“Actually,” I said, “I need to go over some German notes with Moni. So, you know, pretty boring. If you want to…” There I was, in full-on babble mode.
“Yeah. I mean, Mangers and me, we have…notes too.”
“Hey, Paulson!” The voice boomed across the cafeteria. Rick Mangers, of course. “You gonna sit?”
Maybe I was used to getting laughed at in the cafeteria, but Jack wasn’t. The laughter wasn’t even all that mean (and I knew the difference), but it brought more pink to his cheeks—and mine, judging by how hot they felt.
“I’d better—,” Jack began.
“Yeah. Me too.” I resigned myself and turned for the geek table. Three things happened then, almost simultaneously:
Jack’s hand jostled my elbow. My milk carton pitched forward and landed—splat—on the floor. And in front of the entire cafeteria, Jack Paulson kissed my cheek.
A collective gasp went out before all the hooting and foot stomping. My head spun. And I spun, taking everything in at once. Jack’s retreating back, the quick grin over his shoulder, Moni’s expression of amazement, Todd’s raised eyebrow, and Chantal Simmons’s flowing hair as she marched from the cafeteria.
It couldn’t be happening. Except. It did. Moni sprang up and led me to the geek table, talking nonstop the whole time.
“Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. He kissed you. In the middle of the caf.” She planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I’m going to need more details. Seriously.”
“Yes. Please share,” Todd said. “Perhaps you two have a grab and grope penciled in before the next bell?”
Moni spared him a sniff and a glare. “Ignore him. Oh, oh, don’t look.”
And so, of course, I tried to.
“I said don’t look.” She aimed a little finger wave at the jock table. “That was Rick. I think he’s giving Jack a hard time—but in a good way.”
The screech of chair legs against linoleum stopped all conversation at our table. Brian stood, shoving his sack lunch books, scientific calculator, and some Dungeons & Dragons dice into his backpack.
“Brian, don’t—,” I started, but it was too late. He stormed from the cafeteria. Todd, with a long-suffering sigh, gathered his own things and followed.
“Brian’s really upset about Rick,” I said once they’d both left.
“Then maybe he can do something about it,” Moni countered.
I’d have to amend my theory. Maybe for every awful thing that happened in the cafeteria, something wonderful happened for someone else, until it all evened out. Cafeteria karma. Good or bad, you didn’t get a choice. It just happened.
The doors to the gym were closed when Moni and I arrived in the lobby for practice. I could barely hear the thump of basketballs, or catch a glimpse of Jack through the small windows as he drove for a layup. And that wasn’t all that was different. Sheila stood in the center of the space, inspecting a broken fingernail. A rogue lock of hair stood apart from its perfectly coiffed brethren. Her lips were dull, as if she’d chewed all the gloss off of them.
Six folding chairs lined the wall in front of the trophy case. Six women, in various states of daintiness, sat upon them.
Moni lifted her eyebrows at me, then shrugged. Most of the others on the squad fidgeted, pulled threads from their T-shirts, and stared at the floor. Only Kaleigh and Cassidy seemed at ease.
Sheila clapped her hands. “Girls!” she shouted.
We took what had become our usual spots in the formation two rows of five and one with just two. Except in classes where everyone sat alphabetically, Moni and I always took spots near the front. But here, in cheerleading land, we knew our place—the rear.
“As you might have noticed,” Sheila began, “we have some visitors with us today.” She adjusted a bra strap. “Our little group has come to the, um, attention of the school board, and they—” She paused to inspect her manicure again. “They would like to see, firsthand, how hard you all are working. I know you won’t disappoint them.” With that, Sheila looked at each of us, holding her gaze for a split second longer than was comfortable.
She gestured to the chairs. “You all know Ms. Torrez, Mrs. Hanson.”
The vice principal and guidance counselor half-waved from their chairs. “And Ms. Bailey.” The consumer and family sciences teacher nodded from hers.
“Some of you may know our other guests, Mrs. Dunne…” The wrestling mom, seated next to Mrs. Hanson, smiled at the entire squad. When she got to the back row, she winked at Moni and me.
