoulders, bringing me against the body of its owner.

  It was, of course, Kate Monroe.

  “Holy smokes, Haley, are you okay?” she exclaimed. Had Kate Monroe just said ‘holy smokes’? It was strangely endearing.

  I finally got myself together enough to stand fully upright. I was maybe an inch or so shorter than Kate Monroe, so when I stood, her arm slipped down a bit from my shoulders. She now had a firm grip on my upper arm, her body pressed tight against my side as she tried to steady me.

  Should I fake a dizzy spell so I could lean further into her? It was so tempting, but the creepiness factor seemed too high to go through with it. So I resisted the temptation and turned to her while also taking a step back. The hardest step I had ever taken.

  Her arm slipped from my shoulders, and I thought I saw a flash of disappointment on her face. But most likely my brain, which had just been knocked around in my skull, had made up what I wanted to see—Kate Monroe disappointed by not having me in her arms. Only a brain injury could make that true.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a bit wobbly there. No permanent damage, though,” I said. And because my parents had brought me up right and taught me all about politeness, I added, “And thanks for helping me there. But I’m good. We better get going or we’re going to be late for class.”

  Kate Monroe looked like she wanted to protest. But after a few seconds, she just said, “Okay, but if you feel sick or dizzy or anything like that, call 911 to go to the hospital. You might have a concussion, and the school nurse can’t help you with that. Head injuries are no joke.”

  I guess I might have looked a little surprised at how serious she was about all of this, because she continued in a more defensive voice. “At cheer camp, they told us about all the temporary and permanent effects of head injuries. It’s not just about getting a headache. There is also dizziness, memory loss, spinal injuries—some real scary stuff. That’s why we make sure there are spotters and that we practice a lot before doing aerials and other high-risk moves. We try to make it as safe as possible.”

  “Wow,” I replied. “I had no idea that you do all that at cheer camp. I’ve never met anyone who’s gone to one before.”

  She shrugged like it was no big deal. “I have been going since I was a kid. I really like the tumbling and aerial work. I was never good enough to get into gymnastics, but cheerleading lets me do all the fun stuff without the crazy pressure of competitive gymnastics. Plus, I’ve met a lot of interesting people over the years. Some of them have become great friends.”

  I made a quick decision to find out as much as I could about her before she came to her senses and realized there were more interesting people to talk to than me.

  “What else did you do at cheerleading camp, aside from learning the dangers of the activity you were there to learn and practice?” I asked. A second too late, I realized she might have taken that as if I was making fun of her rather than as the stupid joke I had intended, but her light laugh let me know she wasn’t offended.

  “When you put it that way, I can understand how crazy that can seem. They were basically telling us how to do all the dangerous stuff safely, and even the things they told us not to do were so cool we wanted to try. But it was a great way to learn about how other teams worked, and how to make our squad better.” For a second, her face got pink. Whatever she was thinking about seemed to be making her embarrassed. I was curious about what that could be. The more I talked to the girl in front of me, the more I wanted to know about her.

  She was talking again after her momentary pause. “I also made some memories that I’ll never forget. You know what they say, what goes on at cheer camp stays at cheer camp.” And then she laughed, like she was making a joke. But all she did was make my mind go straight to the possibilities of what went on at a camp where young, fit, mostly female campers spent their days manipulating their bodies in close proximity to each other. For a teenage lesbian, those possibilities were endless.

  Chapter 5

  We finally made it to the classroom where we had our first period history class. When I had planned out my schedule for this year, AP World History had seemed like a good idea. It would look good on my transcript for college admissions, and I could transfer in a few credits if I did well on the AP exam. Fast forward a year and I had my college acceptance letter in my room at home, and thoughts of taking the AP exam in a few weeks had me wanting to curl up in my bed and sleep until next fall. But my parents had already paid for the exam, so I was taking it. It didn’t seem right to waste their money.

  For the past four years, adults had been putting so much pressure on me to get good grades, and pick
up extra activities, and to be the best student possible for college admissions. Well, now I was in college, or as close as I could be while still actually attending high school, so why should I make myself crazy trying to get good grades in classes I had only taken to get into college? My love of learning wasn’t that strong.

