The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading (6 page)

A strange look crossed Rick’s face, but this one I understood. He was impressed. “You want to stay?” he asked.

This time we both nodded. Moni even managed to shake her pom-poms a bit.

“Well, in that case…” He led us over to the other boys, who let out a cheer of their own. While a few freshmen played keep-away with the pom-poms, Rick covered the basics: Never block a parent’s view, especially a wrestling dad’s view. And never slap the mat.
Never.
One of the wrestlers might think it was the referee.

Rick retrieved our pom-poms, walked us to the far side of the gym, and gestured to a corner where the yellow mat ended and the hardwood began.

“You should be out of the way here,” he said. “I’d better go warm up.” He strolled away, pulling off his sweatshirt as he went. I had no idea one boy could have so many muscles.

“Whoa,” breathed Moni. “He’s hot.”

Yeah,
I thought.
And he knows it.

“He was totally nice, too,” Moni continued, still breathless. “Can you believe they call him Rick the Prick?”

Actually, I could. “Shh. Don’t say that.” With our luck, his mom was behind us in the stands. But it was true: Rick did have that awkward nickname. And according to gossip, he didn’t just
know
about the name, he
embraced
it.

“Didn’t you see what he did to Todd today?” I asked.

Moni gave me a confused look.

“In the cafeteria?” I prompted. “Talk about being a—”

“You know,” Moni said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Speaking of nicknames, there’s something about that wrestling outfit….” She gave me that sly half grin.

I couldn’t believe this. “What about Brian?” I asked.

“What about him?”

“I thought you and—”

“In real life?”

“No, in la-la land, or whatever you call it.”

“Oh, in the game he’s a serious mack daddy. But then he stops over the other night to return a book he borrowed and I think, cool, the boy finally figured out an excuse to spend some nonpixelated time with me, right?” Moni rolled her eyes. “He spent the whole time talking to my mom.” She shook her head. Poor Moni.

And poor Brian. Ever since the two of them went from just friends to…whatever they were…I could tell he didn’t know what to say or how to act around her. The game was probably an easy way out.

“What about the wand?” I asked. “That was something.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. But tell me this.” Moni looked grim. “Where is he right now?”

If he were as smooth as Rick the Prick, he’d be in the bleachers behind us, supporting Moni’s cheerleading debut. Okay, this was Brian. Smooth had never exactly been a quotient in his formula. But if he wasn’t here, where was he?

“Home?” I guessed. “The library? Over at Todd’s?”

“Ding, ding, ding,” said Moni. “He’s gone over to the Dark Side.”

“What?”

“Todd got to him. I went online before dinner and suddenly Brian’s telling me that the wand is just a loan.” She huffed in disgust.

A staticky version of “The Star Spangled Banner” began playing, and everyone stood. Fixing Moni’s love life would have to wait. When the song ended, two boys walked onto the mat, taking stances opposite each other.

“What exactly are we supposed to do now?” I asked Moni. “Do we cheer?”

“I guess. But what?”

During all the prep for Friday’s big game, I’d memorized dozens of cheers. Problem was, only two were for wrestling. “Let’s do that takedown one,” I said.

“Ready?” Moni whispered. “Okay.”

Together we chanted, “Takedown! Takedown! Two points!”

There was a takedown, all right. But judging by the crowd’s response, it was for the other team.

Moni cringed. “Bad timing?”

“How are we supposed to know when to cheer it?”

“I don’t know…the Internet?” Moni offered.

I gave Moni a quick look before raising my eyebrows at the new and highly unusual position the wrestlers had taken. “The what?”

“I found a cheer site the other day while I was surfing at my dad’s.”

“A cheerleading site?” I didn’t know which was more disturbing, that such sites actually existed, or that Moni was surfing them in her spare time.

“I’ll print some cheers off tomorrow. I think they had a whole page for wrestling.”

After a moment—and another takedown—I asked, “Just one page?”

“Yeah.”

That would help. But really, knowing what the boys were doing out there on the mat would be even better. “You know what they should have at cheerleading tryouts?” I said. “A quiz on—”

“On all the sports!” Moni’s face lit up. “Exactly! How else can you know when to cheer?” To emphasize her point, she slapped the mat.

Moni’s eyes went huge. I sucked in my breath. That creeping dread? It returned, only stronger. At any moment a wrestling dad would probably drag us from the gym by our hair ribbons. We waited, but aside from a quick glare from the boys on the mat, nothing happened. The first match ended, and I couldn’t tell if we had won or lost.