“Mrs. Bartell and Mrs. Anderson,” Sheila finished.
Of course. Mrs. Bartell was Kaleigh’s mom, though I couldn’t spot a resemblance. Cassidy and her mother, on the other hand, looked like they could be clones.
Moni shuffled closer to me and whispered, “Shit. This can’t be good.”
I might’ve whispered my agreement back, if Mrs. Bartell Sheila, and Ms. Torrez hadn’t all cleared their throats at once. Shit, indeed, I thought.
Sheila clapped her hands one more time. “Stretches,” she said.
And we stretched. Except for occasional murmurs from our “audience,” most of practice continued as usual. We’d worked through stretches, into stunts, then chants, before Sheila called out sharply, “Cassidy!”
We all froze in place when Cassidy spun, not in the direction of our coach, but toward her mother. She had a See, I told you so look on her face. Mrs. Anderson went rigid.
Sheila walked over and held a hand in front of Cassidy’s pouting mouth. There was nothing so unusual about that, either. At least three times a week our captain forgot to spit out her gum before practice. But this time, instead of complying with her normal grudging eye roll, she blew a bubble.
It was as if we really were a collective of cheerleaders then; every one of us drew in a breath, even Kaleigh. Sheila barely flinched. Without moving her hand, she turned toward Mrs. Anderson, tilted her chin up, just a notch, and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long. Mrs. Anderson left her seat in a flash. She reached her daughter in a few long (yet dainty) strides, grabbed Cassidy by the wrist, and marched her down the hall and around the corner. Whoa.
“Let’s work on the dance routine now,” Sheila said. She hit the on button and turned up the volume on the CD player. It wasn’t quite enough to drown out Cassidy’s plaintive, “But Mom…”
After practice ended, I waited by the lobby doors. Most everyone had left, even Moni, but Sheila still stood in the center of the lobby, her back to me. She took a few deep breaths, then tucked her hair beneath a knit hat.
“Sheila?” I said, when she’d gathered her stuff and approached the exit.
“Yes?”
“I—I was wondering.” The rest of the words came out in a rush. “Was this because of me and Moni?”
“Oh, Bethany, sweetie, no.”
“Then…what?”
Sheila sighed. “Let’s just say that, for some people, high school never really ends.” I must have grimaced, because she added, “It does get better, though, I promise.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
She tilted her head to the side and rearranged the tote bag on her shoulder. “Are you giving it your best effort?”
I started to nod, but really, I thought, was I? Moni and I had started this thing as a joke—at least I had. Then it all became real, and I did try. But somewhere along the way I’d settled for just surviving the season. That wasn’t fair to the rest of the squad. And it certainly wasn’t fair to Sheila.
“I will,” I vowed. “I will.”
Moni and I agreed to make good on that vow. Just how we would do it stumped us at first. It wasn’t like we could ask the other girls on the squad for help. Over the next few days, any time we didn’t have a game or a meet, we met at my house to practice. We worked on stretches (Moni still couldn’t do the splits) and the dances (Shelby shimmied and kicked along with us), but it still wasn’t enough.
On Thursday I said,
“Remember that cheerleading website, the one with the wrestling cheers? Do you think there’s more cheerleading stuff online?”
It turned out there were thousands of cheerleaders on the web, and they all wanted to share their knowledge with us. They didn’t seem to mind that we were newbies and dorks—probably because we weren’t their school’s newbies and dorks. Whatever. They added us to e-mail lists and sent us links to instructional videos.
“Don’t you think it’s a little weird?” I said to Moni. “You could become a cheerleader and not even have to leave your house.”
She snorted but continued scrolling through the videos. “This is it!”
“What?”
“A shoulder sit. It’s a two-person stunt; we can do it on our own. How’s that sound?”
“Dangerous?”
“Only if you mean dangerously close to perfect.”
Shoulder sit? A lot harder than it looks. Especially when you’re the base (the sittee in cheerleading-speak) and not the flyer (the sitter).
“Think of it, Bee,” said Moni, and I swear, her eyes got all misty. “We could do this at the next wrestling meet.” Where, oh by the way, Rick Mangers was bound to be.
