I Was a Non-Blonde Cheerleader

by Kieran Scott

  “Feeling better already, aren’t you?” my dad said.

  “Yeah,” I replied shakily. “You bet.”

  The next morning, I did what any sane, self-respecting girl would do in my situation. I got up, I put on my red polo dress and my red-and-blue Converse throwbacks and I did not dye my hair. I did, however, clip it back with a simple tortoiseshell snap barrette. The rhinestones were retired—for the moment.

  It was new-outlook time. I wasn’t some loser geek klutz with no life and no friends. I was Annisa Gobrowski. I was cool. I was cute. And, okay, I was a klutz, but I had plenty of friends. They just happened to be thousands of miles away.

  When I walked out the door, I was instantly rewarded for my good attitude. Daniel Healy was waiting for me at the end of my driveway. Waiting for me.

  “Hey,” he said as I approached.

  “Hey.”

  “So . . . how was your first day?”

  I snorted a laugh.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said. Maybe he really hadn’t heard about my many offenses. Maybe they weren’t that bad. Maybe they hadn’t really even happened. Or maybe this was like that movie Groundhog Day and I was getting to live my first day over again to get it right.

  But then, of course, Daniel wouldn’t have known who I was, so no such luck. Oh, well.

  “It couldn’t have been that bad,” Daniel said as we turned up the street. “Sage told me you were all over it in English class.”

  In other words, she told you I was a brainy snob, I thought. I hated it when people were predictable.

  “Right. Sage,” I said.

  Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, I thought. Then I said it. Of course.

  “You guys are like . . . what? Boyfriend-girlfriend?”

  Sometimes I’m about as sophisticated as a straight-to-video Mary-Kate and Ashley movie.

  Daniel was suddenly looking at the ground. “Yeah. Since seventh grade,” he said. “She’s cool. You know. Once you get to know her.”

  Ha! Could that statement have been more loaded? Obviously he knew she was not cool—at least not to other people—or he wouldn’t feel the need to say that. So why the heck was he going out with her?

  “So I, uh . . . I heard you yesterday,” Daniel said. “Doing your scales?”

  “You did?” I asked. “How?”

  “I was coming out of one of the rehearsal rooms,” he said. “You were good. I would’ve said something at the time, but I didn’t want to, you know, in case you were embarrassed.”

  “Oh. What were you rehearsing?” I asked.

  Daniel flushed. “Guitar. I have a free period before lunch, so I usually go practice.”

  “You play guitar?” I asked.

  “Sort of,” he said, his skin darkening even further. “I mean . . . I mess around.”

  “That’s so cool. I’d love to hear you play sometime.”

  “Oh, I’m no good,” Daniel said. “I don’t play in front of people. Ever.”

  “Not even Sage?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? She’d probably laugh her ass off.”

  Nice, I thought. Some girlfriend. “Well, if you ever change your mind and want to play for someone, I’m there. I’ll even tell you the truth if you suck, but I’m sure you don’t.”

  “Thanks,” Daniel said, smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind. So . . . are you coming to the football game this weekend?”

  “Sure, I guess,” I said as we crossed the gridiron. “Are you on the team?”

  Daniel gave a quick nod. “Footballwrestlingandtrack.” He said it like it was all one word. Like he’d been asked about his athletic status five hundred thousand times. “But I don’t know. I’m thinking about not wrestling this year.”

  “Really? Why?” I asked.

  “I don’t know why I just said that,” he replied, looking stunned. “I haven’t told anybody I’m thinking of quitting.”

  “It’s not you, it’s me,” I said, raising my hand. “Future Therapists of America.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “People tell me stuff. It’s like I have the words good listener stamped on my forehead,” I said. “So why are you gonna quit?”

  “I don’t know. . . . I’m probably not. . . . I’m just . . .” He laughed and looked at the ground. “Can we talk about something else? What about you? Are you into sports?”

