My Journey to Varsity Cheerleading

by Abby Moody

  Across my backyard, and through the surrounding woods, I saw one of my best friends named Jenny. She was in her driveway playing with her black lab named Lucy. We’ve been backyard neighbors for about ten years. She’s short and skinny, with wispy, highlighted blonde hair. Her emerald green eyes were striking. She also had a mouth full of braces, and had them for several years. She was the craftiest person I had ever met, and we were always concocting something together. When I first moved in behind her, we quickly bonded over our mutual love for the outdoors. We would build tree forts that were always too dangerous to climb into, regularly go fishing in the pond down the street, and go exploring into the surrounding woods.

  One summer, we spent every day digging a gaping hole in the small valley that separated our houses. Jenny had found an arrowhead in the valley, so naturally we believed there were cave men living in the ground below. We began digging with shovels so we could find them. We kept our secret for months, and thought we would become billionaires. Obviously, we were unsuccessful. That just scratches the story of our mutual weirdness. We were also thirteen years old, so we really should’ve known better.

  I crawled off the trampoline and walked to the front of the house, to find my mom, in her multi-colored t-shirt, watering the flowers. I rolled onto the sidewalk, and saw my calico cat, Tiger, staring me down through the bushes. Her eyes flashed as if she was plotting her attack. I waited patiently for her to come terrorize me, but she never did. Once in a blue moon, we would have a moment. She would hop into my lap. But it usually ended with hiss and a scratch that drew blood. She was evil. No one really liked her anyways.

  My mom came over and sat next to me on the sidewalk.

  “So, any news on boys?” She loved to ask that. In hopes someday I would like someone new.

  “Nope. Nothing at all.”

  “Well, what about Dawson?”

  “He doesn’t like me mom.” I looked down to avoid eye contact. “He looks the other way when I see him at school.”

  “Maybe he’s just nervous around you… or just shy.”

  I hoped she was right. Probably not though. Dawson was my crush going on three long years. He was quarterback of the varsity football team at Carl Junction and also attended my church. He was everything I ever wanted in a guy. He wasn’t a partier, he was saving himself for marriage, and his big, mesmerizing brown eyes always turned heads. He had a muscular build, thick light brown hair, and was always wearing the same Hollister jeans, with his varsity letterman jacket. One problem, though – he had all the popular, pretty girls chasing him like a swarm of gnats. I didn’t stand much of a chance.

  The next morning was Monday. My two parakeets woke me up at 6:53 a.m. by trying to dismantle their cage. I love my birds. I really do. But, my alarm was set for 7:15 a.m. I grabbed my pillow and stuffed it over my head to block out their obnoxious screeches and chirps. Suddenly, a wonderful image popped into my head. I was setting my birds free into the sunrise from my back porch…Watching them fly into the clouds. The song “I’ll Fly Away” was playing in the background.

  My actual alarm went off, and I flew out of bed. I began digging through my closet, uprooting everything like a tornado. I believed today was the day Dawson would say hi to me. I put on my sunshine yellow dress with cowboy boots. I was going through a phase of wanting to be just like Taylor Swift. Thank goodness it was only a few months out of my life.

  I put on a full face of makeup, and had my mom put curls in my hair. I shoved down a toaster strudel, only eating the gooey, strawberry filling of course. I was about to leave, when I caught a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror. I honestly didn’t know how Dawson couldn’t notice me. My baby blue, sparkly eyeshadow will definitely turn his head.

  I was sitting in second period later that day in public speaking class. Literally my least favorite class I’ve ever taken. I hated public speaking with a passion. When I get too nervous or uncomfortable, I start laughing uncontrollably. It’s a legitimate problem. Especially embarrassing when the topic is “childhood obesity” or “the end of times”. I would be laughing hysterically, and my teacher would have to ask me to sit down and finish the speech later.