Somehow, Moni and I worked up a routine. “Victory, victory, that’s our cry!” was an old standby, and we took turns giving each boy a personalized cheer as he left the mat. “Way to go, Logan!” “Way to go, Steve!” “Way to go, Rick!”

I was in the middle of a straddle jump for a senior named Mark when Jack Paulson walked through the gym doors. My ankle crumpled on the landing, and I knocked into Moni.

“What the—” Moni paused, then squealed. “Oh, my God!”

Jack climbed the bleachers and selected a spot where his long legs could stretch out unhindered. From a white paper bag, he pulled mini-cheeseburger after mini-cheeseburger and washed them all down with a half-gallon carton of milk.

“No way anyone can eat that much,” said Moni.

“I think it’s skim milk,” I pointed out.

“Oh, sure.” She gave me a look and crossed her eyes. “That makes all the difference.”

“What’s he doing here, anyway?”

“I heard he shows up at the girls’ basketball games too.” The kids in Math League were huge gossips, and Moni heard things before the rumor mill even had a chance to get rolling. “He’s just cool like that.”

I tried to turn my attention back to the match, but Jack was always there, teasing my peripheral vision. His dark hair, his bright red Chuck Taylor All Stars. A flash of milk carton. Okay, so maybe that part was a little gross. It was also…endearing. So much for Todd’s God of Mount Prairie Stone theory—Jack Paulson wasn’t some deity, he was a mortal boy who drank from milk cartons. He probably left the toilet seat up too.

But Jack never left his heavenly perch in the stands, not even when the meet ended and others around him were pulling on their coats. A couple of skinny wrestlers flashed us smiles as they headed for the locker room. Rick sauntered past and gave us a thumbs-up. He scaled the bleachers and plopped down next to Jack.

I grabbed Moni by the wrist. “Come on, let’s go.”

“But—” Moni pulled away. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Not us.”

“Then why are they staring? Gah, don’t look.” Moni bent down, pretending to tie her shoe. “Okay, now look. Are they still staring?”

I shook my pom-poms as though the fringe was in desperate need of fluffing. Mid-shake, I darted a quick glance toward the stands. Rick and Jack were, in fact, looking our way.

“Yeah.” The pom-poms slipped in my hands. “They’re still—oh, my God. Jack’s standing up. Hurry, let’s get out of here.”

Instead, Moni switched to her other shoe. “Just in case. Wouldn’t want to trip on my laces.”

“Stalling is so middle school,” I muttered.

Jack strolled forward. “Hey.” He raised the milk carton in a toast. “Nice job tonight.”

Moni sprang up, shoes apparently in order. “Thanks! Did you see Bethany’s jump?”

He nodded. “A little trouble on the re-entry?”

Great. More humiliation. But Jack looked seriously concerned as he asked about my ankle.
Seriously
concerned.

My heart stopped.

It didn’t start up again until he asked twice if I was okay. I gulped, looking to Moni, hoping she’d rescue me. But Moni opened her mouth to speak, then froze. A half second later, Rick came up behind Jack.

“So, Paulson,” said Rick. “You tell ’em?”

Moni seemed to be in a Rick Mangers–induced coma. “Tell us what?” I choked out.

“About the bet,” Rick said, and Jack frowned. “You know, the one about—”

Jack stared at his shoes. “C’mon, man, that’s not—”

“Fair to tell them about it?” Rick interrupted.

Jack looked up, panic on his face.

“I don’t remember any rules that said we couldn’t, come to think of it.” Rick ruffled Moni’s pom-poms. “I don’t remember any rules at all. Ladies.” He held out his hands to indicate both himself and Jack. “We have this bet.”

Jack immediately went back to inspecting his shoes, but Rick continued on, completely at ease. Like I said, he was smooth.

“One of us thinks you’ll be here to cheer for the next home meet,” Rick explained, “and one of us thinks this was an…”

Jack looked up again. Something Rick said had seemed to erase the tension from his jaw and around his eyes. He smiled. “An anomaly,” he added. “One of us thinks this was an anomaly,” he clarified, tilting his head toward Rick and winking.

“Ooh. Big word for a jock.” Rick gave Jack a shove. “You studying for the SATs or something?” He reached out and caught one of Moni’s ringlets and watched it spiral around his finger. The curl sprang back when he let go, and continued bouncing as Rick walked toward the locker room.