  Wow. Someone was a little tense about quitting wrestling. My curiosity was piqued. Was he a wrestling legacy? Would his father never speak to him again if he quit? Did he hate the sport, but couldn’t leave it because it was the only chance he had of getting into college? Sometimes it was exhausting, being in my brain.

  “Tennis and cheerleading,” I answered.

  “Really?” Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s too bad. They already had cheerleading tryouts.”

  “That’s all right. There’s always next year,” I said. If I’m still here.

  Daniel opened the back door for me and I managed not to trip over myself this time. As we approached my homeroom, I noticed a clump of girls talking in low voices just to the left of the door. One of them spotted me and said something through her teeth, and they all turned to glare. My heart practically stopped.

  Very subtle, girls, I thought. Part of me salivated to say it out loud, but all I wanted to do was slip into the relative safety of homeroom. Whatever they were saying about me, I didn’t want to know. I avoided eye contact with everyone as I sat down at a back desk. The announcements began and Bethany had yet to show up, so on top of everything else it looked like I was going to be on my own all day. After the pledge I pulled out my history textbook and pretended to be engrossed.

  That was when I heard the most beautiful string of words ever to be strung together in the English language.

  “A meeting will be held this afternoon in the science lecture hall for all prospective cheerleaders. Tryouts will be held for two open spots on the squad tomorrow afternoon. All sophomore, junior and senior girls are invited.”

  Suddenly my hands were gripping the edges of my desk and my palms were sweating. Cheerleading tryouts. Hadn’t Daniel just told me they had already held them? I wondered where the two open spots had come from, but then I realized I didn’t care. It was hard to believe, but it looked like my luck was changing. I had a shot at the cheerleading squad!

  As the announcements continued, my brain started to race. Bethany had said the Sand Dune squad was a competitive team. I could be on a competition squad. I had always wanted to compete, but no one on my team was ever interested and, to be quite honest, we sucked anyway. I mean, our stunting was abysmal and I was the only one on the team who could even execute a passable back handspring, let alone a back tuck.

  This was it. This was my chance. I could be a competitive cheerleader. Not only that, I could put Gabe’s theory to the test. I had been handed an opportunity to reinvent myself. The opportunity to join a team and meet people and maybe even make a few friends. Real friends.

  I had been inseparable with the girls on the squad back home. We spent so much time together, we ended up knowing everything one another, even though we hung out with totally different cliques during the regular school day. When you’re with the same people every afternoon and on weekends, when you have to trust them not to drop you from a stunt or kick you in the face, when it’s you against the tyranny of your coaches, you form a bond that transcends mere cliques.

  I was part of a team back in Jersey. And now I could have that again.

  When the bell rang, I got up and followed the rest of the class into the hallway, biting my lip to keep my smile from exploding all over the place. My life at Sand Dune High was about to begin and no amount of whispers and evil looks was going to stop me.

  That afternoon, I swung open the door to the science lecture hall and stepped inside. At least twenty pairs of eyes trained themselves directly on me. Then the heavy door slammed closed, knocking me farther into the room, where I staggered
before grabbing a chair for dear life.

  Apparently I hadn’t stepped all the way in. Classic.

  There were a few giggles and everyone looked away. Everyone but Mindy, who was waving at me from the center of the room. I held my head high and slipped into the chair next to hers. It was so nice to know somebody.

  “You’re a cheerleader?” she asked. “That’s so cool!”

  “Yeah. Well, I was,” I said.

  “I tried out last year, but I didn’t make it. Obviously,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  “No! It’s cool that you’re trying again,” I said. “Who knows? Maybe you almost made it.”

  “Maybe,” Mindy said. “I am kind of psyched to have another chance. I mean, I think I did well last time.”

  “Not that I’m complaining, but why do we have another chance?” I asked. “Did a couple of the cheerleaders bite it or something?”

  From the look on Mindy’s face I thought a couple of cheerleaders had died in some freak basket-toss accident or something. I swallowed hard. I was going to have to have my foot surgically removed from my mouth.

