by Suzanne Remetio

This story was written for Dr. Frederick Logan's Term IV ENGL 294 course via DE.

(Photo: istock.com)

“Sarah, we have got to try out together.”

“Omigosh Gemma, I was totally thinking the same thing! We must be, sisters or something.”

“Like, yeah, I know. Like, we only have a month to create a totally bitchin’ cheer.”

We walked away from the glittery poster giggling about our impromptu cheerleader spoof. Gemma’s laughter echoed through the school hall-way. I wove my arm into Gemma’s and clumsily walked out of step causing us to stumble. We laughed like school girls. Horns hummed out of tune as we skipped past the band room. Once outside Gemma adjusted her backpack. She was up to something. We started walking toward my house. Every five seconds it seemed Gemma was shifting her bag and spying me with her big blue marble eyes. Gemma looked so cute with her glittered eye-shadow and crimped blonde hair.

“Alright, enough. What is it?” I said.

“For reals, let’s try out.” Gemma had a flicker in her eye. Maybe it was a piece of glitter.

“Ya, ok.” I glanced at my fingernails. I need a touchup.

“Omigosh, we should practice on your trampoline. Please, I will love you forever!”

“Dude, I’m sure the mums will approve.”

“You’re the best! Let’s go!” Gemma screamed.

Gemma dragged me down the sidewalk. We made it to my house in record time. We sat in my bedroom dreaming of cheer clinic. I was paint-ing my fingernails while Gemma drew stick figures of us on my white board. Our figures were smiling big and shared a “GO, FIGHT, WIN” speech bubble.

I finished painting my nails and had had enough of dreaming. “If we are going to make the squad we have to have mad skills. Let’s see what’s on the internet to download.”

“Oh! Good idea, I heard Paula Abdul was a cheerleader. Check her out.” Gemma was all giddy.

I downloaded Paula Abdul’s Cardio Cheer and burned it to DVD. Gemma put the disc in the DVD player.

“Dude, Paula’s my idol.” Gemma was serious.

“Shut up” I threw a pillow at Gemma’s head.

“Ya missed me. Ya missed me.” Gemma tossed the pillow at me.

“You girls look like twins.” Mom was so quirky; she always came out of nowhere. “Well just look at your pony tails and tube socks. I used to do my hair just like that when I was your age.”

“Mom! That was like fifty years ago.” I pushed my tube socks from my knees to avoid the “Has Been Mom Look.” “Can we practice here Mom? We are the future of Warrior cheerleading ya know.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Mom always acknowledged everything with a mmm-hmm. I bet if she won the lottery she would say mmm-hmm.

“Ready OK!” I gave Gemma a wink to hit play. We were learning cheerleading from a movie. How retarded.

“Hi, I’m Paula Abdul. As you may know cheerleading is a sport. To perform routines safely you must be in tip top shape. Paula Abdul’s Cardio Cheer is designed to improve you strength, power, moves, jumps, and endurance. Let’s get stared. Who’s got spirit?”

Paula’s friends from the L.A. Lakers chimed, “We got spirit!”

“I can’t hear you.” Paula was a crummy actress.

“WE GOT SPIRIT! YES WE DO, WE GOT SPIRIT HOW ‘BOUT YOU?”

April 28th

The warm spring rain refreshed the day but didn’t reach my worried mind. Gemma and I lounged in my basement till noon watching Animal Plant, something about Atacama Salt Plains in Chile. I heard Gemma tear open a bag of pretzels. She plopped down on the couch next to me. Cheer clinic was in three days and I couldn’t help but stress about what the judges would think of me. I wasn’t tall like Gemma, or cute like Gemma. I was Sarah, plain and disturbingly normal. But I am Gemma’s friend. That should count for something, right? We both have talent, right? No answer.

Gemma mimicked the worry wrinkles on my face and scooted closer to me on the couch. Her blue eyes crossed, smooth cheeks sucked in to purse her pink glittered lips like a fish. She kissed me on the cheek. Her big bright smile blocked my view of the T.V. She knew how to cheer me up. She was a natural.

“Hey, why don’t we be ditzy judges and critique our routines? It would be way more fun than watching this crap.” Gemma said as she reached her arm around my shoulders. Her metal bangles chilled my shoulder and sent goose bumps up the back of my neck.

I was too depressed to say anything. I wanted so badly to be a cheerleader. I thought about what it means to be a cheerleader, what Paula said “Who’s got spirit?” Would they let a girl like me represent an entire school? A short petite brown haired brown eyed girl? No they want gazelles.