I huffed about it a little, but I went along. She had a point. Being the school’s cheerleading joke (at worst) or just mediocre (at best) wasn’t sitting well with either of us. We were honor-roll girls; we were used to collecting gold stars for our efforts.
By late Saturday afternoon, my thigh was imprinted with the sole of Moni’s Skecher and my shoulders ached. Even after we recruited Shelby as a spotter, I still dumped Moni on my bed at least ten times.
Then we got it. Moni locked her legs behind my back. She raised her arms in a V, and I stuck my fists on my hips. We held it there for one…two…three seconds.
Shelby let out a congratulatory whoop just as the phone rang.
And Moni and I still held it.
Shelby grabbed the phone. “Hello, Bethany’s room,” she said.
Moni started to shake with laughter.
“Is it Todd?” I asked.
Shelby’s eyes were huge. “No, it’s a boy!”
Moni shook harder and tumbled from my shoulders to the bed. Shelby pushed the phone at me. Before I could say hello, Jack’s voice filled my ear.
“It’s not Moni,” he said, “or Todd.”
“I guessed.” I glanced at Moni and mouthed, It’s Jack.
“Whatcha doing?” he asked.
“Moni and I were…” Did I admit to Jack Paulson that we were striving to become better cheerleaders? “Hanging out,” I finished.
“Oh, ’cause I was thinking,” he said, “if you wanted, you could maybe come over for dinner. You know, as thanks for lunch last week.”
“You don’t—”
“Nothing fancy,” Jack added, his voice sounding rushed. “Me and my dad, and then a Timberwolves game.”
“More basketball?” Just what I needed.
“Do you mind?”
Actually, I didn’t. “I don’t have to cheer through the whole thing, do I?”
Jack laughed but then fell silent, waiting for me to answer.
I held my hand over the receiver and whispered to Moni, “He wants me to come over for dinner.”
“Are you crazy?” She practically spat the words. “Say yes already!”
Shelby bounced with excitement.
“I could pick you up,” said Jack. “And bring you home.”
“I—I have to talk to my parents,” I said. There was no way around that, even if it did sound middle school. Geek Night was one thing. Dinner at Jack’s? Maybe some kids could get away with going wherever they pleased, but especially after last weekend, my parents would completely freak if I said I’d go without getting permission first.
Shelby turned toward the door. “Mo-o-o-m! Da-a-a-d!” I grabbed her and covered her mouth. I tried to hand her off to Moni, but she squirmed free. The two of us raced for the living room.
“There’s-a-boy-on-Bethany’s-phone.” Shelby stopped to take a breath. “And-he-wants-to—”
My parents looked up. At that same moment I heard Jack laugh and say, “Hang on a sec.”
“What’s going on?” both Mom and Dad asked.
I shot Shelby a glance that said, If your fingers ever want to touch pom-poms again…And miraculously, she grew still.
“Uh, hold on,” I said. I strained to decipher the muted noises coming from Jack’s house. From my room, I heard Moni giggling.
“Bethany? This is Dale Paulson.”
“Uh, hi, Mr. Paulson.”
“Please, call me Dale. Can I speak to your mom or dad?”
“Sure.” Since Dad was closest, I handed him the phone. “It’s Mr. Paulson,” I said.
He looked from the phone to Mom, who raised an eyebrow. He spoke to Jack’s dad for a moment. “It’s more than fine.”
Whew, that sounded positive.
“We had the contractors in, and they said they couldn’t have done a better job themselves.”
Oh, the basement. Of course. What else would they talk about? Then my dad looked toward me and blinked. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, then handed the phone back to me.
“Hey.” It was Jack.
“Hi.”
“So, can you be ready in about twenty minutes?”
My mind catalogued the contents of my closet and dresser drawers. Twenty minutes? There were those cute jeans I got for Christmas. And the chunky knit sweater that matched my black sneakers. I was a little sweaty from practicing with Moni—and from racing Shelby—but nothing a little deodorant, face powder, and lip gloss wouldn’t fix.
