Page 12 of The Cheerleader

I shrug and turn away.

A few of the guys around us snicker until Coach shuts it down.

“We’re all on the same team here, and it’s time you act like it. We have a real shot at winning the division this year.”

His words hit me like a shot of adrenaline because I was thinking the same thing. Though I keep my thoughts to myself, especially when they’re optimistic.

Coach goes on with his pep talk and introduces the coaching and training staff for the benefit of the new guys before he dismisses us for on-field practice drills. He’ll want to get a look at us. Some of the guys may have slipped in their conditioning over the summer, and the freshmen haven’t been evaluated yet.

Most of the guys in the room groan because this first test is gonna suck. Not me. I love it. This is where the hard work pays off. Grinding out the toughest workouts is where I live.

I think that’s why a lot of the guys on the team don’t like me much.

I don’t give a damn.

Chapter Four

Susie

Late August 1975, UConn, Storrs, CT

“Five, six, seven, eight,” Liz calls out, standing with her back to us, and we start up the dance routine. This one is called Proud Mary to go with the Tina Turner song. We’re lined up on the sidelines at the football stadium in the searing heat, one week ahead of the start of the semester. The team is practicing on the field about twenty yards away.

This is the third routine I’ve learned today, and sweat trickles down my temples. I wish I’d put my hair up in a ponytail because it’s sticking to my neck and keeping me hot. None of the girls have their hair up. I guess we’re all too vain.

When we finish, I hold my breath, hoping Liz won’t make us go through it again. She’s been turning around every few seconds, watching us like a mother hen while she performs flawlessly in front of us.

“Okay, let’s take a break. We need to talk about our uniforms and what we’re all responsible for buying for ourselves. The school only provides us skirts and sweaters.”

“Do we still need to wear the little white gloves?” Carol asks on a plaintive note.

Liz gives her a big smile. “I was thinking we can update our look and drop the gloves. What does everyone think?”

Looking around, I take my cue from the others because I have no clue what’s appropriate for a cheerleader to wear or what the traditions are. But apparently, judging by the overwhelming agreement to drop the little white gloves, this is one tradition they’re not sad to leave behind.

Keith Berry, a senior and one of the four male cheerleaders, heaves a dramatic sigh. “I suppose we’ll have to buy our sweaters and skirts for ourselves.”

We laugh.

“I think so,” Liz says. “You’ll have to wear the same white painters’ pants and blue polo shirts from last year unless I can convince Pete to ask for more uniform money.” She looks apologetic.

“White painter’s pants, navy blue polo shirts, sneakers,” he repeats for the new guys. He turns to Liz. “Are we buying our own megaphones too?”

“I requested megaphones in the budget. I’m talking to Pete about it today.”

“What about us?” Sherry asks eagerly. She’s quiet compared to the others, but maybe that’s because she’s new. She has a sweet smile with dimples, a pleasing round face, and long straight blond hair. I like her. I can tell she’s a nice, genuine person—a nursing major, which I automatically admire her for.

Liz says, “White canvas sneakers, white ankle socks, and white turtlenecks with snaps under the crotch to keep them in place.”

I laugh, but no one else does. A slight flush heats my face. “I suppose the snaps are a good idea.” I sound lame, but Liz carries on.

“Also don’t forget the navy blue skater panties⁠—”

“Skater panties?” I ask, looking around. No one else seems to find this requirement mysterious, making my newness to cheerleading acutely obvious to everyone.

“Yeah,” Liz says with kindness, “I should call them dancer panties. Danskin makes them to go under your skirt so no one sees your actual underwear.”

“We have to buy our own? It doesn’t come with the uniform?” Sherry asks.