With Rick gone, Moni regained her composure—and her voice. “So what did you bet?”

“Fifty bucks.”

Fifty dollars?
That was a lot, or at least, it was a lot to me. I was sure it was to Jack as well.

“Our mere presence is worth fifty dollars…,” Moni mused. “Money in your pocket.”

Jack smiled, but there was that unreadable look again.

I fought to connect my vocal cords to my brain. “And all we have to do is show up?” I asked.

The tension returned to Jack’s eyes for a split second. “Well that, and—”

“And what?” I asked. “How do we help you win?”

“Telling you would be against the rules.” He left us with that and headed for the boys’ locker room.

I pushed down my own tension and called out to him, “Wait a minute. I thought there were no rules.”

Jack smiled and waved before turning into the hallway.

“Whoa,” Moni said. “What did I tell you? This cheerleading thing? Paying off. Big-time.”

F
or the first time all year, Moni managed to arrive at school early the next morning, and we headed up to the library. If I thought she was taking the cheerleading thing too seriously, well, here was the proof. She scanned the nonfiction shelves for books on basketball, wrestling, and even gymnastics.

Meanwhile, I was working frantically on my latest Life at Prairie Stone column. Todd was right; it was overdue. And, after his supreme obnoxiousness yesterday, I didn’t want to prove that the only thing cheerleading really
could
change was me—
into a slacker
. But by the time I’d come home from the wrestling meet, I could barely lift a pencil, never mind write a whole column.

At least I already had my interview—a senior who split his day between Prairie Stone High and Prairie Stone State, where my dad taught. I hadn’t known it before, but Jarrod Scott was taking one of my dad’s classes, Intro to Psychology.

Moni hurried back and forth, pulling books from the shelves and plopping them on the table where I sat. I held the digital recorder to my ear. I’d listened to the entire interview twice but kept coming back to one quote: “We were talking about change in your dad’s class and how we resist it,” Jarrod said, “even when something good happens to us.”

It was an interesting idea. I thought I could write the column around it if I got rid of the “dad” part. That had been weird, talking to someone in my dad’s class, and I didn’t need that information printed for all of Prairie Stone High to see.

Moni rushed up to the table, an open book in her hands. Her eyes were bright, and the reference section of the library was way too quiet when she asked, “Did you know that in ancient Greece the men wrestled naked?”

The librarian coughed. I clicked off the digital recorder.

“Listen to this. They anointed wrestlers with olive oil,” Moni read. “After that, they were dusted with powder to make them easier to hold.” She slammed the book shut. “Whoa. Now that’s a sport I can get behind. Too bad they don’t anoint these days.”

The librarian coughed again.

“That would
so
be a cheerleader’s job.” Moni collapsed into the opposite chair like all of it—the oil, anointing, and powder—was just too much.

“I suppose you’d get Rick Mangers,” I told her, “and I’d have to anoint a bunch of skinny freshmen.”

The librarian coughed for a third time, and I thought I might have to use the Heimlich maneuver on her.

Moni flipped through the book’s pages. “Thing is, wrestling? Really complicated. I still don’t get all the rules.”

“I think the first rule is to use plenty of oil.”

Moni snorted. I looked over at the librarian, waiting for her to give me the international sign for “I’m choking,” but the kind of torso usually found on Greek gods blocked my view.

“Oil for what?” a voice asked.

I didn’t need to look up to tell who’d addressed us. I’d know Jack Paulson’s voice anywhere. Maybe if I turned my eyes back to my column, he’d disappear. Then Moni and I could go back to our ridiculous debate over ancient Greece and skinny freshmen. And maybe I wouldn’t have to employ the international sign for choking, this time for myself.

A hint of a smile lit Jack’s face. Had he heard the whole thing? “Whatcha reading?” he said.

“I believe they’re called books.” Rick Mangers appeared. He bopped Jack on the head, then crossed his arms over his chest and focused on Moni.

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said, “those things that collect dust at the bottom of your locker.”

Rick used a finger to lift the cover of Moni’s book on wrestling. “What do you say, Paulson? They cheer the whole season and we go double or nothing on that bet?”

“You’re on.”

“That’s—”
One hundred dollars
, I started to say, but we could all do the math. At least I was pretty sure we all could. No one else seemed to think this raising-the-stakes thing mattered, especially not Jack. He just stared at my chest.

Not that there was much to stare at. Then I remembered my accessory du jour, the
SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL MASTER
DE
BATER
! pin that Brian had foisted on me in the hallway outside the library.

