Radiate

by Gibson, Marley

  Mrs. Ingram claps her hands. “Come, come, girls! The judges are waiting!”

  We all scurry out into the gym and stand in two lines, no order to the mayhem. I wonder if the girls who were cheerleaders last year are as nervous as I am. Does confidence zip through their system or is there worry? If Chloe Bradenton is any indication, they all know it’s in the bag. It’s very unlikely that a former squad member won’t repeat in making the team. That makes the chances of me snagging a spot even smaller.

  I stand next to Shelly, taking the end spot of the first row. The three cheerleaders from Maxwell State University hand over a sheet of paper to Mrs. Ingram. It’s done. The decision is final. These judges have tallied their scores and made their choices.

  Mrs. Ingram steps to the microphone, and I tense up to wait and hear how I’ll be spending my senior year.

  Will it be back in the marching band?

  Or will there be something more for me... ?

  Chapter Two

  To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe.

  —Anatole France

  The creak of the gymnasium door steals my attention from Mrs. Ingram momentarily.

  My heart sinks to my feet. What are they doing here?

  Boys.

  They stream in from outside and begin filling the bleachers.

  “They aren’t supposed to be in here,” Shelly hisses.

  From the row behind us, I hear Brittney Alexander say, “They do this every time. They want to check out who’ll be cheering for them next year.”

  Good Lord. Not just any boys—it’s the football team. Which means . . .

  My throat goes dry before I can even think his name, because at that moment, Daniel Delafield saunters into the gym like he owns the place, which he pretty much does. He’s not the quarterback on the team, but he’s the star receiver who’s broken every Polk High School record and who’ll probably have every major university in the Southeastern Conference and beyond dangling scholarship offers at him.

  I watch as he climbs up two steps, plops down on the steel bench, and leans back with his arms spread next to him, taking up enough room for three people.

  Everyone at Polk High School knows Daniel Delafield.

  He doesn’t know I exist.

  Freshman year, the Pep Club had secret pep pals. I, of course, chose Daniel. For the entire football season, I decorated his locker, left him spirit notes, and baked him cookies. When the big reveal came as to who was the secret pep pal, someone had to point me out to Daniel. And we’re in the same grade! Hello! He thanked me by tousling my long hair in Algebra II.

  Wow. You’re welcome.

  I must have spent more than two hundred dollars on things for him.

  “Pay no attention to those boys,” Mrs. Ingram says, bringing me back to the here and now.

  Right. Right. Ignore the cute, popular boys. My future hangs in the balance of that score sheet.

  Mrs. Ingram leans into the microphone. “You all did a wonderful job. So many talented girls. But, as you know, we have only twelve slots on the team next season. We’re looking for girls with a good, strong cheering ability, coupled with fantastic dance moves and a complete knowledge and execution of gymnastics. Well, here we go!”

  She crinkles the paper in her hand and my palms get itchy. I don’t move a muscle, though. Please, please, please, please, please, Lord . . .

  “In no particular order,” Mrs. Ingram says. “First is Chloe Bradenton.”

  Of course she’s first, I think in a snarky, inside voice.

  Chloe squeals like it’s some big surprise... not. Big surprise? She’s been on the squad since freshman year.

  “Next is Melanie Otto.”

  More screeches from behind me. My nerves pick up like a ticking time bomb. Like I said, it’s probably a foregone conclusion that all nine of last year’s returning cheerleaders will once again be on the team. Three available spots. One has to be mine.

  Mrs. Ingram continues reading names off: Hannah Vincennes, Lora Russell, Ashlee Grimes, and Ashleigh Bentley. As the girls run out front to hug and huddle, the rest of us stand here anxiously rocking back and forth on the heels of our sneakers... waiting.

  “Tara Edwards,” Mrs. Ingram announces. That’s a new name.

  The tall brunette pulls her hands up to her mouth and screams. Tara’s family moved to Maxwell last year from Pensacola, and she’s been in tight with Chloe Bradenton. She dates Chloe’s twin brother, Phillip, who’s the kicker for the football team. It all makes sense.

  Of course, that means only two “new” spots.