With a burst of energy Gemma did a mule kick off the back of the couch and back-flipped her way to the end of my basement. She ran toward me performing an amazingly familiar combination of flips, round offs, and aerials. I was watching Cardio Cheer starring Gemma.

I was still delighting in the goose bumps from Gemma’s bangles when second wave of chills spiked through my body. Why was Gemma so good? Was she practicing without me?

I forced out the first ditzy thing that came to mind. “Gemma, Gemma, Gemma. You have--no spirit. You have to entertain the crowd.”

“Omigosh, I will try harder. Please don’t cut me from the team!” Gemma pleaded.

“Jeez, I can’t believe this crap!” I can’t believe she is so good. I smiled and Gemma laughed like the school girl she was.

“Ya, OK!” Gemma spun on the balls of her feet and fell into the couch. She grabbed her pretzels and leaned over the couch back. She looked at me with gloating eyes and popped her head to the left. “Your turn Sarah.”

My original chant. I spent many a late night fretting over this cheer; the words, the moves, the smile. This was the future of cheerleading and I was going to start something new, something never before seen. I would be original.

KNOCK EM’ BACK

PUSH EM’ BACK

WAY BACK

GET THE BALL

PASS THE BALL

DA QUARTERBACK

GO WARRIORS!

I perfected it; clean, crisp arm motions. My arms were high above my head forming a V to accentuate my brown eyes, thumbs facing the crowd, snapping my left arm across my chest to form the letter K. I had it down! I transitioned and pivoted just like I had practiced; and the grand finale, my toe touch.

"Sarah, your flexibility is great, and your moves are SO crisp but keep your back straight for your toe touches. You look like Quasimodo and get a facial. No one likes an uncheerful cheerleader."

Gemma flashed her pearly whites at me pushing the sides of her mouth with her index fingers. A cartoon sparkle appeared on her canines. Whatever. God, Gemma was so unoriginal. She copied the ‘uncheerful cheerleader’ bit from my video just like she copied those stupid flips. But, I put a fake smile on and tilted my head to the right to show her how it’s done. She was so lame sometimes. Gemma’s watch beeped. Three thirty-three.

“Ceremonial wish time Sarah.” Gemma pinched her eyes closed and mouthed a few words.

I wish I could make the squad.

May 1st

So, the first day of the cheer clinic finally came. Gemma and I were sitting in the front row of Warrior Gymnasium. I was chipping fingernail polish off my nails while Gemma braided black and gold ribbon in my hair. The smell of sweaty gym socks and fruity body splash filled the room. The gym hummed with quiet conversations. The gym went dark. Gemma pulled my hair hard and tied the end of my hair.

Someone in the back row yelled, “Boo!”

Laughter and screams echoed in the dark.

The lights came on. The varsity cheerleaders ran out from the locker rooms showing off their flexible, flawless bodies. Conversations stopped and everybody got amped. Varsity girls in black pleated mini skirts and blocked tank top with Warriors written in glitter-gold letters positioned themselves to perform a dance routine in peel off reload fashion. The front row of varsity girls crouched down and were motionless facing the scoreboard. The back row faced the opposite direction with their faces hidden behind their arms. The music reeled causing their arms to open like a cascade of flowers. The movements, sharp, crisp and in a neat sequence, just like my video. I watched shoes with thick gold shoestrings bounce and kick in precise choreographed motions. Gemma was bobbing her head to the techno beat. The varsity girls really knew how to look good. Glitter streamers accentuated their long pony tails. I think the higher the ponytail the better. Just like jumps.

READY? OK!

WE ARE THE WARRIORS FROM W-H-S

WE ARE NUMBER ONE SO YOU’LL NEVER BE THE BEST

YOU WANNA BE LIKE US, BUT YOU’RE LACKING IN YOUR TUSH

BUT JUST ONE WEEK WITH US, AND WE’LL GIVE YA LITTLE PUSH.

YOU CAN MAKE IT TO THE TOP, JUST FOLLOW WHAT WE DO.

MAYBE THIS TIME NEXT WEEK, THE CHEER WILL COME FROM YOU!

We applauded our new idols. In return they showered us with spirited whoops and hollers. I couldn’t believe I was going to be apart of this elite group, hand picked, to represent our school. Gemma and I were going to look so cute in those outfits.

Then, a banshee voice scared those thoughts right out of my head. “Alright. Alright.”

I grabbed Gemma’s hand. She let out a quiet high pitched yelp and pulled me close.