  One of my best friends, Emily, was in my class too which made it worse. Both of us had the same problem of uncomfortable laughing, so we got ourselves into trouble almost every day. Emily is tall, with freckled, light skin. Her passion is volleyball, and she was extremely talented. She has long, wavy auburn hair, with eyelashes that touches her full, perfectly shaped eyebrows. She’s always laughing loudly, echoing though the room. Emily and I had known each other for about two years. We met in junior high, when I sat in front of her in our eighth-grade history class. We created small talk before and after class, but nothing ever evolved there.

  Until one day, she asked me who my crush was. I replied, “Well, you promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  “I promise! I won’t breathe a word.” She leaned in to listen.

  “It’s Jon Baker.” I said blushing.

  I watched her face fall. And she forced an “Awww”.

  “Who’s your crush?”

  “It’s also Jon…”

  “Ohhhh…” I had no idea what to say. I just turned around and made it look like I was intently studying our history book. I felt like she was secretly throwing daggers into my back. A few days later, we both found out Jon had a new girlfriend. We bonded over our mutual bitterness, and were friends ever since. One year later, we found out we had public speaking class together. Our friendship reached another level because we were both scared for our lives to speak in front of everyone.

  Every time Emily would speak, she broke out in hives on her neck and chest. I tried to be the supportive friend, and listen intently. Sadly, I always burst loudly into laughter in the middle of her speech. My teacher asked me to “step outside and get myself together” until she was finished.

  That day, no one was giving speeches. We just had to sit and listen to our teacher ramble. There were only two minutes left of class. So, I quickly popped some mints and put a comb through my hair.

  Emily was watching my actions and asked, “Why are you so nervous? You about to see Dawson?”

  She knew me too well.

  “Um, I don’t know – maybe – there’s a chance.”

  “Oh Abby…” She said letting out a loud sigh. “Well anyways – want to have a sleepover Friday night after the game?”

  “Yeah, well anyways – want to have a sleepover Friday night after the game?”

  “Yep. Sounds great.”

  “Okay cool. I’ll just ride with you there then… and Abb, don’t get your heart broken again. Okay?”

  The bell rang.

  Oh my gosh. I was about to see Dawson. I already pictured this moment a hundred times. He would notice me looking extra cute today in my yellow dress. Then, we would have stimulating conversation all the way to my locker. He would ask me to hangout this weekend, and we would watch the stars twinkle from my trampoline.

  My heart pounded through the river of students. Most of them were rushing to class. Others were slugging through the halls not caring about being late, or being there at all. I felt like I was about to throw up. The feeling of “having butterflies” didn’t exist for me. My feeling is stomach sickness.

  With each step, I walked slower and slower so I wouldn’t miss him. Maybe he was somewhere down senior hall flirting with the upperclassmen girls, or I like to refer to them as the swarming gnats.

  Nope, he wasn’t there. I peeked casually down sophomore hall.

  He was nowhere in sight. My spirits began to plummet. I made my way down freshman hall, heading to my locker. Maybe next time I’ll see him.

  There he was. Walking alone.

  I caught a glimpse of him through the crowd. His thick, perfectly gelled hair stood out among everyone else’s messy buns and bed hair. He was walking towards me, wearing his Varsity letterman jacket. With his chin up, shoulders back, each step he made was with confidenc
e. He knew he had the whole school in the palm of his hands.

  I took a deep breath. Swallowed. And mentally prepared myself. I kept my head down until I saw his squeaky clean, white Nikes. I looked up and his eyes hypnotized mine. We held our gaze for what seemed like minutes, as if the world had paused. I gave him a warm smile and nervously whispered, “Hi”.

  “Hi Abby!”

  “How are – ”

  “Hey Dawson, my man!” His fellow football teammate interrupted.

  Dawson turned and started talking to his friend. I acted like I didn’t say anything at all, and quickly darted past him.