  “Brittney Alexander,” is announced, and I clap. Brittney started off in band with Shelly and me in sixth grade, but when she got braces, she had to give up the trombone because her lips kept bleeding. She’s an amazing dancer, so she totally deserves another year on the squad.

  More names follow. Samantha Fowler, a petite freshman, aka newbie, steps forward to join the winners. Lauren Compton rejoins the squad, as does Madison Hutchinson.

  One more spot left. I glance over at Shelly. She shrugs at me. I smile weakly.

  I want this spot. I need this spot. I have to be a cheerleader. It’s all I can think about. How cliché that it’s coming down to the last name and only four girls left standing.

  Let it be me, Lord . . . please . . . I’ve worked so hard for this.

  Mrs. Ingram pulls the paper away from in front of her. “And the last slot on the team goes to . . .”

  Everything moves in slow motion. The words. The actions. The thoughts. The announcement.

  “Hayley Matthews,” the sponsor says.

  Snap! Zoom! Boom! Then the world is on fast-forward.

  Shelly grabs my arm. “You did it, Hayley!”

  I did? I did!

  She said my name! I made it!

  I squeeze Shelly back and then skip over to the group of winners. I’m a winner. I’m a varsity cheerleader. I. Made. It.

  Random arms embrace me. Congratulations flow as much as the tears of joy. I’m engulfed in the celebration, and I return the hugs of my fellow teammates.

  Chloe faces me, and a feigned smile crosses her pretty face. “Well, I suppose I should say congrats, Hayley.”

  “Thanks, Chloe,” I say heartily, ignoring the veiled venomous tone in her voice.

  “This isn’t going to be like band, you know?” she continues. “You’re gonna have to work your ass off. We have a reputation to uphold, and I won’t let a lucky newcomer stand in the way of this team’s success.”

  Well, excuse the hell out of me for living, I think, noticing she doesn’t move to give the same speech to Tara or Samantha. I smile, though, that exaggerated cheerleader smile that obviously helped land me the role. “You can count on me, Chloe.”

  Before anything else can be said, Ashlee Grimes launches herself on me. “Dude! You totally did it! I told you that you’d make it!”

  We hug like long-lost sisters who’ve just found each other, and I can’t stop the tears from escaping my eyes. Thank heavens my makeup is waterproof.

  “Maybe we can be partners since Megan is graduating and I don’t have a base anymore,” Ashlee says. Base is cheerleader talk for the girl who does all the heavy lifting of the flyers, the term for the girls on top.

  “That would be cool. When will we know?”

  “After we vote on a captain, she’ll decide the pairings. But who cares about that now! You’re on the squad, and we’re going to have an awesome senior year!”

  My pulse trills out a rhythm in my ears. I’m picturing everything. Wearing the cool uniforms to school on game day, helping to lead pep rallies, driving to away games, standing in front of the whole school and leading cheers, and, before that, practicing all summer, hanging out with new friends, learning dance routines, and perfecting my tumbling. And actually doing my hair and makeup for games instead of scrunching it up under a band hat. There’s homecoming with its parade and bonfire and cel
ebration... and maybe a date with a football player this year. Yep, senior year here at PHS is going to totally rock!

  Lora Russell comes over to hug me. She and I were lab partners in biology last year, but she’s another with unattainable status in Maxwell. Her father died when she was little, so she and her mom live with her rich uncle, Ross Scott, president and CEO of Game On, a sports franchise based here. “I’m so proud of you, Hayley!” Lora says with much enthusiasm. She smashes her face against mine, and I feel as though I belong.

  “Thanks, Lora. I’m jazzed beyond words.”

  “We’re gonna have a great squad! Welcome to the team.”

  Before I know it, the football players descend from the bleachers and join in the mayhem. Skipper O’Rourke, one of the defensive backs I know from Spanish class, gives me a fist bump. “All right... Matthews.”

  There’s a melee of faces in and out of my vision congratulating me, welcoming me, coming at me so fast that I feel I might faint dead away.

  And then, before I know it, he’s standing right next to me.