“Bethany?” said Jack.
“Oh. Sorry. I was…I was…” Then I gave up and admitted, “I was thinking about what to wear.”
“Will that take more than twenty minutes?”
“Nope.”
Jack laughed. “Gotta love a low-maintenance girl. So we’re on?”
I looked at my mom and dad. “I—I think so.” I held my hand over the receiver again and asked my parents, “Please?”
Shelby echoed, “Please, please?”
“What about Moni?” Mom asked.
“Moni’s going home!” came the cry from my bedroom. Even Mom’s lips twitched at that.
“We don’t really know Jack,” Mom said, then added, “that well.”
I couldn’t exactly plead with them while Jack was on the other end of the phone, Moni was down the hall, and while Shelby was still threatening to spontaneously combust at my side. Besides, I understood their concern. This wasn’t Todd or Brian. This was Jack Paulson, the star of the basketball team, the boy who could have any girl he wanted.
In my mom and dad’s world, life was like a ginormous graph, where everything was neatly plotted out. My trajectory and Jack’s should never intersect. But that was on paper. Chalk one up to variable C—otherwise known as cheerleading.
“Dale says he’ll chaperone,” Dad said. “I think it’s okay.”
“Don’t you usually go to Todd’s on Saturdays?” asked Mom.
Yeah. I did. If I wanted things to get better with Todd, I really should go to Geek Night. But, I justified, it had always been an open invitation. No one held it against you when you couldn’t make it. It might not work that way with Todd, though. Not now. Not if he found out about Jack. Was I really the sort of girl who would blow off her friends for some guy?
Todd would call me a sellout (or worse) if I ditched him for Jack. Moni would call me an imbecile (or worse) if I didn’t. I couldn’t win. Then I thought of Jack, with my copy of Pride and Prejudice tucked in the pocket of his letter jacket.
“Todd will understand,” I said. Or not, as the case might be. I’d deal with that on Monday. But tonight?
Mom pulled at a snarl in her needlepoint, then nodded.
Tonight I was headed to Jack’s.
When I got back to my room, Moni sat on my bed, scrolling through the display on her cell phone.
Shelby had my sophomore yearbook open to the boys’ basketball page.
“Him?” She pointed to Jack. “You’re going out with him?”
“Looks that way,” I said.
“Didn’t he come to our house once?”
I nodded.
“Wow.”
“Uh, wow,” I said, nudging Moni’s foot with mine.
“Huh?” Moni tucked her phone into her pocket, then stood. “Have fun at Jack’s.”
This was so unlike her. Five minutes ago, she nearly went through the roof.
“Moni, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Why would anything be wrong? You’re going out with Jack Paulson. I get to go home and watch my mom and Starbucks Boy rehearse before they take off for a poetry slam.”
Oh, so that was it. “You want me to cancel?”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice went fierce. “One of us”—she waved a hand at my laptop, where the video cheerleaders were frozen in a shoulder sit—“should get something out of this.”
She left. I heard her chirp good-bye to my parents. A minute later her mom’s car was crunching snow in the driveway. I considered calling Todd. I could try to force him to play nice, ask him to extend a special Geek Night invitation to Moni. That probably wouldn’t work. If Todd and I had hit a rocky patch in our friendship, the space between Todd and Moni was strewn with boulders.
Maybe I could get ahold of Brian. But that might be even worse. He’d buried his nose in Gamers’ World magazines at our lunch table all week, refusing to even look at Moni (at least when Moni was looking back). I had less than twenty minutes to get ready for Jack, and something told me the only phone number Moni wanted to see on her cell was Rick’s.
The doorbell rang while I was still pulling the sweater over my head. I peeked out the window. The battered red Toyota sat in our driveway, exhaust billowing, forming a thin cloud over the snow-covered lawn. I raced downstairs in time to see Jack shake Dad’s hand, smile at my mom, and wink at Shelby.
“After the game?” Jack said.
They were discussing curfews. Oh. Great.
Dad nodded. “Sounds fair, but call if it goes into overtime.”
The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading Page 14