  CHAPTER 3: THE SLEEPOVER

  That same Monday night, I had a dream. I was cheering at the junior varsity football game. Our team was losing against the Webb City Cardinals, our biggest opponent; mostly because their school was only ten minutes from ours. The majority of Webb City boy’s dated Carl Junction girls, and vice versa. But, when it came to sports, it was a serious rivalry.

  There was a time out on the field. Our band began to play random music that we didn’t have any cheers to. I walked over to the front of the cheer formation, with a smile, and stared down at the faded red track. I was mentally preparing myself for what I was about to do. I took a deep breath, and glanced up at the stadium.

  There he was.

  Dawson was walking along the railing looking for seats. We locked eyes.

  I blushed, and looked down the track trying not to be distracted by him. I began to run. Run as if my life depended on it. I could feel the power permeating through my legs, extending the adrenaline into my shoulders, and hurdling into my tumbling pass. My hands touched the track. I flipped into my back handspring.

  My face hit the track instead.

  Everything was foggy. I was unable to pull myself up. I heard screams echo through the stands, followed by a deafening silence. A rush of embarrassment swept from my toes to my forehead.

  I woke up with a jolt. Sweating.

  The next day after school, I walked into my cheerleading gym called Planet Cheer in Joplin, Missouri. I was on their competitive cheer squad, along with high school cheer. We were a level five team. The basic meaning was we could do twists within our tumbling passes. My coach, Shawn, pushed me to my breaking point every practice. He started working with me three years ago when I first decided to become a competitive cheerleader. He was in his later twenties, and had a goatee and buzzed hair. He was a male cheerleader in college, and had a lot of experience in power tumbling and stunting. When I would try to weasel my way out of something, he would always roll his eyes with his hands on his hips and say, “I know what you’re doing, and it doesn’t work on me. Go back and do it again.” Rare occasions did he ever let me get away with not doing something.

  I developed a strong, addictive passion for the sport of cheerleading. If anyone wanted to grind my gears, they would make a joke about cheerleading not being a sport. That joke was never funny. It’s the most physically and mentally demanding activity I’ve ever done. No one can tell me that flipping and twisting in the air praying you land on your feet is not a sport. Or being tossed twenty feet into the air, defying gravity, and doing the trust fall of a lifetime. If stunting and tumbling is the main performance, then in my eyes cheerleading is a sport. End of story.

  That day, we were working on our pyramids and tumbling passes. I began warming up, and working on my full. I would initiate it with a running tumbling pass. That meant – I would run and do a round-off, back handspring, then flip upside down and twist 360 degrees (which is a full) to land on my feet.

  Each time I did my full, I got nervous. There was always that little devil in my ear saying I would fall. I could only do my full on a spring floor; the grass or basketball court was way too difficult for me.

  I ran across the blue, felt spring floor. I felt a wave of addictive power sear through my body. Adrenaline pumped through my hands until I touched the mat. Immediately springing into my back handspring, whipping through with my legs. I shot my arms straight up, above my head. My body was lifting vertically higher and higher. I tucked my arms, and twisted through the air upside down. With relief, my feet landed together perfectly on the mat. That sense of accomplishment, power, and adrenaline, gave me confidence.

  I wanted to get better though. I wanted to be the girl on the sidelines cheering on Dawson at the varsity games.

  After practice, I was stretching out when Coach Shawn walked over to me and sat down. He said, “Abb, you had another solid practice today. Your full keeps getting stronger.”

  “Thanks! I’m glad I finally have it consistently.”

  “You think you’ll throw it at your tryouts this year?” Shawn slyly asked, as he had been asking me for the past three months. High school cheer tryouts were always held on a basketball court, and I wasn’t about to do my full on that wooden surface.

  “Ha! Nope. You know that’s where I draw the line.”

  “Well… thought I’d try.” He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.

  “Shawn – You know I only have a full on a spring floor. Not the basketball court.” I said as I got up to start gathering my things.

  “Okay. So what? You’ll still do great… even without a full at tryouts.” He said trying to build my confidence up.

