“She made me!” Maria gave Kristy an angry and frightened look. “See what you did!”
WHACK! The TV room door slammed shut.
Kristy took a deep breath. “Sorry, Maria,” she said. “I’ll go talk to her. It’ll be all right.”
She left Maria’s room and walked through the hallway. She caught a glimpse of Shannon’s room — a Stoneybrook Day pennant on the wall, neat stacks of books on the desk, and a poster from a summer camp production of Oklahoma!
Just opposite it was another room. Kristy couldn’t help stopping when she saw what was inside.
It was a pigsty. Papers, books, pillows, and plastic wrappers covered the floor. The bed was unmade, and the desk was buried under notebooks, paperbacks, CDs, cassettes, you name it.
No wonder Tiffany doesn’t want to do her homework, Kristy thought. She needs a snowplow just to get to her desk.
And every time she does go upstairs, she has to deal with an older sister who’s Ms. Star Student and a younger sister who has suddenly become a Future Olympian. Being a normal kid in a family like that couldn’t be easy.
With a sigh, Kristy went downstairs. She wasn’t angry at Tiffany now.
Slowly she pushed open the TV room door. Tiffany was flumped on the couch, arms folded, in her own storm cloud.
“I didn’t forget about ‘Walking the Dog,’ you know,” said Kristy.
“Go away.” Tiffany shifted so her back was toward Kristy.
Kristy sat down next to her. “You know,” she said, “when I was in fifth grade, I poured Yoo-Hoo down a boy’s shirt.”
Tiffany scrunched her shoulders tighter.
“Seriously,” Kristy continued. “His name was Alan Gray, and he made me so mad that day. He still does. Anyway, I had done a lot of bad things that year. One time I talked back so much to my teacher, she chased me around the room. But the Yoo-Hoo episode was the last straw. I got sent home with a note.”
Slowly Tiffany cast a glance over her shoulder.
“Whoa, was I scared,” Kristy went on. “But I figured, hey, if I don’t show my mom the note, she’ll never know. So I flushed it down the toilet.”
A teeny smile crept across Tiffany’s face. “You did?”
“Mm-hm. I don’t know why the toilet didn’t clog up. Anyway, I figured my troubles were over. But they weren’t. See, when my teacher didn’t hear from my mom, she called her.”
“Uh-oh,” Tiffany said.
“Yeah. She asked Mom about the note, and Mom asked me, and … whew. I won’t go into the gory details, but boy, did I get in trouble.”
Tiffany was frowning. Kristy could tell the story had sunk in.
She didn’t want to push it. “So, where’s the yo-yo?”
Tiffany retrieved it from under the sofa. For the next few minutes they worked on tricks. Tiffany’s mood brightened, and eventually she even started her homework — at the kitchen table.
Kristy was exhausted by the time Mr. and Mrs. Kilbourne returned. The last thing she saw before she left was Tiffany grimly reaching into her backpack and pulling out a small white envelope that was hidden in a textbook.
The sign went up Wednesday morning. Tryouts were to be in exactly two weeks minus one day.
Half of me thought it was ridiculous to even think of trying out. The other half thought I should at least get in shape.
We had a sub in gym that day. We could pretty much do whatever we wanted, as long as it was athletic.
Cheerleading was definitely athletic, and more interesting than volleyball. Slowly the second half of me won the cheerleading argument.
It was time for Operation Physical Fitness.
Normally I do not like gym class. Let me say that right out. Why? Because they insist on holding it in the middle of the day. You end up sweaty and gross, your hair gets all greasy, and your clothes get wrinkled in the locker. Then you have to go back out and face the whole school.
Honestly, it’s torture.
But this was an emergency. I needed to rise to the occasion.
I tried splits. I did jumping jacks. And more splits. I thought my legs were going to fall off.
But guess what? I could do them. Splits, I mean. Not terrifically, and not superfast, but I was improving.
By the end of class, I had made my decision. I was going to try out. Two weeks was plenty of time to improve. If I didn’t make it, fine. I’d feel much worse if I hadn’t given it a shot.
