Confessions of a Wannabe Cheerleader

by Zoe Evans

  She must have seen in my face that I was caving, because she jumped cheerleader high (which is about five feet higher than the average person) and booked it to the locker rooms to make her announcement. “Wait!” I shouted after her. “I need to ask her first!”

  She didn’t seem to care or even to hear me. I saw her run into the boys’ locker room first, from which I immediately heard shouts of “Yeah! Hot coach!” and “Awwwright” like Quagmire from Family Guy. Then she skidded into the girls’ locker room, and I can only imagine what the scene was like in there.

  Oh, brother. I mean, mother.

  Mom came to the end of practice yesterday to officially accept the position of coach and talk to us about our goals for the year and how things are going to work and stuff.

  I could totally tell that Ms. Burger was relieved someone else would be taking over the actual coaching duties of her so—called job, so that she could truly zone out during practice and fully commit to her latest hobby: LOLcats—those pictures of cats with funny, misspelled captions next to them.

  I’m kind of happy that she’s moved on from the bridge desk calendars. But the thing is, lately she’s been printing out her favorite pictures and captions from those LOLcat Websites and bringing them to practice. “Aren’t they a hoot?” she always asks. She’s even trying to put together a trip to an LOLcat convention with her fan friends and mentioned that if anyone from the team wanted to join, she’d talk to our parents. (BTW, that is sooooo much worse than a comic—book convention.) So, on second thought, I think I liked it better when she kept her interests more to herself.

  Anyway, the point is, the Mommy madness has officially begun. Since the moment we asked Mom to be coach, she’s been fluttering around the house like a loonie, singing old cheers and waving her pom—poms like mad. She’s coming to practice today (yikes) for the first time and couldn’t be more excited. Last night, I caught her in her bedroom trying on old cheerleading outfits. From, like, when she was my age. The scary thing is, the outfits fit! It’s like she’s stopped aging or something weird. She didn’t know I was watching, but she started doing this cute little cheer, and her arabesque was flawless (of course). I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her flex her cheer muscles. She’s always so busy encouraging mine.

  At breakfast this morning she was busily searching the Web for “appropriate coaching outfits,” as she called them.

  “Mom, you can just wear, like, normal gym clothes. You don’t need to turn this into a whole shopping spree.”

  “I want to look the part. I’m doing this for real now, Mads,” she said, typing away. “I’m not just driving you to and from cheer camp.”

  “So, what am I supposed to call you, Coach or Mom?” I asked her as I bit into my Pop-Tart.

  “Coach, of course,” said Mom, squinting at the computer. “You don’t want the other kids to think I’ll be treating you differently. Because I won’t be, Madington. I’ll be pushing you just as hard, if not harder.”

  “Um, Mom, pushing me harder than the other kids would be treating me differently,” I reminded her.

  “Oh. I guess you’re right.” She focused her sea—foam eyes onto mine. “Fine, then I will push everyone as hard as I push you. Good?” she asked cheerily.

  “Great,” I said with mock cheer, giving her two thumbs up.

  At school, Lanie, Evan, and I met up at the “Lounge” before first period.

  “Can’t get enough of your mom at home, huh? You just have to bring her to school, too?” asked Lanie.

  “Yes, that’s exactly why,” I quipped.

  I told them about practice the other day and how the whole thing happened with Jacqui bringing up Mom being our coach, in gory detail.

  “Man, that’s rough,” said Lanie, twisting her finger through a pigtail. “But knowing you, you’ll figure out a way to find the positive in it. Besides, you and your mom are, like, this close?” she said, crossing her index and middle finger.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know. I love my mom. And she’s definitely a lot cooler than most moms. But lately, she’s getting more involved in my cheer stuff than I need her to be.”

  “Wow,” said Evan, wiping fake tears away from his cheeks. “Our little Maddy, growing up.” He patted my head affectionately.

  “Oh, come on. Would you want your mom to suddenly be, like, your boss at the comic book store?”

