The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading (13 page)

Instead of my throat clamping up, I relaxed. “Really?” I said. “They have basketball on the radio?”

“Yeah.” He said it like it was the most normal thing ever. “I can see the game in my head.”

Even though I was really glad it was Jack on the line, I didn’t want to miss talking to Moni. I reached for my laptop and logged on to IM, thinking she might try to message me.

“That sounded lame,” said Jack.

What sounded lame?
Had I managed to say something stupid without even knowing it? I wound back through the conversation. Oh. “Seeing the game in your head doesn’t sound lame at all,” I told him. “That’s how reading is for me. Kind of like watching a movie, but in your brain.”

My IM program flashed. QT_Pi (aka Moni) wanted to chat.

Yeah. I was teasing her. On the phone, Jack said, “You wouldn’t want to help a dumb jock with his homework, would you?”

I laughed. “What’s the subject?”

“Pretty much all of them.”

Instead of typing actual words, Moni filled her entire message space with exclamation points, followed by one word:
DEEETAILS
. In all caps.

Nothing. I tried again.

Her IM icon went gray. So long, Moni. Hello, Jack. For a while, we discussed his Grammar and Comp class, which frustrated him. And trig, which frustrated us both. Math was always Moni’s subject, not mine.

“Oh, man,” he said as I heard the ref ’s whistle blow again. “T-wolves suck—and so do I. This stuff is too hard. College—what was I thinking?”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“U of M, but I have to get a scholarship first.”

“Basketball, right?”

“I’m hoping,” he said.

“You’ll look good in maroon and gold.”

“It’s not a sure thing.”

Wasn’t it? “Okay, so I don’t know a lot about basketball,” I said, “but I know talent when I see it. You have talent, Jack Paulson. Any Big Ten school would want you.”

“They’d want you, too, along with Harvard, Yale…all the rest.”

“Right,” I said. “That’s Todd’s thing.”

With the mention of Todd, Jack went so quiet that I could hear the game’s play-by-play in the background. I’d learned enough about basketball to know the T-wolves really were sucking—and so was our conversation.

“What?” I asked.

“He’s—” Jack paused. “Really smart.”

“So?” But I got it. Hard to believe
the
Jack Paulson might be jealous of Todd Emerson, dork extraordinaire. “You’re smart too,” I said.

“Not like…that. Not like…you.”

“There’s different kinds of smart,” I said. “There’s smart in your head and then there’s—”
Smart in your heart,
I wanted to say, but just thinking it made me blush.

“There’s…?” Jack prompted.

“There’s, uh—” I scrambled to come up with something that didn’t make me sound like I was doing a commercial for Lifetime TV. Got it. “Who’s the guy talking on the phone, doing homework, and seeing a basketball game in his head? You’re still doing all of that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, that’s smart,” I said. “Hey, you want an easy way to raise your history grade?”

“Can I still listen to the game?”

I laughed, then explained the ins and outs of World History extra-credit projects. “You could do basketball through the ages,” I suggested. “Did you know the ancient Mayans played a game that’s kind of a cross between basketball and soccer? Of course, the losers were sacrificed.”

Jack burst out laughing. “Good thing those weren’t the rules when I played freshman year.”

After a while, we simply talked, low and quiet. No more shrill whistle in the background, no more ancient Mayans, no regrets about skipping Geek Night. No more sacrifices, either. The pauses weren’t torturous. They just were. I simply was. With Jack. In a weekend of amazing things, that was the most amazing.

I
’d really hoped to see Jack before first bell on Monday. Hoped it, and dreaded it too. What if he acted like nothing was different? I scanned the space above the students crowding the hall. That was the best way to spot Jack.

But not Moni. She barreled into me, out of breath, her curls flying. She pulled me against an empty spot along the bank of lockers.

“I hate to say I told you so,” she said, “but—”

“I know. I know. This cheerleading thing is paying off. Big-time.”

“Say it like you mean it. Come on.” Moni bent her head toward mine. “Jack Paulson and Rick Mangers?”

Okay, so Moni had a point.