Besides, the cheerleaders were my friends now. They’d be pulling for me. If I showed any promise at all, I probably had a good chance.
I left the gym. I was hungry. My muscles were screaming at me. But I felt great.
Luckily, my next period was lunch. I couldn’t wait to feed my poor, starving, aching body. I took a salad, soup, and a cheeseburger (which is more than I usually eat) from the lunch counter, and I went right to my usual spot at the BSC table.
“Wow,” said Kristy, looking at my tray.
“Is someone joining you?”
Mary Anne smiled. “Robert?”
“No,” I said. “I’m just hungry.”
“It’s love,” Claudia remarked. “They say love makes you hungrier.”
“Where did you hear that?” I asked.
Claudia shrugged. “I read it somewhere. Something to do with, like, hormones or biospheres.”
“Biospheres?” Kristy laughed so hard she practically spit out her food.
As I was reaching the bottom of my salad, I saw Sheila enter the cafeteria. “Hey, Sheil!” I called out.
She rushed to our table. “How’s it going?” she asked.
Kristy, Mary Anne, and Claudia remained dead silent. I decided to do the only polite thing. “Have you guys all met?” I asked.
They hadn’t, so I introduced everyone around. Then Sheila sat at the edge of an empty seat across from me. “Did you see our sign?”
“I did,” Claudia piped up.
“Are any of you trying out?” Sheila said.
I could see a Look shoot around among the three of them. A you-must-be-joking Look. “I don’t think so,” Mary Anne answered.
“I am,” I announced.
Kristy looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. But I figured, what the heck? Now that I’d made my decision, I didn’t need to keep it quiet anymore.
“Great!” Sheila exclaimed, standing up from her chair. “I knew you would! Do you have a routine?”
“A routine?” I asked. “Am I supposed to have one beforehand?”
“You need one if you make it to the final cut. You know, something that’s athletic but shows your dance ability, too. A lot of girls are great at splits and stuff, but they turn into clods when they try to dance. I’m sure you’ll be fine. See you.” She began walking to the lunch line, then turned around. “Oh, and don’t forget to smile when you practice. It’s good training.” With her own smile, she walked away.
“ ’Bye!” I called out.
I looked across the table and came face to face with the Stoneybrook Staring Squad.
I couldn’t help but giggle. “What?” I said.
“You’re trying out for the cheerleaders?” Kristy asked.
“Well, yeah! Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Kristy, it’s not like she’s joining the Marines,” Claudia said. “Come on.”
Kristy turned to Claudia. “I know, but I’m surprised, that’s all. I mean, aren’t you?”
“I guess.” Claudia looked suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe Stacey’s having an insulin reaction. Keep an eye on her.”
“Claudia!” I said.
“Kidding!” Claudia replied with a grin. “Seriously, if that’s what you want to do, it’s your choice.”
“I know it may sound weird,” I said, “but a group of them actually approached me to tell me about the tryouts. They’re really nice, you know. People have the wrong impression, just because they sit together and act like a clique. We sit together, and we’re not so bad.”
“Yeah,” Kristy
agreed. “But cheerleading is so … I don’t know.”
“Dumb?” I supplied.
Kristy shrugged. “I wasn’t going to say it, but —”
“Well, at first I thought it was a dumb idea, but it kind of grew on me. The cheerleaders do make the basketball games more exciting.”
“That’s true,” Kristy replied.
“I think it’s great,” Mary Anne spoke up. “I can picture you out there doing those cheers.”
“Yeah, with a designer cheerleading uniform from Bloomingdale’s,” Claudia added.
We laughed at that.
“Can you do it and stay in the BSC?” Kristy asked.
“Practice ends at five,” I said.
Kristy let out a huge sigh. “Well, in that case, shake those pom-poms, Stace!”
“What are you going to do about a routine?” Mary Anne asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess I could make up a dance combination —”
“Ask Jessi to help you,” Claudia suggested. “She’d be a great choreographer.”