The beast formed words. “Ok ladies, my name is Mrs. Paul McPherson-Pressler. You will address me as Mrs. Pressler for short. I AM the high school Warriors cheerleading coach; have been now going on 8 years. To make my squad you have to have what it takes.”

Mrs. Pressler paced while she gave her speech. The varicose veins in her legs were about to explode all over her tight white shorts. She stopped in front of Gemma and I. She opened a new pack of Big Red chewing gum, removed a single piece and curled it into her mouth. She offered a piece to Gemma.

“Thank you.” Gemma reached for the gum.

“Not everyone has what it takes.” Mrs. Pressler jerked the gum away and put in her breast pocket. “If you want to be one of the lucky ten girls you need to step up and claim your spot. I don’t want a bunch of cry babies. I will work you hard and expect PER-fection. Who has what it takes?”

The gymnasium was silent. Mrs. Pressler’s voice echoed forever in my head. Who has what it takes? I felt her stare on me and closed my eyes.

“What’s you name?” She paused and screeched again. “You sleeping in the front. What’s your name?”

Who me? Gemma’s elbow stabbed my thigh. I squeaked out, “Sarah.”

“Sarah who?” asked Big Red breath.

“Sarah Vosberg.”

“You got what it takes? You got spirit?”

“I…I…uh.” Come on Sarah! Get up and show her what you got! I was about to wow the masses when I was rudely interrupted.

“I GOT SPIRIT YES I DO, I GOT SPIRIT HOW ‘BOUT YOU?”

Gemma? What! The other girls snickered. I could hear Mary and Jackie, the coolest girls in the eighth grade, whispering something like ‘Shisis Gemma hehe Sarah shisis spirit?”

Gemma stood strong and tall pointing her fingers at me. Her eyes flickered. I looked at Mrs. Pressler. A smile emerged from her plastic face. I got chills, this time from being totally mortified. Gemma stole my spot light and offered me up as a supporting actress.

That brown nosing bitch Gemma got Mrs. Pressler to think she was good because of something she saw on a video. My video! If they only knew how lame she was. I sat down to my plate of lasagna.

Mom said, “So, Sarah how’s cheer clinic? I remember when I was your age. I loved cheerleading.”

I sipped my milk; looked at the clock. Five fifty-five. Make a wish. It was Gemma’s idea back in second grade to make stupid wishes. I wish Gemma would get a life.

“Well, Mrs. Pressler is the coach, and like, she asked me “Do YOU have spirit?” And I was like…”

Mom hummed, “Mmm-hmm.”

“Anyway, Gemma jumps up and does this stupid cheer from MY video and Mrs. Pressler was like, all smiles, and everyone else was like ‘whatever’ because they knew that Gemma was just showing off.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“So, if Gemma calls tell her I am grounded or something because I don’t feel like hearing her stupid voice.”

The phone rang.

“God!” I threw my fork on the table and ran to hide in my room. On the way down the basement stairs I decided right then and there I would get on the squad. Forget Gemma. She can suck up as much as she wants. I popped in Paula Abdul’s Cardio Cheer and worked on my form. Gemma wasn’t gonna one up me. If she wants to play that way then I will show her how I play. I DON’T play. She’s gonna cry when I make the team. She will probably beg me to be her friend again.

Mom came down the stairs and poked her head in at me. “Sweetheart, are you going to bed anytime soon? It’s one in the morning.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Did I keep you up?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Did Gemma call?”

“No baby. Get some sleep. I’m sure you will do just fine at cheer clinic. Good night and sweet dreams.”

“Good night.” I turned off the lights, set my alarm clock and jumped in bed. I tossed and turned wondering why Gemma would make me look so stupid in front of everyone. I glanced at the clock. One eleven. “I wish I could make the squad.”

May 2nd

Coach Pressler paced around the gymnasium watching. Watching the freshmen, watching our style, our strength, watching, calculating, picking the cream of the crop. Her plastic face looked nasty coupled with her wrinkled geezer neck. Lips painted an old lady red, light eye shadow mim-icking the youth she tried to hold on to. Her track suit swished as she walked by me. I was sure to add that extra oomph to my jumps. I smiled longer, bigger and brighter to beckon a response from her cold face. She didn't even notice. Across the gym Gemma was stretching with the var-sity girls. How Lame.

May 3rd

Gemma had some competition coming her way. I teamed up with Lisa the varsity captain, the best Warriors cheerleader ever known! We stretched out together and talked about high school. But I really wanted to hear what she thought about me on the squad.

“Sarah I’ve seen your moves and, wow. I have to say you are one of the best freshmen here.” Lisa smiled. She sat with her legs in the splits and rolled forward.