  But now that I was walking to my seat with Kate Monroe right behind me, after solidifying plans for our study session later that day, I was glad I had not totally written off my classes. Besides, I did still have to pass in order to graduate. At least in history I felt confident that I knew what I was doing. For the most part. The rest of my life? Maybe not so much. That felt especially true now that I was out.

  I tried to pay extra attention to class as it started, but it was so hard with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. When I should have been taking notes on industrialization, I was instead reliving the conversation Kate Monroe and I had in my car. As the teacher pointed to some maps, my brain went to Kate Monroe’s arm holding me tight as she tried to help me after I got hit by the door. By the end of class, I had barely half a page of notes, but I had analyzed every point where Kate Monroe and I had touched that morning. If I didn’t get my act together, this study session was going to be a huge failure.

  When I was leaving class, I briefly looked around, hoping to get a quick look at my crush. I found her and, even after all that had happened recently, was still surprised that she gave me a wave when we made eye contact. Before I could wave back, her attention was diverted to someone else calling her name. Megan, who was also in our class and on the cheer squad, must have had something to tell her. I guess Megan wasn’t doing well in the class if Kate Monroe had asked me, instead of one of her friends, for help.

  I walked into the hallway and was immediately pulled by the arm away from the classroom. I saw the back of Marie’s head as she dragged me past students at their lockers, talking in little groups before the next class started. I caught a glimpse of Eddy walking in the opposite direction, but she didn’t seem to see us. Or she pretended not to know who we were. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was which with my sister.

  Marie led me to the back area of the school. She found a classroom unlocked and basically threw me inside before entering and slamming the door behind us. I didn’t know how she had gotten us this far from the center of the school building so fast. I would have to run to get to my next class on time.

  Marie let out a loud squeal. “Tell me everything!” she practically shouted. It was a small room, and her voice echoed against the walls. I didn’t even try to hide my flinch.

  “Calm down,” I said. “What are you talking about?” I feigned ignorance because I had been dreading this conversation ever since I’d seen Marie in the parking lot that morning. I was a little surprised that she had cornered me so soon and so easily. I’d thought I would get some increasingly desperate texts before she decided to talk to me in person.

  With that thought, I took my phone out of my pocket and pressed the home button. I had some texts. After opening my text app, I saw Princess Bananahammock had sent me twenty-two messages. I didn’t have to open them to know they’d be increasingly desperate.

  Marie put her hand over my phone and pushed it to the side. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Haley,” she said with vehemence. “I saw you and Kate get out of your car, together, and walk to the building, together, and I saw her jump to help you when that kid slammed the door in your face. It was so romantic,” she gushed, her hands balling into fists in front of her in excitement.

  “You saw that?” I asked. How many other people had seen me almost take a header into the concrete? “I’m doing fine, by the way, thanks for asking,” I said sarcastically. So much for years of best friendship. She was more worried about my nonexistent love life than a possibly serious head injury.

  “You’re fine,” she said as she waved away my concern. “That door hardly got you. And don’t change the subject. What were you and Kate doing in your car, alone, before school?” she said with raised eyebrows. I turned red, which I hoped didn’t make her think her assumptions were correct. Just the implication of me involved in anything romantic had me burning in embarrassment.

  “Geez, nothing,” I said. “She was just giving me back my history notes. And we set up a study session for tonight. I think she’s having trouble with history,” I added.

  I realized too late that had been the wrong thing to say. “Study session?!” she yelled out. Once again, my ears were ringing. “That’s almost a date. You are going on a date with Kate Monroe, the girl you want to smush faces with. I’m so happy for you!” She grabbed me in a hug, her voice almost catching with emotion. I appreciated her enthusiasm on my behalf, but I had to set the record straight.

  I disentangled her arms from around me and took a step away from her. “There is no date. Just a study session. We are going to go over some of the notes and review some of the points that will be on the next exam. That’s it. She’ll probably be at my house for less than an hour.”

  Marie’s widened eyes told me I had said too much again. “Your house?” she said. “She’s going to your house? Not the library? This is fantastic. It will be so much easier to seduce her if you’re in your room.”