It was a perfect idea. And you know what? I really wanted to get the BSC involved. Maybe The Group was too cool for sleepovers, and maybe the members of the BSC were too cool for cheerleading, but they were all my friends. And who knew? Maybe they’d learn to like each other.
* * *
After lunch I saw Penny, Margie, and Corinne in the hallway. I ran to them to tell them about my decision.
Before I could open my mouth, Penny said, “I heard you’re trying out. That’s fabulous.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “But I am so nervous. I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Margie said. “I was nervous, too. The best thing to do is just relax.”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. Well, what’s it going to be like? Do I just walk in and do my routine? Should I memorize one of your cheers?”
“No,” Penny answered. “We’ll teach everyone a cheer, very slowly. All the basic moves will be in it, so we’ll be able to tell two things — how you learn, and whether or not you have the stretch and the energy and the coordination, stuff like that. If you survive the cut, you get to do the routine. We’ll provide a boom box, but bring your own cassette.”
“Have you started preparing a routine?” Corinne asked.
“I’m going to ask Jessi Ramsey to choreograph one with me,” I replied. “She is an amazing dancer.”
Corinne looked at the others. I could see the trace of a smile on her face.
Penny and Margie were smiling, too. “Uh-huh,” Margie said. “Well, good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said. “See you!”
“ ’Bye!” they replied as I turned to leave.
I tried to ignore their smiles. Corinne knew who Jessi was. She must have told the others I hung out with sixth-graders. I guess they found that amusing.
It didn’t matter. If Jessi could help me look like a good dancer, I’d be the one smiling after tryouts.
* * *
“Wow! Come on over!”
That was Jessi’s reaction when I phoned to ask for her help with the routine.
“Now?” I said. “The BSC meeting starts in an hour.”
“That’s plenty of time!”
“Oh, okay. I’ll be right there.”
I clomped upstairs and changed into my Danskins. I hadn’t worn them in ages. They were wrinkled and musty.
I didn’t care. This week they were going to get a workout. And so was I.
I was going to blow everyone away at the tryouts.
“Aaaaaugh! I am dying!”
My screaming did not faze Claudia one bit. She looked at the panicked face in my bedroom mirror. “What is it now, Stacey?”
I held out a fistful of my hair. “Look at this! I can’t leave the house. Call Robert! Tell him to cancel!”
Claudia sighed. “Stacey, that is a hair kink. It is not the end of the world. Many girls survive on dates with a kink in their hair.”
“How do you know?”
“I read a study, okay? It said that ninety-eight point two percent of all single-kink-haired girls under the age of fourteen have reported that their dates fell madly in love with them.” She grabbed my brush and began running it through my hair. “It’s a fact. In the Connecticut Journal of … Hair Disorders.”
I looked at her. She looked at me.
Together we burst out laughing. I fell off my chair.
There could be only one explanation for our bizarre behavior. Fear. Absolute, sheer terror.
Friday night had come much faster than I expected. Robert was due any minute. If Claudia hadn’t agreed to come over and help me out, I’d be a basket case.
I had had an awful night’s sleep on Thursday, and it showed. When I awoke, my hair looked like a swamp. I showered, I brushed, I managed to get rid of the knots and twists.
But nothing could get rid of The Kink.
When I climbed back onto my chair, it had gotten worse. One whole section of my hair looked as if it were trying to rise up out of my head. “Oh, Claudia, it looks like a wing. Maybe I should fly to Robert’s house and pick him up.”
“Why don’t you just wear a ski cap, if you’re so concerned?”
“Oh, right. So I can look all flat-haired like Morticia Addams when I take it off in the theater? Puh-leeze!”
Claudia threw up her arms. “Well, at least your outfit looks good.”
She was right. It did. Robert and I were only going to a movie and then a coffee shop. I didn’t want to overdress but I did want to look terrific, so I decided on a pair of new jeans with a brand-new white cotton cardigan with gorgeous floral embroidery and a scalloped, crocheted neckline. On my feet were suede ankle boots. Flat-bottomed suede ankle boots.
“Maybe I should wear something with more of a heel,” I said. “I mean, he’s so tall, and —”
Riiiing!