“It’s—,” I started again, but really, there was no explaining something like that. “I mean, I was wondering if you could lend me your copy of
The Lord of the Rings
? I need a book for reading today.”

“I suppose you’ve already read everything else in here,” Jack said.

Of course. We were in the library. Surrounded by books. Now probably wasn’t the time to admit I’d already read
The Lord of the Rings
—twice. “Well, there’s this.” I held up a book on basketball. “But technically it’s not a novel.”

Jack took a step back. “You two are really serious, aren’t you?”

“We’ve been talking.” I glanced across the table, but Moni was under Rick’s spell and didn’t meet my eyes. “It doesn’t make sense to cheer for something we don’t understand. We think cheerleading tryouts should include a quiz.”

Rick burst out laughing. “It’s going to be an interesting season. I’ll be seeing you girls later.” Moni watched Rick swagger from the library. When he hesitated near the magazine racks, she hopped up to walk him to the exit.

Jack gave me that same mysterious look, the one I could never read. He stuck his hands in his pockets, stared at the floor, and said, “See ya in class.”

He left before I could say good-bye. When the library’s double doors shut behind him and Rick, Moni nearly ran back to the table. “How much do you think they heard?”

“Like it matters?” I said. “I’m always saying stupid stuff around Jack.” Maybe the cheerleading uniform was a Get Out of
Smart
Free card.

“It doesn’t matter. I think he’s into you.”

“No way.”

“Way. How many times has he shown up where you are in the last few days? Come on, instead of breakfast in the cafeteria, he’s at the library, before school? When’s the last time Jack Paulson even stepped foot in here?”

“Oh? So that explains why Rick couldn’t find his way back out?”

A blush washed over Moni’s face. “C’mon, Bee, Rick’s so totally cute. Do you think there’s any—”

“He’s got a reputation as a player,” I warned her. But it was more than that, really. Something told me he
enjoyed
having a reputation. And that bothered me.

“I know.” Moni sighed. “But does it matter?”

Maybe. Maybe not. I liked giving people the benefit of the doubt. If only this bet between him and Jack didn’t seem so much like a joke. Geek girls or not, I didn’t want either one of us to figure into the punch line.

If the librarian hadn’t coughed one more time, I might not have noticed the odd look she gave me when I checked out the book on basketball. And later, if Todd hadn’t glared, I might not have noticed that I followed him from honors history into the wrong classroom. My mind was on Jack—and that bet. Only when I rushed into Independent Reading late, and Jack aimed his eyes my way, did I come back to the present.

Like Jane Austen might say in
Pride and Prejudice
—such fine eyes. No one with eyes like Jack’s could do anything deliberately cruel.

“Your tallest five,” Coach Miller said to Sheila.

Moni and I stood with the rest of the cheerleading squad just outside the gym doors. It was the Friday of the first basketball game. Royalty was the pep rally’s theme, and the Student Council had decked the gym in school colors.

“It looks ridiculous for a tall boy to be escorted by a short girl.” Coach Miller sent the smaller girls a disapproving look. “I’d like to maintain a sense of dignity.”

Dignity? Of course. That must be the rationale behind the paper crowns and the oh-so-dignified shiny, plastic, purple robes. Kings of the Court, get it? Moni poked me in the ribs, and we both tried not to snicker.

Inside the gym, each class packed its own set of bleachers, freshmen at the end by the doors, with seniors near the front. I heard the band play the opening notes to Pink’s “Get the Party Started.” The cheerleading squad was supposed to be dancing to that. Instead we fluffed our pom-poms in the lobby while Coach Miller and Sheila negotiated.

“All right. We can work with it.” When Sheila pinched the bridge of her nose, then tipped her head toward the gym, I caught the disappointment in her eyes. We’d all worked hard on that dance routine. The only reason we were any good was Sheila’s unrelenting faith that we could be. That, and the fear she’d go ninja on us if we screwed up.

“Let’s see.” Sheila bit a perfectly painted nail and looked us over. “Bethany, Kaleigh, Cassidy, Elaine, and Brianna. Line up by height, girls.”

Kaleigh bolted to the front of the line, even though I was taller. And we both knew it. I fell in behind her anyway.

“Actually, Kaleigh,” Sheila said, “Bethany’s got at least an inch on you.”

“But look.” Kaleigh waved a hand between her head and mine, showcasing her teased ponytail, and I could’ve sworn Sheila swallowed a smile.

