Say Yes to the Cheerleader

by Abby Crofton

  “So what happened? You find enough blackmail material to force Madison out of the race? Or did you make promises you have no intention of keeping, like every other politician?” I snarked back. Eddy brought out the worst in me sometimes.

  “Nope, neither was necessary,” she said. “I just convinced those swing votes that I was the candidate who would best represent the interests of all students in our grade, regardless of race, sex, gender identity, blah, blah, blah, you get the idea. Plus, I might have mentioned that Philanuzzi had her eye on some cisgendered guy on the basketball team. Really took her appeal down a notch when they realized that no amount of lesbian moms can make a straight girl anything less than boy crazy,” she finished with a shrug.

  “Ah,” I said, nodding my head exaggeratedly. “Negative campaigning. Sleazy but effective. Congratulations on your win,” I said in my most sarcastic voice. Eddy either didn’t catch it or didn't care.

  “Thanks. All that’s left is for the voting to happen, and I’ll be back on track with my life plan,” she said.

  I had to resist turning to her because I was driving. She deserved a double dose of my raised eyebrows. “You’re already taking a victory lap before the voting even happens? You know what they say—don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” I said as we pulled into the driveway at home. I saw that both my mom’s and dad’s cars were in the garage as I parked behind them. I had been hoping that their plans would change and they would both be out tonight. No such luck.

  As we walked up the driveway to the front door, Eddy said, “Voting is just a formality at this point. The election is next week, and I’ve got my votes locked in. There will be nothing less than total victory in less than seven days.”

  As I walked through the front door, I saw my dad sitting on the couch with the remote in his hand. The channels on the television were changing too fast for me to see what was on any of the stations.

  “How was school?” he shouted in the general direction of the front foyer. His eyes had not strayed from the kaleidoscope of images on the television.

  “Fine,” I responded. “I have a study session with a classmate tonight. Eddy is making a mockery of democracy. So nothing new, really.”

  “Sounds great,” he said in a preoccupied voice. A sports highlights show was on for a few seconds before that too was jettisoned for another channel.

  “Democracy is overrated,” my sister called down from halfway up the stairs. She must have been going to her room to work on her next grand plan.

  My dad turned to where I was standing right behind the sofa. “Do I need to be worried about your sister?” he said half seriously.

  “Only if you try to stand in her way. Then she’ll crush you underneath her sensible flats,” I responded.

  “Then we must keep the resistance hidden for all our sakes.” We grinned at each other. I definitely knew where I got my sense of humor from. My dad and I preferred sarcasm and dry wit, while my mom found physical comedy hilarious. Especially if there was the chance for injury. She was maybe one of the last people in the country to still watch that home video show.

  Eddy was a robot whose humor functionality had malfunctioned and ceased to work years ago.

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked my dad.

  He turned back to the television and continued his browsing. He raised his arm pointed a thumb toward the kitchen. “In there.”

  “And why aren’t you helping?” I asked.

  He mumbled something that I didn’t catch.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I asked.

  He was silent for a few seconds before repeating what he had said, this time a bit louder. “It’s taco night.”

  That was all I needed to know. Ever since an unfortunate instance where he had cooked up some ground beef for tacos when my mom was late coming home one night, he had been banned from contributing anything when tacos were being made. He wasn’t even allowed to cut the cilantro or onions.

  Both my parents were Mexican, but they had grown up very differently. My dad’s mother and father, who had both died before I was born, when he was still in college, had been something like fifth-generation Americans. My mom, however, was first generation, so she had grown up with the more traditional dishes. That meant ground beef tacos with hard shells were banned from the house. In my house, tacos were made with chicken or carne asada, mom’s homemade tortillas, and cilantro, onions, and lime. They were traditional and really good.

  But when I was in the mood for a crunchy taco, I had to sneak Taco Bell. I was pretty sure my dad made those secret runs from time to time too.

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  He just shrugged and continued watching the television. I always believed that he thought my mom had overreacted to the entire taco incident, but knew not to press the point.

  I walked into the kitchen to find my mom setting some ingredients on the kitchen counter. I spotted the lard and wrinkled my nose. Homemade tortillas were delicious, but I preferred not to acknowledge that it was lard that made them taste so good.

  “What time do you think we’re having dinner tonight? A classmate is coming over for a study session at six, and I know that’s around the time we usually have dinner.”

  My mom stopped organizing her ingredients and looked up at me. “Why don’t you two have dinner with us, then you can study?” she suggested. “We have plenty of food for another person.”

  I thought about it for a few seconds. Kate Monroe had said that she would be coming straight to my house from cheer practice. Would she appreciate a home-cooked meal after practice, or would she just want to get the study session over with as soon as possible?

  “I’ll find out. Give me a few minutes,” I said to my mom.

  I pulled out my phone and opened my text app. My thumb hovered over my newest entry: Kate Monroe. Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed on the name and started typing a text message.

  Me: Hi Kate did you want to have dinner when you come over ton—

  I stopped and rethought what I was going to type, then backspaced.

  Me: Hi Kate are we still on for tonight?

  I deleted that. It sounded like I was confirming a date.

