Page 5 of The Cheerleader

We run through the routine a few times, and I have it down. She takes my arms and bounces on her toes.

“I told you you’re a natural.” A few other girls come into the gym, and she glances over her shoulder. “No one I know.” She lowers her voice. “You’re better than most of the girls trying out. Please say you’ll do it.”

I shake my head, but my heart beats faster than usual, and the audacity of the idea catches hold. “What about the rest of tryouts? What else do I need to do besides a couple of dance routines?”

“Can you do a cartwheel and a straddle jump?”

“Yes and… maybe? What’s a straddle jump?”

Instead of telling me, she backs up a few steps and bounces into the air, legs spread and hands stretched out touching her toes, then bounces back into place with her hands on her hips and that broad toothy smile that I remember. The one I found irresistible.

“That was … interesting. Not sure I can⁠—”

“Try it.” She jumps again, giving me another demonstration for good measure, and I watch the way she bends her knees for the spring into the air and follow all her movements as best I can in the split second it takes her to execute the jump.

I nod and then I jump, landing hard and stumbling. “Shit. That was terrible.”

“Not bad. Try it again, and this time bend your knees more when you land. Snap your legs out and then pull them in quick for the landing.”

I nod, and this time my pride and that sense of needing to do things right kick in. I jump again, and my landing is better, but I need to get my legs higher.

“That was excellent. Let’s see your cartwheel.”

“Whoa there, Liz. I don’t even have the straddle jump down⁠—”

“Are you kidding?” She glances around. “You’re better than half the girls here already.”

I’m wondering what kind of cheering squad they have when someone blows a whistle, and all the girls who’ve straggled in face the end of the gym where someone’s arranged a table and several chairs while we weren’t paying attention.

“Hello, ladies. Welcome to the UConn cheerleading tryouts. I’m Pete Chenerski, the cheerleading advisor, and these are the judges.” He introduces three men and a young woman who looks like a student.

Liz elbows me and whispers, “That’s Mary. The captain of the squad this past year. She’s graduating.”

I nod absently, but my heart speeds up when Pete says, “You’ll have fifteen minutes to warm up and practice. Then I’ll blow the whistle and tryouts begin.”

Liz grabs my arm and drags me to the side, pulling me into another dance routine without a word. Somehow the question of whether or not I should do this has gotten left behind, forgotten somewhere in the frenzy of nervous excitement in the room. I feel the tension as if I’m part of it. And I guess I am now.

After we all have our turns at dancing and jumping, all the girls, close to thirty of us, sit on the floor on the side of the room, each waiting for her name to be called. My nerves bounce around as Liz holds my hand like I’m her lifeline. But maybe my hand is squeezing hers just as tightly, and I have no idea why. A couple of hours ago, the idea of being a cheerleader never occurred to me.

Now it feels like a big important thing, like my first test in my new school, like being a cheerleader with Liz will be the key to fitting in at this new huge campus with all these strangers. Maybe these girls can become good close friends.

Pete calls out Liz’s name, and she gives my hand one last squeeze before jumping up. She lines up as instructed with three other girls already chosen while I sit on the sidelines with all the other girls waiting for the next name. This is how they choose the squad. We don’t even know how many girls will be chosen. Maybe half of us since there are so few trying out. Not at all what I expected.

“Judy Norris,” Pete announces. There’s a pause while Judy breaks out into a fit of giggles and leaps into line.

“Carol Vitori.”

Carol is sitting next to me, and she screeches and gives me a quick hug. “You’re next,” she whispers before she prances to her spot in the lineup.

Holding my breath, because in spite of the fact that I never once contemplated being a cheerleader in my life, now that I’m here and I’ve tried out, I want it. I need it. I want to be a cheerleader with Liz and Carol and Judy and the others. I’d get to dance and belong to this group of girls, like like I did with my housemates at Smith, only better, more fun.

Please call my name. Please call my name.

“Susie Bennett.”

I bounce into the air, my hands flying to my face to contain my shock. Liz turns and beams at me like a mentor at her protégé, and I join the lineup. My nerves buzz harder and faster than before, and my mouth stretches wide until my cheeks ache as one more name is called, and there are eight of us.

“Congratulations, ladies. Let’s see our new cheerleading squad for the 1975-76 season do the UConn Huskies dance.”