I said, “Thanks. I was hoping you could give me some pointers. Have you noticed anything that Mrs. Pressler might gig me for?”

Sarah relaxed on her elbows. “Yeah, there is one thing I noticed. When you do your jumps like toe touches, table tops, herkies, you seem to arch your back funny. Try flexing your abs. Or imagine you are being pulled up rather than pushed up.” Lisa jumped up and stood straight as a pole. She pulled an imaginary string out of her head and like a puppet straightened her body. She lifted her shirt to show her tight stomach. “It seems difficult but it will become second nature.”

I imitated pulling my own string. “Like this?”

“Yeah, you got it. Try doing a toe touch.” Lisa gave me some room. I pulled my body up through my head and reached for my toes. I felt like I jumped ten feet high. Lisa clapped her hands. “Yeah, you’re good. Keep practicing your jumps. See you at tryouts.”

May 4th

D-Day. Who was going to make the squad? We all sat on the floor Indian style listening to Mrs. Pressler talk about the judging process.

"The varsity girls will recommend their top ten. If your name comes up on any of my girls’ lists, you will be asked to try out for my squad. The rest of you, I am sorry but you will be disqualified."

Disqualified? I thought that sounded a little harsh.

“Listen up for you name. If I call your name, come get your number and you are excused to the locker room for fifteen minutes to prepare your routine. You will perform in the order I call your names. No switch-a-roos. You will be disqualified. The rest of you are welcome to stay and watch if you know how to keep your mouths shut. Here we go. Number one, Mary Kennedy; number two, Jackie Shelley; number three, Gemma Lee….”

Gemma Lee! My heart dropped from my chest. That fake crap won her a chance at my dream. Since when did plagiarizing a video amount to real talent? My eyes welled. I grabbed my gym bag and started for the door.

“Number thirteen, Sarah Vosberg...”

“YES!” I threw my bag toward the locker room entrance. I celebrated my victory while chasing after my bag. There is a God and he luvs me!

In the locker room Gemma was somber. She looked at me with sad blue eyes like she wanted to say sorry. Sorry for whatever happened to make you hate me. Sorry my name was called before yours. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I will never forget how sorry she looked. High ponytail, tie-dyed purple A-shirt we made two years ago at summer camp, cut off grey sweat pants with our hand prints on the butt, BFF, best friends forever down the leg. I didn’t say a word to her. I thought about how lame she had been. Her watch beeped. It was three thirty-three. Gemma pinched her glittery eyes shut to make her wish. I smirked. Mrs. Pressler was calling her number. I stood in the entrance way and watched Gemma sprint up to the judges’ table. The gym was silent as Gemma started her routine. The Paula Abdul Cardio Cheer combination of flips, round offs, and aerials.

I wish Gemma would get a life.

I watched patiently as the other girls tried out. I knew my cheer was going to blow them all away. Knock em’ back, Push em’ back, way back…Get the ball, Pass the ball, da quarterback Dun Dun Bum-bum Bum-bum Buuuum-Bumm, Bum-bum Bum-bum Da Quarter BACK

“Number thirteen. Number thirteen! We’re waiting.” Mrs. Pressler voice snapped.

You can do this Sarah. LETS GO! I looked at Gemma sitting in the bleachers. She sat watching intently. I sprinted toward the judges. Three round offs and one aerial. My legs pushed my body high into the air. I extended my legs in front of me and reached for my toes. “WARRIORS!” I was suspended in air. PULL your body up!! My brain froze. CRAP! What do I do now? I panicked. My face warmed over and my smile faded. The momentum was lost.

“Miss Vosberg?” Mrs. Pressler tapped her pencil on the table. “Were you going to perform a routine?”

“I…um, yes. I have a routine.” I was thawing out my brain. Why do I always freeze under pressure? “What’s my problem?”

“Your problem is you don’t have what it takes Miss Vosberg. You are disqualified.” Mrs. Pressler didn’t hesitate to proceed with the tryouts. “Number fourteen.”

Gemma made the squad and I haven’t talked to her since. I can’t believe how she used me, and by the way, she still has never said sorry for ruining me in front of everyone. Worst of all she turned into this preppy, best friends with Mary and Jackie, goodie-goodie anorexic. I wish Gemma would get off her high horse sometimes. She thinks that she is better than me because she made a stupid freshmen cheerleading squad. Please. Like being a cheerleader is for brainless bimbos anyway. I wonder if Gemma still sets her watch to our wishing hours. Omigosh, now that’s always been lame.