  Daniel Delafield in his O’Neill Surfboards T-shirt and baggy gym shorts. His thick, wavy brown hair is held back off his face with a pair of sunglasses on the top of his head. He smells sweaty and musky and all boylike from being outside roughing around with the guys. I gasp a deep breath when his blue eyes turn my way.

  “Good job, Hayley,” he says nonchalantly, as though we’ve been the best of friends for years.

  He knows my name?

  “Um... thanks, Daniel. I’m totally super-juiced.”

  Daniel smiles. “There’s a party at Anthony Ricketts’s house this weekend. You should come.”

  “I should?” I can barely breathe.

  “Of course. All the cheerleaders will be there. You’re one of them now.” Then he knocks into me with his shoulder, all playful like, and flips the end of my ponytail.

  “Oh. Okay. Awesome. Cool. Definitely.” Shut up!

  “See ya . . .” he says, and then he’s off.

  You’re one of them now.

  Yes, I am. I’m a cheerleader. And senior year is going to be like none other.

  ***

  “I’m so proud of you, Hayley!” my mother, Nan, says when I burst through the back door of the house to report my news. “I knew you could do it!”

  She hugs me so tightly that I actually feel the love and pride coming from her. “I guess all of those gymnastics and dance classes with Miss Kathy have finally paid off.”

  “Totally,” I say with a grin.

  “Call your grandparents and tell them,” Mom says. “Mother will be thrilled.”

  My gray kitty, Leeny, rubs on my leg and I bend down to hoist her into my arms and give her kisses all over her face. “Oh, I will in a bit. When will Dad be home?”

  “He should be here any minute. He closed the store early tonight.” She pulls the roast from the oven and starts basting the meat. The aroma of steaming potatoes, carrots, and roast beef fills the air. Yankee pot roast—one of my all time favorite meals. Awww... Mom did this in anticipation of my making the team. Knowing her, it would have been termed a pick-me-up had I not succeeded.

  I hear Dad’s truck pull under the carport and the door slam. Leeny jumps from my arms to run and welcome him home. I gasp when he walks in with my brother, Cliff, who must be home for the long weekend from his job up north in Birmingham, and a bundle of balloons that read “Congrats!” and “You Did It!”

  I burst out laughing. “What were you going to do with those if I hadn’t made the squad?”

  Dad hugs me to him. “Not an option. Fred Grimes stopped in the hardware store. Ashlee called to tell him the news.”

  I slump. “He told you?”

  “He wanted me to be prepared. And aren’t you glad,” he says with a wink. Dad kisses the top of my head. “Congrats, Little Kid.”

  “Yeah, Hay. Way to go,” Cliff echoes. “Just don’t go sleeping with all the football players now. Wouldn’t want to have to come back to high school and kick some ass.”

  I smack him hard on the arm. “Geesh, Cliff. Don’t be gross.”

  Our scrumptious dinner is interrupted by phone calls and texts galore. Grandmother and Granddaddy call from across town to tell me how proud they are of me. Sadly, I don’t hear from my older sister, Gretchen. Then again, we never really hear from Gretchen unless it’s a major holiday or the obligatory call from Boston when it’s someone’s birthday. She’s the oldest and sort of the black sheep of the family because of something that happened when she was in high school that no one will tell me about. Still, after helping load the dishwasher with the dinner dishes, I run upstairs to leave a message on Gretchen’s Facebook page to share my news. My Uncle Roger, Mom’s brother, calls from San Francisco where he works as a doctor, and Dad’s sister, Aunt Eva, calls from New York. You’d have thought I just won the lottery.

  Well, I did. I hit the high school equivalent.

  And life will never be the same!

  Chapter Three

  Toughness is in the soul and spirit, not in the muscles.

  —Alex Karras

  June in south Alabama is one thing and one thing only: blue-blazing hot.

  But the ultraviolet rays have never felt better on my skin than they do today. I literally skip out of the house in my PHS shorts and Varsity Cheerleader tank top as I toss my purse and my gym bag into the front seat of Dad’s truck.