“It’s way more than just the cheerleading thing with Rick,” Moni added. “We have so much in common. His parents are divorced too.
Finally
, someone who gets it.” She leaned against the lockers and sighed. “You have no idea.”

Moni didn’t say it to be mean, but her words still caused my stomach to lurch. Hadn’t I been there for Moni
the whole time
? But Rick Mangers comes along, and after a couple of phone calls, now
he’s
the one who totally gets it?

Before I could say anything or change the subject, Rick Mangers slid in front of us.

“Hey, spark plug. We got ten minutes until the bell. Wanna split a doughnut?”

Moni played it cooler than I could’ve imagined. She took Rick’s arm and they glided down the hall, making a way cute couple—her smarts for his strength. I thought about following them. Maybe Jack was in the cafeteria, shoveling down spoonfuls of oatmeal.

But that meant a trip through the gauntlet. It meant chatting with Moni, which was fine, but it also meant seeing Jack—at school, with everyone around. If he blew me off? Well, I wasn’t sure I could take it.

I turned toward honors history instead, then stopped. I might be even less popular in there, especially since I’d neglected Mussolini in favor of the Mayans. I stood between my two choices, each of them uncertain territory, until the bell rang.

What I didn’t realize until I walked the halls to third-period Independent Reading was this: Every single tile on the school floor, every classroom, every encounter was uncertain territory—and I didn’t have a map.

I slipped into my chair, one of the first people in class. I went through all the motions—books tucked under my desk, notebook, novel, pen and pencil ready. I waited for Jack to walk through the door. When someone tall, with dark hair, sauntered in, my heart landed in my throat. I couldn’t choke out a single word.

Not that I needed to. It was Ryan Nelson. I’m not sure how I looked: disappointed, relieved, insane? All I knew was he burst out laughing—but not before he winked at me.

I opened my book and reread the opening line to
Pride and Prejudice
. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a…” I closed my eyes and crossed all my fingers under the desk.
Oh, please
, I thought,
don’t let Jack Paulson be as girlproof as I once imagined
. I’d only glanced away for a second or two, but when I turned back, Jack stood at his desk, staring at it rather than me.

The bell rang.

Jack still stood there.

“Well, Mr. Paulson.” Mr. Wilker paused in writing Regency-era vocabulary on the whiteboard. “Plan to join the rest of us?”

More laughter, from Ryan—who hadn’t really stopped—and the rest of the class. Jack slumped in his seat. His books landed on the desk with a thump. From the corner of my eye, I could see the neat pile, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. I was almost too afraid to look, but I had to know. Was I about to get majorly dissed?

I turned.

He turned.

I smiled.

He—
thank God
—smiled.

I floated for the rest of Independent Reading. Mr. Wilker called on me. I gave answers. Since no one laughed (again), I assumed I hadn’t substituted Jack’s name for Mr. Darcy’s. Something told me that was the result of pure luck.

I floated all the way to lunch, too. When Jack landed in line behind me, my feet barely touched the floor.

“Hey,” he said.

I craned my neck to peer into his face. “Hey.”

Scintillating conversation would have to wait, especially with the way Jack piled his tray with food. I felt my eyes grow wide. If he shoveled it in every second between the time he sat down and the bell for sixth period, could he eat it all? Maybe. Did jocks eat that much all the time?

Jack’s gaze went from my face, to his tray, and back again. “Carbo-loading. For tomorrow’s game.”

“Wow,” I said, “you’re dedicated.”

We waited in line for the cashier together. We picked up forks, napkins, and ketchup together. We even took the first few steps down the middle aisle of the cafeteria together. Then Jack turned one way. And I went the other.

He froze. I froze.

Moni sat at the geek table, a hand clasped over her mouth. Clearly, she saw the problem. Todd looked at the soda machine, the ceiling, and even ducked his head under the table like he’d dropped something. Clearly, he didn’t care about the problem.

Opposite the geeks, in a corner near the door, was the jock table, with one chair empty. True, no one had stenciled paulson across the back. But it was Jack’s chair. And there certainly wasn’t one beside it marked and his geeky new girlfriend.

I stood there, wondering why every awful thing in the universe had to happen right in the middle of the cafeteria.

“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.