I grabbed the back of the chair to keep from keeling over.
“Calm down,” Claudia said. “And if you’re going to fall, fall on the kink. It might straighten out.”
“Claudia, don’t remind me of that!” I hissed.
“Stacey?” Mom called from downstairs. “Robert’s here!”
I gulped.
“Should I escort you by the arm?” Claudia asked.
“No, I think I can make it by myself.”
Claudia followed me down the steps. In the kitchen she squeezed my hand and said, “Good luck!”
I don’t remember if I answered her. As I headed for the living room, I caught a whiff of something I’d never smelled in the house.
Men’s cologne. Robert was wearing cologne. I didn’t know what brand it was, but I loved it.
“Hi, Stacey!” Robert said brightly as I entered the hallway. “Wow, you look great.”
“Thanks. You, too!” He was wearing a zipped-up down coat, but it was nice as down coats go.
Had I noticed he had a dimple on his left cheek before? Had I noticed his eyes were so dark and deep they seemed to pull me toward him like a hidden pond on a summer evening?
Had neither Claudia nor I noticed the price tag hanging from the bottom of my cardigan?
Well, Mom did. “Oops,” she said. “Let me get the scissors and cut that.”
“Oh! I can’t believe I left it there!” I yelped.
Robert laughed. It was a friendly laugh, not judgmental. “Don’t worry. No big deal.”
I could practically feel Claudia groaning in the kitchen.
Mom returned with the scissors and my coat. She cut the tag, we all said good-bye, and Robert and I left.
Mrs. Brewster was waiting in the car. “Hi, Stacey,” she said, and I saw immediately where Robert got his beautiful eyes. We chatted a moment, and she asked, “Where to?”
“Well,” Robert said. “I looked at the movie listings, and … I don’t know. What do you think?”
He handed me a carefully cut-out piece of newspaper. His mom turned on the overhead light.
&nbs
p; I looked down the list of movies at the cineplex. Mall Warriors II was playing on two screens now, and the rest looked pretty boring.
“Not such a great selection,” I said, giving the sheet back to him.
“Yeah.” Robert stuffed it in his coat pocket. “Maybe we should just get something to eat. You know, talk, maybe take a walk….”
Take a walk? In twenty-degree weather?
It sounded like a wonderful idea.
Mrs. Brewster drove us to a coffee shop called the Argo in downtown Stoneybrook. Her last words to us were, “Take your time. Call me when you’re ready.”
“Your mom’s really nice,” I said as we walked inside.
“Yeah,” Robert agreed. “For a mom.”
“Two?” asked a harried-looking waiter. He grabbed a couple of menus and led us to a cozy booth by a window.
As we sat, Robert asked, “Did you have dinner?”
“Yes,” I replied. “But go ahead and eat, if you want. I can order a salad or something.”
“I ate, too. I figured we’d be going to a movie.” He scanned the menu. “These deserts look great! How about this ‘Brownie Ice Cream Delight for Two’?”
“Uh, no …”
“Pecan pie a la mode? Or maybe carrot cake?” Suddenly he looked very solemn, as if he knew he’d made a mistake. “Or maybe something lighter, like yogurt?”
I took a deep breath. He seemed so caring and earnest. He hadn’t made fun of me for being a “girl” on a “diet.” Somehow I didn’t feel like dancing around the truth. I’d promised myself not to say anything about my diabetes, but I thought he deserved to know.
So I told him. He listened carefully, nodding and asking questions. He didn’t gag when I mentioned my injections.
And when I finished, he didn’t automatically change the subject, or look at me as if I were dying. He just said, “Wow, I’m glad you told me that. Otherwise you might have felt uncomfortable.”
Now, Robert could have said a lot of things. He could have told me how gorgeous I was. He could have compared my hair to a cascade of satin (well, kinked satin) and my eyes to sapphires.
But what he had just said was the most romantic thing I could have imagined.
I was loosening up. My hair did not bother me one bit.
“Are you ready?” The waiter was now hovering over us with pad and pen.
Stacey and the Cheerleaders Page 5