  “We’re here because of the Big Scandal,” Mindy said, her eyes slightly wide.

  That was just how she said it. Big Scandal. Capital B. Capital S. Clearly this was some sort of huge story that everyone in the school knew about. Everyone but me. The new girl. She Who Is Not Worthy of the 411.

  “They need sixteen girls to compete at regionals, and thanks to the Big Scandal, they’re down to fourteen,” Mindy told me. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Suddenly the door to the lecture hall opened and everyone in the room sat up a little straighter. A tiny girl in a white cheerleading uniform walked in. The skirt was straight with light blue and yellow banding across the bottom, and the top was sleeveless and exposed a chevron of her flat stomach. The same band crisscrossed her chest, and the letters SDH were printed across the front in yellow with light blue piping. Totally unlike our generations-old frumpy sweaters and mismatched skirts back home.

  I felt a flutter of excitement in my chest. She looked just like one of those girls from the competitions on ESPN. Totally professional. This was a whole new world.

  Every girl that trailed in behind her looked exactly the same, except they got progressively taller. My heart started to pound with intimidation. They lined up at the front of the room like soldiers, hands behind their backs, faces set.

  These girls were serious. And I was psyched.

  And then Sage walked through the door and my mouth went dry. Phoebe walked in and I sunk a bit in my seat. Whitney walked in and I started to sweat. And then, the pièce de résistance.

  Tara Timothy. Nose plate, black eyes and all. Somehow, even with all the puffiness and the squinting, even with the dozens of other hopefuls in the room, Tara’s beady eyes found me instantly. Time stopped. I felt like a rabid lion had just locked its carnivorous sights on my bony little self. And she was gonna pick me dry.

  Run. Just run and don’t look back.

  How could this be happening? How could all of these girls be on the cheerleading squad? As I looked down the line, I realized that the trio who had been talking about me in front of my homeroom that morning was also there. This could have been a meeting of the We Hate Annisa Gobrowski Society.

  A petite yet powerful-looking African American woman stood at the end of the line in dark blue sweats. Her bottle-blonde hair was pulled back in a braid. She stepped forward and addressed the room.

  “My name is Coach Holmes and I’d like to welcome all of you,” she said with a perfunctory smile. “I’m sorry that this meeting was called on such short notice, but sometimes things happen and we just have to go with the flow.”

  A couple of the girls eyed me. I felt like I was on trial here. What had I done?

  “For future reference, however, I am not a person who likes surprises,” Coach Holmes said seriously, scanning the crowd.

  I swallowed hard. Clearly she was a tough coach.

  “Tryouts will be held tomorrow afternoon. You will be judged on precision, projection, enthusiasm and overall presentation,” Coach Holmes continued. “Every member of the Sand Dune High cheerleading squad must be able to perform a round-off back handspring back tuck, all the basic jumps, and splits both ways. If you cannot perform these moves, please do not waste our time by coming to tryouts. We have a lot of work to do and a short period to do it in. I don’t say this to be callous, I say it because I am a realist and a perfectionist. I only want what’s best for this team.”

  Mindy and I looked at each other, and she raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Been there, done that. It ain’t fun.”

  “Now I’ll turn the meeting over to our captain, who would like to say a few words.” Coach Holmes turned and gestured toward the cheerleader next to her. “Tara Timothy.”

  Everyone in the room applauded like she was Miss Teen USA. Tara stepped forward. I swear I could feel the heat from her purple and yellow bruises throbbing from across the room. It looked so painful. I wished I had had a chance to apologize. But every time I’d seen her all day, she’d been surrounded by friends and I had been afraid of, well, reciprocal bodily harm.

  “As you all know, the West Wind High Dolphins have beaten us at regionals for the past two years running,” Tara said, her voice strained and nasal. “We have a real shot this year, so I’d just like to reiterate what Coach Holmes just said. If you can’t give us one hundred percent, you don’t belong here.”

  She looked directly at me.