  Me: Hi Kate is the study session still on for tonight?

  I sent the text before I could delete it again. But right after I pressed send, I mentally kicked myself. Her practice had probably already started, and I had a horrible vision of her phone buzzing when she was at the top of the pyramid and it startling her enough to send her tumbling headfirst to the ground. Before my imagination could picture Kate Monroe’s lifeless body twisted unnaturally because of my text message, my phone buzzed. I quickly opened the new message.

  Kate Monroe: Yes I can make it. Is it ok for you?

  I let out a relieved breath. She was still alive.

  Me: Still ok!

  Me: Did you want to have dinner here? My mom is making trad tacos.

  A quick thought came to me.

  Me: Is chicken ok?

  I had no idea if Kate Monroe was a vegetarian, or allergic to chicken, or had any other dietary restrictions. Should I mention the presence of lard? That might have a big effect on her decision to eat here or not.

  Kate Monroe: Sure! Thanks!

  Kate Monroe: Should I bring anything?

  I wouldn’t mention the lard unless it came up. I couldn’t worry about that now.

  Me: Nope! See you soon!

  I stared at the phone in my hand, but no other texts came through.

  “Haley,” a voice said. I looked up to see my mom. I had forgotten that she was there.

  “Oh,” I said. “She’s good with dinner. I just wanted to make sure she was okay with chicken. She said it was fine.” My mom gave me this look like she was trying to figure something out. I hoped I hadn’t looked weird when I was sending those texts.

  “And who exactly is coming over? Have I met this classmate before?” she asked.

  Here came the tricky part. I tried to keep my facial
expressions nonchalant as I responded to my mom's innocent question. “Her name is Kate Monroe. We have history together and she missed a class, so we’re having a study session to cover the things she missed. Plus some studying to get ready for the exam coming up.” I hoped my voice didn’t betray the nervousness I felt.

  “Oh, that’s nice that you can help her with the classwork she missed,” she said. “Too bad she doesn’t have a close friend to help her with that class. I know how much you and Marie rely on each other when you two are in the same class.”

  I remembered Megan from class and felt a momentary fissure of doubt.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m glad I can help her.”

  My mom smiled at me. Just sort of stared and smiled, like she was waiting for me to say something else.

  I broke like she knew I would. “She’s nice,” I blurted out. “I mean, I haven’t talked to her that much, but she seems nice.” I tried to keep my mouth shut, but it refused to listen to my brain. “She’s a cheerleader. She’s coming over from practice, so she might be in her uniform. So watch out for that.” What was I even saying at this point? “I mean, don’t be surprised if she comes in her uniform.” That’s it, no more talking. Seriously, I just had to shut up.

  My mom raised her eyebrows. “Thanks for the warning. But I’m not sure cheerleaders practice in their uniforms. But I could be wrong. It’s been awhile since I was in high school,” she said.

  She turned back to her taco preparations and left me feeling like I wanted to sew my lips together so I would never talk again. Then one final shot. “But it will be cool to meet a new…” she started, and here she paused. It was brief, but it definitely happened. “…friend of yours,” she finished, with an emphasis on the word “friend.” She was getting ideas. And worse yet, she was getting ideas that were a little too close to home.

  Kate Monroe would be at my house in a matter of hours. She would be having dinner with my family. My mom more than likely knew that something was going on with her. And maybe there was. But probably not.

  I was still holding out a slim hope she would show up in her cheer uniform.

  Chapter 6

  It was almost six. The food smelled delicious. Eddy hadn’t been seen since we’d gotten home from school. My mom had let my dad back in the kitchen once most of the food was ready. Small victory for my dad there. Marie had sent about fifteen texts, all of them asking various questions and making unhelpful suggestions, about Kate Monroe.

  Who would be here at any minute. I was strangely calm. At first, I was worried that I was having a nervous breakdown. But I had gone so far past terrified that I was in a whole other, undefined zone of terror. My entire body was tingling, and my mind seemed to be working super slow. At that point, I didn’t even know if I would be able to actually say anything to her when she came. I walked up to my room and then back downstairs again, so I knew my body still worked.

  The couch in the living room had been my base for the past half hour. After my dad had joined my mom in the kitchen, I had taken his place in front of the television. But instead of the constant channel flipping, an infomercial had been on since I sat down. If someone asked me the next day what product that infomercial had been selling, I didn’t think I could tell them if it was a juicer or an exercise bike.

  I checked my phone again. It was 5:58. Two more minutes and Kate Monroe would be here. In my home. Under the same roof where I had imagined us on delightful dates together. My worlds were about to collide: home versus school, reality versus fantasy. And I didn’t know what would happen upon collision.

  My parents had left me alone in the couple of hours since I’d talked with my mom. I was almost 100 percent sure my mom had said something to my dad about my reaction to texting Kate Monroe. I thought I should start carrying around a mirror so I could see exactly what my face looked like as I did different things. Both Marie and Eddy had commented on it in the last couple of days. It was disturbing that I was apparently so transparent. I was scared to death what Kate Monroe saw on my face when she looked at me.