  Today marks the beginning of cheerleader practice. And I am champing at the bit to get over to Brittney Alexander’s house for the first session. We’re voting on captain, and then we’ll find out who our partners are. I’m beyond jazzed!

  “Hey, Hay,” a voice calls out to me, interrupting my thoughts.

  I tent my eyes over my sunglasses to block out the glare and get a good look at who called out to me. The voice seems familiar, but it can’t be . . .

  Or can it?

  There’s no way the tall, muscular figure approaching me is who I think it is. However, a skitter of surprise bolts me to the ground as recognition takes over and my mouth drops open. “Oh my God. Would you look who’s back?” I say with laughter in my voice.

  He walks across the driveway, sauntering really. Funny, he never sauntered before. Soft brown eyes light up when he smiles at me. Gabriel Tremblay. Gabe used to live across the street from me before his family moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, after sixth grade. He was a gangly, geeky kid then, but we were tight as two neighbors sharing a mud pie could be.

  Now, I take in his appearance from his green Scooby-Doo “What Happens in the Van Stays in the Van” T-shirt to his well-worn Levi’s with the cuffs turned up, just like he did when we were younger. Others might barely recognize him, but I’d know that face anywhere, even though his hair is a bit longer, with bangs sweeping down over his forehead. He’s seriously a lot taller, and he’s been eating his Wheaties or working out like a crazy person as I take in the broad chest and his rippled arms. He’s certainly a far cry from the scrawny ninety-pounds-soaking-wet kid that he was back then.

  “Awesome to see you, Gabe,” I say, and then move forward to give him a neighborly hug. He shyly returns the affection, though his eyes land on my chest to take in the words spread across my shirt.

  “Gabriel. I go by Gabriel now.” Hmm... how grown up. Although, I bet his nana still calls him Gabby.

  “I haven’t seen you since Vacation Bible School when we were eleven or something.”

  He nods and grins. “Right. ‘Onward Christian Soldiers,’ bagged lunches, and macaroni art.”

  “Something like that,” I say softly. “Then y’all just up and moved.”

  “Yeah, well, you know how things are,” he says as he kicks at a rock in my driveway, sending it scooting back into the flower bed.

  Gabriel turns to me and I feel somewhat awkward standing here not knowing what to say to him. Which is totally weird, because Gabriel and I used to play together all the time. We each collected Hot Wheels and would make paper town
s for them to drive through. He killed a nest of earwigs in my front yard when I was freaking out that they were going to attack me. And he bandaged my knee when I fell off my bike because his dog, Cricket, came out of the yard, barking like all get-out and scaring the crap out of me.

  But right before we started seventh grade at Polk Middle School, Gabriel and his family just... up and left. He didn’t say goodbye, there was no neighborhood sendoff or party, and he and I haven’t talked since. Sure, I friended him on Facebook last year, but he hasn’t been the kind to obsess with updates.

  Gabriel’s father frequented Matthews Hardware, my dad’s store, but not even gossip from the barbershop next door could produce a reason as to why the Tremblays moved out of Maxwell so suddenly.

  “So . . .” I say with a bit of a sigh while shuffling from one foot to the other.

  “So,” he echoes. “You’re a cheerleader now?”

  The beaming smile returns. “Yeah! Crazy, isn’t it?”

  “Things really do change,” he says.

  “I’m actually on my way to practice.”

  He balks a bit, as if to leave. “I just wanted to say ‘hey.’ We’re three houses down. Bought the Lucas place.”

  I turn to glance at the brick Colonial that’s had a For Sale sign since January. “Awesome.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. Then I blurt out, “What are you doing here? I mean, back in Maxwell.”

  Gabriel chuckles at me. He scratches his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That’s direct.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  He holds up his hand. “No, really, it’s okay. People are bound to ask.” Then he continues. “See, my grandpa’s really sick, and we don’t know how much longer he has. Mom and Dad decided to move back to help take care of him.”

  “Oh, Gabe... I mean, Gabriel, I’m so sorry,” I say, thinking about his sweet grandpa whom I haven’t seen at church in forever. I’ve been so caught up in cheerleading that I hadn’t even noticed.