  Evan wrinkled his nose. “You know my mom hates comics. If she sees them lying anywhere outside my room, she considers them trash and throws them out. So, that’s an irrational question.”

  I sighed. “Whatever. I guess in the long run having her as coach will be good for the team.”

  “Speaking of the team,” said Evan, grabbing his backpack off the floor, “I have some new SuperBoy stuff to show you guys.”

  He handed us each copies of unfinished scenes from the next SuperBoy.

  “Just some sketches. Nothing final, but I thought you’d like to see the work in progress.”

  “Cheerleaders this time, huh?” asked Lanie.

  I looked down at the comic she was referring to. It seemed to be about some cheerleaders who beg SuperBoy to take them all to the dance because their dates have been held hostage by an evildoer.

  “Thought I’d cater to the fans,” he said, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulders.

  “Oh, ok, EgoBoy,” I said, kicking him lightly.

  “I’m just being honest,” he said, his voice cracking a little, like it always does when he tries to act macho.

  I did happen to notice that one cheerleader in particular looks a lot like me. She was wearing a Grizzly uniform, had my long, wavy hair and freckles, and was small like me. I was going to tease him about it, but then something in me made me change the subject. “Just make sure you bring enough copies tomorrow night, ok?”

  Since the tennis match, everyone has been asking about SuperBoy. Evan has even gotten approached a couple of times in the halls. Lanie and Evan are planning to set up one of their SuperBoy stands at the Titans’ big Friday night soccer game. It could potentially be the biggest SuperBoy sale yet. In the meantime, we’ve asked everyone on the Grizzlies to add SuperBoy to their blogs and e—mail signatures. The whole team has also been passing out flyers with samples of the comic in class and advertising the upcoming sales of SuperBoy at tomorrow’s game. I’m superexcited.

  We talked about our game plan for the next night.

  “The Grizzlies are all going to take turns manning the stand with you guys,” I told Evan and Lanie. “I’ll be there the whole time, obviously. Unless Mom makes me focus on watching the Titans in all their glorious perfection.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Evan.

  “Oh, well, as coach she’s already declared that she will be making us watch as many Titan home games as possible. She said that to learn from the best, we need to watch the best. First thing on her agenda is watching their old videos at practice.”

  “Ooh, I’ll bring the popcorn!” Lanie joked, rubbing her hands together in mock anticipation.

  “Feel free. But another one of Coach’s new rules is superhealthy eating during cheer season. So unless it’s all-natural, no butter, kettle—popped popcorn, you’ll be having my portion.”

  “Bummer,” said Evan.

  “Guess we’ll just have to figure out a way to sneak you some contraband popcorn,” said Lanie, packing up her stuff to get to class.

  Ok, so in first—period history class, I tried to imagine what practice is actually going to be like later. Will I really be able to call Mom “Coach,” or am I going to say “Mom” first? Will it bother my teammates that she’s my mom? Probably not—they freaked out when they heard she was going to be our new coach. I hope she knows how much work she’s got cut out for her. It’s not like an ordinary cheerleading squad. She’s probably thinking we’re like the Bad News Bears and she’s coming in to snap her fingers and whip us into gorgeous, amazing, cheerleaders. Boy, is she in for a surprise. Maybe she’ll
just throw her hands up in despair after one practice. And then what will we do? That would be an awful blow to the team morale!!

  I was on the verge of a panic attack when something in my brain was like, “Madison. Take a giant chill pill. It’s not prescribed by a doctor, but don’t worry. It won’t get you booted off the Grizzlies.”

  I’m probably getting all worked up over nothing.

  First a brief update on the team: Yesterday’s practice with our new coach (ha-ha) was good! (I know, huge surprise.) Mom took over in a really good way. No one seemed upset that I was the coach’s daughter, so that was a huge relief. And Mom came to practice with a set idea of what we would do that afternoon. She let Jacqui lead the stretches, and then we had a really similar practice to what I’ve seen the Titans do. I was like, “Hey, Mom, couldn’t you have told me your trade secrets before?” We felt like a real cheerleading squad. Even though, of course, most of the team had A LOT of difficulty doing the things Mom wanted them to do. But it was cool—she was really helpful, trying to show them how to do new positions and stuff like that. And, of course, Jacqui and I weren’t too shabby as co-captains, assisting her .