  The doorbell rang. It was probably her. My heart started beating faster, and then I was off the couch and on my feet. Before I knew it, I was at the door. I could see a glimpse of blonde hair through the little window by the door, and then I opened it and there she was.

  Her hair was up in a ponytail, and little wisps were flying around her head like a crazy little halo. Her face, with her blue, blue eyes, was a little red around the cheeks and across her nose. I guessed cheer practice had been particularly vigorous that afternoon.

  No uniform. I was not sure whether to be relieved or not. Because instead of a sleeveless uniform top with a short skirt, she was wearing an oversized white T-shirt with our school logo on it and yoga pants. Yoga pants are simultaneously the best and the worst things ever.

  “Hi,” I said, hoping that my greeting wasn’t too late. I wasn’t sure how long I had been standing there, looking at Kate Monroe on my front door step, before I actually said anything to her. This visit was not going how I’d wanted it to, and it had only been a few seconds.

  She didn’t look put out, though. She actually looked happy to see me. “Hi,” she said back, giving me a wave. I was noticing that was a thing she did, at least when she saw me. A little wave to accompany her greeting. She really was friendly.

  Shaking myself out of my Kate Monroe appreciation haze, I stepped back and held the door open for her. “Sorry, come in. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

  She stepped through the doorway, and now she was officially in my house. I never thought this would ever happen.

  “Thanks for inviting me to dinner,” she said. “I didn’t get to eat anything before practice. Usually I grab a snack, but today I was in a rush and didn’t get to have my granola bar. So I’m pretty hungry now. So thanks again. For feeding me.” She trailed off at the end of the last sentence, as if regretting what she had just said. I didn’t think she’d said anything regrettable, but now she was looking around the front area of the house in a way that was less curiosity and more avoidance.

  Trying to make her feel more at ease since she seemed nervous (though I had no idea what she would be nervous about; I was the one whose crush was now in her home after two days of smiles and unannounced car visits), I walked over to where she had wandered, closer to the living room. I noticed she had her backpack on. “You can put your bag down here,” I said, pointing to a corner near the stairs. “We can study in the living room after dinner, or in my room, or somewhere else. My sister might be lurking around, so we can figure that out later.” I momentarily felt bad about giving Kate Monroe a negative view of my sister, but sometimes the truth hurt.

  “Your room would be great!” she said enthusiastically. As if she’d realized she’d said that maybe too enthusiastically, she backtracked. “I mean, your room would be fine. Whatever works is fine with me. The living room is fine too. This is your house, so any room you want to study in is fine with me.” She was nodding as if to reassure me. I was amazed that she’d said the word “fine” so many times in so few sentences.

  "I guess we can see what my parents will be doing after dinner. If they want to watch a movie or something, then the kitchen or my room would probably be the best bet," I said. She was still nodding, standing in my living room. It was so weird having Kate Monroe in my house. Especially since she looked very uncomfortable. Her fingers were playing with each other like they had in the car this morning. She hadn't moved to put her bag down, either.

  I moved toward her with the intention of taking her bag. Before I was able to get any words out, though, her eyes widened and she took a half step back from me. I could tell it was just an instinctual reaction.

  But I froze, not knowing now if I should ask for the bag or not. So we just stood there looking at each other. She didn't look afraid, just surprised. I guess I had startled her. I could see her throat work as she swallowed, and then she opened her mouth to speak. I had learned while babys
itting that sometimes it was best just to stay silent for a little bit to get the information that you wanted from someone. So I just stood there, watching her. And I waited. And waited.

  She continued to stand there almost frozen, just blinking her eyes and breathing. Maybe she had hit her head during cheer practice?

  "I can take your bag from you if you’d like," I slowly said, not wanting to startle her from whatever thoughts had temporarily short-circuited her brain. That seemed to do the trick, because she was moving again now, slinging her bag from her back and holding it in front of her with one hand.

  "Thanks," she responded. She held it out toward me to take. I grabbed it with one hand, mirroring her hold, and promptly keeled over with the sudden weight. Well, that was embarrassing.

  Any hope that Kate Monroe had somehow missed my failure to hold up her backpack right in front of her was dashed when she reached for it herself to lift it back up. “Oh, sorry! I should have warned you that it was so heavy. I have a lot of books in there, plus all my other stuff. I guess I’ve gotten so used to it that I don’t even notice how heavy it is anymore.” She then made a show of using both of her hands to set it aside. “I really shouldn’t overpack it. I’m going to kill my back if I keep carrying it around like that,” she said with a little laugh.

  I sighed. “No, I’m sorry. These things”—and here I wiggled my arms around a bit for emphasis—“are mostly just for show. As you just saw, I’m not exactly in the best shape. I really should start working out more.” I paused before I said, “Or at all, really.”

  She brightened up at this. “We can be workout buddies if you want! My parents bought some exercise equipment a few years ago for the house, and I’m the only one who uses any of it. You could come by anytime and use the treadmill, or we could lift some weights if you want to build some strength.” She gasped and her eyes lit up. “We could put together a plan, too, so we know exactly what to work on each session. How does that sound?” she asked.