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While we stretched, I noticed a lot of the football players eying us from across the field. Plenty of cheerleaders ogled them right back, and even waved.
“Dallas Lockett is so hot,” one of the girls said. “I’d let him give me a deep pass, if you know what I mean.”
The other girls giggled and discussed which players they liked the most. I ignored them. I had never understood the appeal of celebrity status. I could appreciate guys that were attractive, but being famous didn’t magically ramp up the hotness factor to me. I preferred guys who were well-rounded. Attractive, but also smart and funny and caring, too. That was so much better than someone who got paid a bajillion dollars just to throw a ball.
“Okay ladies, let’s finish stretching and then line up!” announced Isabella, the head cheerleader in charge of tryouts. “We have a lot to get done before I announce the opening game roster.”
Isabella was kind of a bitch. That wasn’t very feminist of me to say, but trust me: you would say the same if you knew her. In my experience, that was normal for this profession. Head cheerleaders were always divas and drama queens. Tyrants in charge of their own little fiefdom.
Fortunately, Isabella liked me because I was good at following directions, and I was always on time.
“Did you hear Isabella is dating a player?” said one of the girls.
“I thought that was frowned upon!” replied another.
The first girl shook her head. “Rules don’t apply to her, apparently.”
Isabella cleared her throat. “Are we stretching, or are we gossiping, ladies?”
The two girls quickly mumbled apologies.
Isabella gave out instructions to the group and had us line up to do the cheers we had practiced. There were five lines, forming a rectangle.
“Fox, you’re up here,” she called to me.
I smiled as she lined me up front-and-center. A position of power. The best cheerleaders were always put in the front. Or the ones that were the best-looking. Either way, I was happy to get the honor today.
At this level, cheerleading was mostly just dancing. But I was good at it. I had the routine memorized, and I was strong and flexible. My steps were sharp and crisp. Even though I was in the front and therefore couldn’t see the girls behind me, I knew my hips were swaying with the most fluidity.
It was satisfying in a different way than teaching. That fulfilled me mentally and intellectually, whereas this was physically fulfilling.
“If everyone was like Fox, I wouldn’t have to cut anyone!” Isabella announced after the second dance. “Let’s change things up…”
She shifted us around so she could watch how other girls did in the front. Some girls were a little slow or out of sync. Others outright made mistakes.
“The Harlem Shake was ten years ago, Stephanie,” Isabella said contemptuously. “If I wanted to watch a dead body flop around, I’d visit the morgue.”
I have this in the bag, I thought.
Tryouts lasted close to an hour. Isabella took notes on her phone—or she was browsing Instagram. It was tough to tell sometimes. Occasionally, she would look up and roll her eyes dramatically.
When tryouts ended, we all stood around sipping Gatorade from a jug. Sugar-free Gatorade, of course. Avoiding calories was as much a part of the job as learning the dance routines.
“Thank you for coming out to tryouts, ladies!” Isabella said in a tone that was so fake it might have earned her a Razzie nomination. “Everyone was really good. You have no idea how hard it was to narrow this down to just thirty women. If you were cut, I hope you’ll come back and try out next year! Everyone else, please stick around so we can go over uniform requirements and scheduling.”
She taped a sheet of paper up to the wall. All the girls quickly moved toward it like airline passengers trying to board a plane. One girl shouted with excitement. Another—Stephanie—walked away with tears in her eyes.
I was one of the last girls to check. It sounds conceited, but checking the list was just a formality. I knew I made the team.
Even still, when I saw my name on the list, I gave a little fist-pump of victory. It was satisfying working hard for something and then getting it.
“Congratulations, Fox,” Isabella told me. “You’re one of the strongest on the team. We’re lucky to have you!”
“Thanks,” I said. “I can’t wait for the season to start!”
“We have one pre-season game at home first, which we’ll use as a practice before the home opener.” Isabella gazed over at the football players, who were finishing up their own practice. “I don’t know how it is in Oakland, but the Stallions players like to sniff around the cheer team.”
“Tale as old as time,” I said. “Football players trying to date cheerleaders, and vice versa.”