  “So don’t bother signing the list. We only want people who are willing to work and who know what it means to be a Sand Dune High Fighting Crab.

  “I’ll pass this around now,” Tara said, handing a clipboard to the first girl in the front row. “Those of you who still believe you might have a place on this team, we’ll be meeting in the gym in an hour. Be ready to work your butt off.”

  At that point half a dozen girls got up and walked out without signing the sheet. Part of me wanted to follow them. To just go and save myself what was sure to be a miserable afternoon. But one look at the huddle of now-whispering cheerleaders—who were, of course, throwing looks in my direction—was enough to buoy my defiant side.

  I took the clipboard from the girl in front of me and wrote my name in huge capital letters. ANNISA GOBROWSKI. It took up two lines. Let them try to argue with that.

  “This is no good,” I said, pulling my wrinkled gym T-shirt out of my bag in the locker room. If someone had told me we were going to be practicing after this meeting, I would have tried to sweat less during gym class, but as it was, I had nothing to wear.

  “Wanna borrow something?” Mindy asked. She was in a one-on-one battle with a huge duffel bag that seemed reluctant to be pulled out of its locker.

  “What is all this?” I asked, helping her yank it free.

  Mindy shrugged in an apologetic way. “Sage warned me about tryouts last night. I couldn’t figure out what to wear, so I kind of brought everything.”

  She unzipped the bag, revealing an array of neatly folded T-shirts, shorts and socks. I had a sudden vision of what Mindy’s room must look like. All hospital corners and posters at perfect right angles.

  “Take whatever you want,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I replied with a smile, touched by her kindness. A popular blonde who didn’t want me dead. Who knew it was possible?

  I picked out a pair of navy blue Soffe shorts and a white T-shirt with a Fighting Crab on the back, figuring I may as well start dressing the part. Mindy wore yellow SDH shorts and a light blue tank top. I noticed that her calf muscles were totally cut and she had some defined triceps as well. She already looked like she belonged on the team.

  “You almost ready?” she asked.

  I was busy staring at myself in the mirror. I wished my hair was just a little bit longer so I could at least get it into a ponytail. Clearly the SDH cheerleaders were all about uniformity
.

  “You go ahead. I’ll be out in a sec,” I told her.

  Once Mindy was gone, I yanked at the drawstrings in the shorts, cinching them to my waist. Then I scrounged through my backpack for another clip. I secured both sides of my hair behind my ears to keep it off my face and stared into my own eyes.

  “Okay,” I said firmly. “Showtime.”

  That was when I realized the locker room was freakishly silent. Everyone else was already out in the gym! Nice one, Gobrowski!

  I jogged toward the door and was about to open it when it came swinging right toward me. I had to jump back to keep from getting hit in the face. When Tara walked through, I thought, for a split second, that she’d been trying to exact her revenge.

  “Hey,” I said nervously, ready to make an attempt at peace. “I was just—”

  Tara moved into the small hallway that led to the gym, followed by Phoebe, Whitney and then Sage. I had to back up so that they could all fit. Then they stood there and blocked the door like sentries. They had to be kidding me. Were they really going to try to keep me out of practice?

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Tara asked.

  I, for some reason, glanced at Sage. Like she was going to help me. I guess my brain went for my closest peer. But Sage just glared at me through those long eyelashes. When I saw her standing there next to Whitney like that, I suddenly realized they were sisters. Sage was like a mini-Whitney and Whitney’s eyelashes were just as obscene.

  “I was going to practice,” I said.

  “Don’t bother,” Tara told me. “We don’t need a backstabbing, short-haired—”

  “Casper-skinned,” Whitney put in.

  “Home-stealing,” Phoebe added.

  “Brainy-klutzo,” Sage finished with a smirk.

  Okay. They had to have rehearsed that. They managed to get all my sins into one round-robin insult. I mean, who has that kind of time on their—wait a minute . . .

  “Backstabbing?” I said. “What do you mean backstabbing?”