  His words meant a lot to me. They echoed through my thoughts as I walked out of the gym. He knew how hard I had worked to overcome my fears. He had been with me every step of the way. I looked back towards him on my way to the door, and he yelled “Good-luck Abb! Let me know how tryouts go!”

  That same weekend, it was finally time for the varsity basketball game against Joplin. The whole school had been buzzing about it for weeks. After school on Friday, my friends Emily, Hannah, and Serena were dropped off by their parents at my house. We spent hours getting ready, experimenting with sparkly eye shadow and bright red lipsticks. I wore my Bulldog painted overalls, with pig tails on top of my head, and carefully applied ruby red lipstick. After taking about one hundred selfies of ourselves on our Razor flip phones, my parents loaded us up in our black Armada.

  When we arrived to the game, I made sure my friends and I walked about two minutes in front of my parents. I was too embarrassed to have them walking beside us. Hannah paid for our M&M’s, popcorn, and root beers from the concession stand. I wasn’t expecting her to do that.

  Hannah is tall, with a small chest and curvy hips. She looked good in any outfit she ever wore. She usually straightened her long, silky, golden blonde hair. Her bright green eyes were beautiful with her long, wispy eyelashes. She was the friend who was always dating the cutest and most popular boys. She knew all about my feelings towards Dawson, and knew he was off limits. We’ve known each other since the third grade. We met at my brother’s baseball game, when we were both turning cartwheels in the weeds behind the baseball field.

  It took us awhile to get up the courage to walk into the student section. I knew there was a good chance Dawson would be on the front row, being the life of the crowd. He was the student section leader for basketball games.

  My heart started beating faster and faster as we opened the doors to the basketball court. I put my head down and followed my friends, walking quickly behind them. I heard his voice. He cheered louder than anyone else. I looked up and saw him dressed in a Batman outfit running back and forth in front of the student section. Of course, he was the student section leader always dressing in crazy outfits leading chants. When we reached the stairs, Dawson and I met eyes for a split second.

  He stopped running, and smiled at me. I got awkward and quickly darted up the stairs. It must have been my show-stopping overalls, or my silver, sparkly eye shadow. Either way, progress was made.

  My friends and I sat towards the back of the student section for the rest of the game. We were too self-conscious to walk in front of the upperclassmen. During the game, my three friends made conversation with the people surrounding us. I remained quiet, too shy to talk to people I don’t know we
ll. When the game ended, the girls came home with me for a sleepover. We were all lounging on the couches in my basement, laughing at Serena’s new prank ideas she was sharing. That was something she and I had in common. We both loved pulling pranks on other people, and thought we were both hilarious.

  Serena is a short, petite Latina, with thick, cascading black hair. She was full-figured, with a mouth full of braces, and her eyebrows were always perfectly penciled in. We’ve been friends since seventh-grade. We met in Mrs. Robertson’s English class. I was sitting in the front row one day, listening to her drone on and on about nothingness. I remember doodling on the desk, and erasing it over and over. Out of now where, Mrs. Robertson screamed at the top of her lungs.

  She threw her English book to the ground, and ran out the door yelling “Roach! Roach! There is a cockroach in that book!”

  One of the other students got up to look at it. He said, “Mrs. Robertson… that’s a plastic cockroach.”

  “Excuse me?” Her peanut sized head looked like it was about to blast off into outer space.

  “Um, yeah. Someone was playing a joke on you.” He bit his lip trying not to laugh, and quickly went back in his seat.

  “Who would do such a thing? I mean really. It had to be someone in here because I was reading this page before class – what is wrong with you people?” She roared pacing back and forth. I swore I saw horns begin to form on her head. “Please – someone tell me who did this?”

  My eyes darted over to the black-haired girl in the corner. She had her head down snickering, making odd noises trying to hold it in. Mrs. Robertson didn’t notice, but it was obvious she had placed the cockroach there.