“Hairstyles don’t count, sweetie,” said Sheila.

I traded places with Kaleigh, who “accidentally” pushed me from behind. I stumbled forward into the gym and finally grasped the reason behind Kaleigh’s attitude: There stood Jack Paulson, a paper crown on his adorable head, waiting to be escorted by the tallest girl. Of course. As the tallest boy, he’d be first. Duh.

I teetered on the balls of my feet and fought for balance. Never mind the entire school, I didn’t want to trip in front of Jack. I adjusted my skirt and walked a mostly straight line toward him. When we met, I took his arm the way Coach Miller had instructed. Jack grimaced, but a shiny purple robe and paper crown could do that to anyone. Right?

A long, plum-colored, construction-paper carpet wound its way across the gym floor to the place of honor beneath the basketball hoop. My Skechers touched the carpet in tandem with Jack’s high-tops. At that moment Coach Miller threw up a hand to halt us.

I squinted to see the holdup. Coach Miller seemed to be having the same type of conversation as he’d had with Sheila, only this time with the band director.

Jack swore under his breath. “I can’t believe he’s doing this. He’s making the whole school wait.”

When he didn’t elaborate, I whispered, “For what?”

“For us,” he said.

“I don’t think the whole school minds,” I said.

“They should.”

On the band director’s cue, the members of the Prairie Stone Jazz Band lowered their instruments and dug through their music folders. Light glinted off Brian’s trombone while he juggled it and sheet music. The crowd murmured, then pockets of chatter broke out in the stands.

“Do
you
mind?” I asked Jack.

“It’s the worst part of basketball season.”

Really? I glanced at him, not sure I’d heard right. Jack stepped out onto the court every day. He could probably do layups in his sleep and was no doubt personally acquainted with every plank in the honey-colored wood floor. If anyone owned this court, it was him. I looked up at the tension in his jaw and wondered—maybe it was one thing to step out there wearing a jersey and holding a basketball, something entirely different under the weight of a shiny robe and paper crown.

I’d never thought of it that way before, never thought what it was like to walk across fake purple carpets or shake pom-poms and various body parts center court. And I never thought anyone who did those things minded being in the spotlight.

“You know,” I said, as the jazz band settled down, “it’s either this or honors chemistry.”

“Or Rocks for Jocks.” Somewhere behind the scowl was the start of a little-boy grin.

“No one wants to be in class,” I told him. “Really.”

The band director raised his baton. The first strains of Queen’s “We Are the Champions” filled the gym, and the chatter died. It was showtime.

“Except Todd,” I added. “He’d rather be in class.”

Jack laughed. He actually laughed. And reached for my hand. He tucked my arm back through his, and from somewhere inside me, I found the courage to give his hand a squeeze. He laced his fingers through mine and squeezed back.

We were halfway across the gym when he stopped and leaned down. A single word caressed my cheek.

“Thanks,” he said.

A wave of dizziness swept over me. “For what?” I managed.

“Just…thanks.”

Five minutes after the pep rally ended, Moni tackled me from behind.

“Did he kiss you?” she demanded.

“Did
who
do
what
?”

“When you and Jack were walking across the gym,” Moni said. “Did he
kiss
you?”

I stole a look over my shoulder. Jack and the rest of the basketball team still stood beside the doors. The cheerleaders swarmed around them. With all the squealing, there was no way Jack could hear Moni. Or so I hoped.

“Are you crazy?” I said. “Of course not.”

“Sure looked like it to me.”

“He was just…he was just”—I touched my cheek—“saying thanks.”

“Whoa. If that’s thanks, I’d love to see how he says you’re welcome.”

“Did it really—”

“Look like a kiss? Oh, yeah.” Moni nodded toward the gauntlet girls. “They thought so too.”

I turned and caught Jack looking at Moni and me. Or maybe just me. Then Chantal Simmons curtsied low in front of him and said, “Your Highness,” and he turned away.

That snapped me back to reality. In the real world, Chantal was the cheerleader. Chantal was Jack’s proper escort. Me? I belonged in the stands, wedged between Moni, Todd, and the rest of the geeks. But thanks to zero tolerance, we were clearly not in Kansas anymore.

Students streamed from the gymnasium, heading for an abbreviated class before lunch. Moni and I fought the crowd and recovered our books. By the time we made it back to the lobby, Jack and the rest of the basketball team had vanished. And so had Chantal. But really, she had just moved several feet across the lobby and was now standing at her spot in the gauntlet.