  “What? No!” I exclaimed. “There will be no seducing going on. None. Zero. Never.”

  "Well, maybe not seducing, but how about some heavy flirting?" she said, walking back her previously ridiculous statement. It was good to know she hadn't lost her mind completely.

  “And what in the world is 'heavy flirting’?”

  Her mouth formed a big smile. "I'm glad you asked. Now, I'm not an expert, but heavy flirting is basically regular flirting, but you're way less subtle. You know, light touching, making googly eyes, laughing at all her jokes, that kind of stuff," she said. I was horrified.

  "So you mean I should basically sexually harass her," I said. Did Marie actually believe what she was telling me? I was likely to go to jail if I followed her advice. Last thing I needed was Kate Monroe thinking I was a creeper.

  Marie rolled her eyes. “No. You always jump to negative stuff. I mean try and touch her shoulder when you want to get her attention. Not grope her up. Or gently rest your hand on her forearm when you want to emphasize a point. And lean into her personal space. Those things show interest on your part. For googly eyes, just look at her like you do when you’re thinking about her. I’ve seen that look on your face before. It usually happens when someone mentions her name. I call it your ‘Look of Love.’” She then made a dopey face that I was 100 percent sure I had never made before in my life. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Now you’re just lying. That look has never been anywhere near this,” I said, gesturing to my own face. She huffed as if I had just insulted her, which I guess I had.

  “I do not lie. You know honesty is one of my defining characteristics. Me and George Washington: nonliars.”

  That was true. Marie did not lie, not even to save someone’s feelings. I would know; I’d been on the sharp end of her truth-telling more than once. Marie was, however, very well versed in the art of silence. She most likely had that up on old George.

  She continued speaking. “Back to heavy flirting—which, from the way I described it, sounds more like regular flirting, or really just light flirting. The lines are blurry. But anyway, I’m not sure if Kate is funny, so that could be a problem if you tried laughing at her jokes. Does she tell jokes? Does she even have a sense of humor? You’ll have to evaluate that during your date.”

  “It’s not a date,” I said automatically. I tuned Marie out as I thought about Kate Monroe and whether or not she had a sense of humor. Remembering our conversation this morning (had it only been a few hours since she’d tapped on my car window?) and how well she had taken my cheerleader camp joke, I thought she did have a sense of humor.

  Huh. Guess I was getting to know her.

  After escaping Marie, the rest of the day went by pret
ty quickly. I was both dreading and getting super excited for the evening. One negative that I couldn't really control was that my whole family was supposed to be in tonight. My mom didn't have a night shift at the hospital, and my dad was definitely staying in. He didn't like going out during the workweek if he could help it. Eddy didn't have any clubs or meetings after school, so she was coming home with me. As I walked to my car, I saw her standing by the passenger door, ready to get in.

  She looked up from her phone when she heard me remotely unlock the car doors and said, "You look like you smell a fart. What's up with your face?"

  Why were people commenting about my face so much today? First Marie and now Eddy. I knew it wasn't supermodel worthy, but I’d always thought I had a pleasant face. But apparently to my best friend and sister, it was weird. At least sometimes.

  I told her to get in the car as I opened my own door and got in. When we were both in the car with the doors closed, I turned to her. "So I'm having someone over tonight," I started. "We are having a study session for history class. So please try to keep your evilness hidden for a few hours. And there was no fart-smelling going on, thank you very much."

  "I know what I saw," she said, "so don't blame me for what your face looks like."

  I started up the car and pulled out of the parking space. Once we were on the road for the ten-minute drive, I started talking again.

  “All I’m asking is that you make yourself scarce for a few hours tonight,” I said. “I don’t know if we’ll be studying downstairs or in my room, but I would appreciate your cooperation on this matter.” Now I sounded like a customer service representative. But my relationship with my sister was weird. Sometimes we were oddly formal with each other, like two strangers.

  But she was strangely calm at this moment. Maybe too calm. While I debated about whether I should ask her how she was, she started talking. “I thought you might like to know that I sorted out the election. Unless Madison Philanuzzi’s two moms discover the cure for cancer, I have her beat. No thanks to you, by the way,” she added, quite unnecessarily in my opinion.