  In other news, this I Heart Bevan thing has just reached a whole new level of pathetic. Tonight at the game, when I was SUPPOSED to be helping out with the SuperBoy fund-raiser, and when I was SUPPOSED to be watching the Titans and taking notes on their every move, I did something else entirely: I stared, slack jawed and completely mesmerized by the perfection that is Bevan Ramsey. How I never noticed him until he collided with our cheer pyramid and then my nose is beyond me, but a part of me is wondering if this is fate.

  He is totally one of the best soccer players on his team. Scratch that—in all of Port Angeles. His whole team practically worships him, and so does the rest of the school. I noticed a bunch of other girls around me going all gaga eyed whenever he scored a goal or rescued the ball close to the outfield. Which brings me to my problem: Since he is such a Sports God, with everyone vying for his attention, how in the world will I ever get him to pay attention to me?

  Solution: the best way I know how-CHEER! First for the Grizzlies. Then, after they see how awesome I am—for the Titans, and then I’ll just cheer for Bevan .

  Here’s a little ditty that crawled into my head when it was my turn at the SuperBoy booth. If anyone reads this, though, I swear I will probably never be allowed to cheer in this country again.

  Hey, hey Bevan

  You make me sigh

  Don’t say no

  You’ll make me cry

  Hey, hey Bevan

  You make me feel like heaven

  Call me: 555-2247

  Ok, who am I kidding?! That cheer is totally going to get me booted into a foreign country. (But if it’s someplace like England or Ireland, it’ll be ok, because at least there they speak my language.)

  Anyway, I think Lanie and Evan were annoyed with me tonight. It might have been because I wasn’t paying attention AT ALL when people were handing me their cashola.

  “Um. Ring, ring? Ring, ring?” said Lanie.

  “What?” I said, flustered. I released my gaze from the soccer field and realized there was a line of people waiting for SuperBoy comics. From me.

  “You’re supposed to be ringing people up, remember?”

  “Oh. Right,” I said, quickly taking a ten from a pixie—ish upperclassman in cutoff shorts and a sailor top. “Sorry.”

  “It’s like you’ve totally checked out or something,” said Evan, his brow furrowing disapprovingly. “We’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes, and you’ve just been responding in ‘mmmmmssss.’”

  I blushed. Was it that bad?

  “Why don’t you just go back to the bleachers,” said Evan. “Tell Jared he can start his shift earlier.”

  “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just, like, a space cadet today. I’m ready to concentrate now.”

  “It’s cool. Just, like, come back later when you’re feeling it,” said Evan, not looking me in the eye.

  I could tell by the sound of Evan’s voice that he was hurt but he didn’t feel like arguing.

  I walked back to where the Grizzlies sat with Mom (I mean, Coach ) on the bleachers. They’d been the first to show at the game and scooped up front—row seats (the better to watch the amazing Titans). Also, Mom said it’s important for us to support all the school teams, even when we aren’t cheering at those particular games. Talk about school spirit overkill. No wonder Mom cheered all through high school.

  “Awesome! Front—row view of the Titans!” exclaimed Ian, high—fiving Matt. Their faces were practically on level with three Titan girls’ skirts—and the girls were about to start cheering.

  Tabitha Sue rolled her eyes. “You guys are so immature.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  Mom had told us to bring notebooks so we could note our favorite formations and stunts. That way, we could each “work toward obtaining different goals” for ourselves during the season. (A part of me thinks she just wanted an excuse to watch her alma mater and relive her glory days.)

