“Thank you very much.” I take the piece of paper from her. “I’m so looking forward to this, thank you!” I turn to leave and call back to her, “Thank you again, Mrs. Mitchell!”
The whole concept of being a cheerleader again has brightened my day. I can’t wait until my classes are over for the day so I can get home and get started on my routine and cheer. I only have five days.
I look at my watch and realize most of my lunch is over. Third period will be starting in about ten minutes. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten, but it’s gonna have to wait until I get home from school.
Social studies drags on, but I don’t get a chance to talk with Jake at all because we don’t sit together in that class. I really want to tell him about cheerleading, but it will have to wait until fourth period, geometry. We actually get to sit next to each other in there. Usually we walk to class together, but Mr. Roberts held Jake back in the last class to talk to him about something.
When I get to geometry, Jake hasn’t arrived yet. As I reach into my backpack to get my class book and notebook, Jake leans in and asks, “How come you weren’t at lunch today?”
Where did he come from?I swear I did not even see him enter the room. “Oh my, Jake, I’m so excited. I mean, I really thought I was too late and then I saw the notice posted on the bulletin board outside the principal’s office,” I say, rambling from excitement.
“Whoa, slow down,” he says with a chuckle.
I stop and take a breath, remembering we are in class. “I stopped by Mrs. Mitchell’s office to get information on cheerleading tryouts.”
Our teacher comes into the room and tells the class to quiet down.
“Cheerleading?” He leans in and whispers, “I didn’t know you wanted to be a cheerleader.”
I smile at him and whisper back, “Well, I was one at my old school, and I thought it would be fun to try here. Good opportunity to meet people and make new friends, don’t you think?”
“Aren’t I your friend?” he asks.
“Of course you are, but you can’t be my only friend.” I look up and see the teacher is ready to begin. I sit back in my desk and turn straight ahead to listen to the next lesson. From the corner of my eye, I watch as Jake pulls out a piece of paper. When he’s finished writing, he folds the piece of paper into a triangle, looks around the room to see if the teacher is watching, and lays it on my desk. I carefully open it, trying to be as quiet as I can as not to draw attention to myself.
Yeah, I think it’s great you wanna be a cheerleader and all, and I really hope you make the team. I don’t know if I ever told you this or not, but I play on our football team. You can ask most people around here. I’m pretty darn good. Seriously, that’s not me just patting myself on the back. I am good. So if you make the squad, we will have plenty of time to hang out. Sounds like a win-win to me!
I have never in my life met anyone so sure of himself than Jake. He’s just so confident—and not to mention so cute. I’m excited at the prospect of seeing him more if I do make the cheerleading squad, but it totally defeats the purpose of me trying to step away and make different friends. The good news is he is obviously popular around here, from what I’ve seen, and he can introduce me to many people. So I will continue to probably be the third wheel because I am sure Melissa will always be around as well. As long as Jake and I stay friends, it’s cool. I can enjoy his friendship too.
Besides, I’m not breaking the girlfriend code by being friends with my girlfriend’s boyfriend. Am I?
The rest of the week flies by. My classes seem to take forever, as I can’t wait for tryouts this afternoon. I try not to think about it, but I can’t help how excited I am. Dad told me to call him when we were done and he would come pick me up. My dance routine and my cheer are ready. I worked on them all week. Everything is set. Now I need to make the team.
When classes are done for the day, the closing bell rings, followed by some announcements. “All students who are staying for cheerleading tryouts, please report to the gym changed and ready to go. Tryouts begin promptly at four p.m.”
I look at my watch. It’s 3:25 p.m. It doesn’t give me much time to get changed, but I’m pretty sure I can do it. I just can’t stop and chat with anyone. I quickly make my way to the girls’ locker room. I find my locker, change from my school clothes to a pair of shorts and T-shirt, remove my jewelry, put on my tennis shoes, and shove everything else back in my locker.
I look at the clock on the wall when I enter the gym. 3:55 p.m. I did it, with time to spare.
I’m a little overwhelmed by the fact there are at least forty girls here, and I don’t know any of them, except Jillian. Since the incident on the bus, I have not encountered her until now. She doesn’t acknowledge me, so I follow her lead. The last thing I want is to create a scene—not today and definitely not here.
I wonder how many are on a squad.I make my way to the mats covering half of the gym floor and begin to stretch. There are several girls already there, getting ready for their tryout. At four, Mrs. Mitchell announces that if we have not stretched already, we should be doing it now.On it.Several of the girls who were standing around talking walk to the mats and join in.
At 4:15 p.m., Mrs. Mitchell asks everyone to be seated in the bleachers in the order she calls our names. When she finally gets to me, I’ve counted. I’m the nineteenth person. I assume this is the order in which we will try out. I am relieved at my spot. I didn’t want to be first and most certainly did not want to be last. I’m right where I wanted to be, directly in the middle.
Once everyone is seated, she tells us they will be selecting two squads, one for eighth grade and one for ninth grade, each with eight girls. While the eighth graders can make the ninth-grade squad, the ninth graders cannot make the eighth-grade squad. When she is done with the announcements, she sits at a table with six girls. She introduces each one and then explains they are the ninth graders who will be moving on to high school, so they will be our judges, along with Mrs. Mitchell.
As I sit through each girl’s tryout before me, I realize these girls are really good, and there is a good chance I won’t make the squad. Only sixteen girls out of roughly forty will make it. I try not to worry, but I can’t help it. I want this so badly. I have never been the type to be able to just make friends, especially without a common interest. Even at my old school, it was cheerleading that helped me because we were forced to interact with each other and the players.
When it’s finally my turn, I step up to the table with the student prepping music, and I hand in the cassette with my music cued. The boy at the table asks, “All set?”
“Yes, just hit play,” I reply and step away from the table.
He calls back to me, “Just nod when you are ready.”
When I get to my ready spot, I turn toward the boy at the table and nod. The opening soft sounds of Donna Summer’s “Last Dance” play and I start to move. As I let the music fill me up, all my worries fade away. The music goes from slow to fast, and I put on the performance of my life, with acrobatics, dance moves, and a double back handspring. I look at Mrs. Mitchell when I land, and she is all smiles, which makes me feel good. She offers me water before I do my cheer. I take a small sip, step back onto the mat, and do my cheer. When I am done, she thanks me and asks me to return to my seat.
The remainder of the evening seems to go on forever. I know I did a great job with my tryout, but so has everyone else. There are only a handful of girls who clearly demonstrate cheerleading is not for them. When the last girl is done, Mrs. Mitchell thanks all of us and tells us the final squads will be posted by noon on Monday. I can’t even begin to describe my disappointment. I thought we were going to find out tonight. This weekend is going to suck!