  I took out my notebook but had trouble putting anything on paper. Well, anything related to cheer. Because even though one of my fave things in the entire world is watching great cheer routines (and believe me, the Titans are up there), I still couldn’t stop staring at Bevan: Bevan and his perfect calves running up and down the field . . . Bevan nonchalantly whipping his head to toss his sweaty hair out of his face . . . Bevan taking a sip of Red Bull. Now, THAT I had no trouble sketching at all!

  “Wow, Madison,” Mom whispered to me, “you are so focused on the field today. I love it!” She rubbed her hands together in excitement. “It makes me so proud to see you following my suggestions so closely.” She smiled.

  I quickly covered my notebook with my body. “Uh, yeah,” I said brightly.

  Little did she know the source of my “focus” had nothing to do with cheer.

  One person, however, was not fooled at all. Jacqui switched seats with Katarina and leaned in close to me. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away.”

  Cryptic much?

  “What? Why?” I replied. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s really cute, that’s a given,” she said, nodding in the direction of my new love, who was about to score yet another goal. “But something you might not be aware of? He and Katie Parker used to date. But he broke up with her this summer for reasons she wouldn’t ever tell us about. And ever since, she has declared him an archenemy of the Titan Cheerleaders. We weren’t even allowed to say his name in a cheer,” said Jacqui.

  Wow. I couldn’t imagine someone as perfect as Katie Parker ever getting dumped. The idea made me feel a little sorry for her. Also, how did I NOT know who Katie Parker was dating? It’s, like, my job to know all these details as, like, part of my Titan-to-be training. Way to drop the ball, Mads. . . .

  “You’re kidding. Just my luck.”

  “I wish I was,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, who bans an entire team from speaking one person’s name? I think it’s insane, if you ask me. But she did it. You can’t even say his name in passing. As in, ‘And then the teacher asked Matt, Bevan, and me to go to the back of the room.’ Big no-no. She’d make you get to the top of a pyramid and have you dropped.”

  “Katie wouldn’t do that,” I said, laughing.

  “Don’t laugh! It’s not funny. And you have no idea. That’s what she does to a team member who dares speak his name. Imagine what she’d do to a non—team member purposely trying to date him,” she said pointedly.

  “Jacqui,” I said, lowering my voice so she’d know to do the same, “in case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of what you’d call invisible to guys like Bevan. You weren’t there, but the only reason we’ve even met before is that he literally ran into my pyramid. Ran into it. Because he didn’t even see me there!”

  “Ok, whatever. Just letting you know, is all,” said Jacqui, shrugging her shoulders an
d dropping the subject.

  I guess I’m glad she warned me. Jacqui is hard to read—I can’t really tell yet if she likes me or if she’s merely putting up with me because I’m the only decent cheerleader on our team. Either way, it was cool of her to give me a heads—up about Bevan and Katie.

  We decided to stop gossiping and join the rest of the squad and cheer for the players. Mom got a little too much into the game for my taste. She was hooting and hollering with the best of them, and it was kind of embarrassing. But it could be worse, I guess. She could be like all of those moms who go to games parading around in their daughters’ juniors—size clothes, hoping that the gym teachers will notice them.

  But I’m still going to have to talk to her about bringing it down a notch. I can’t have my mom “bringing it” more than me.

  The great news? After all the sales tonight of SuperBoy, plus the previous sales, we’ve now made enough money for new uniforms!!! Rawk on. I promised the team that next week I would do a big reveal of the sketches I’ve been working on. Hope everyone likes them!

  I don’t care if I look like a dork right now, scribbling away in my journal outside the caf, but this is practically Twitter—worthy news! I was just thinking about the rumored pop quiz we are supposed to be having on quotes from Romeo and Juliet when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and, hark, ’twas Katie Parker.

  “Hey, Madison, you got a sec?” she asked sweetly.

  I looked behind me to see if there might be another Madison she could have been addressing. I wasn’t used to Katie uttering my name in the school halls (or anywhere), let alone looking at me. Clementine and Hilary were on either side of her, each with one arm on a hip. After giving them both dismissive glances, she broke free from their protective barrier to approach me.