Page 33 of Player
The woman gives her a welcoming smile. "Hey, Saphya! Good to see you."
They share a brief hug, and with even redder cheeks, Saphya gestures toward us. "I wanted to introduce you to my two roommates: Pia and Dixie."
We politely greet the cheerleading coach. Linda says to Saphya, "Good game tonight, if you keep it up in practice, you might be down here in a week or two. We need sideline leaders for the games with comp season coming up. How about it?"
Our roommate's eyes sparkle with happiness.
"I'd really love to!"
Linda nods before clapping her hands, and immediately the athletes stop fooling around and gather around her. I'm forced to push away memories from my past that come flooding back from a time when I too obeyed my team coach without question.
"You all worked well tonight," Linda tells them. "Before we leave, I'd like us to run through the new walkout routine for next week one more time."
Delighted exclamations rise from the group. While their technique isn't perfect, they're united, and that's a crucial element. Without trust, there can be no team, because every time a girl flies, she must be certain that her partners have her back. In this discipline, doubt isn't allowed—it's even enemy number one.
The coach's voice pulls me from my thoughts:
"Everyone, get in position!"
The team members make two lines, each on a side of where the football team enters the field, then Linda claps her hands. The girls at the front begin to clap too, as if the coach had set the rhythm, and start stepping, clapping their hands, their legs, their bodies in time. The other team members repeat the same movements, creating music composed solely of percussion. Theeffect is energizing, which is exactly what you'd expect from acheerleadingteam.
"This was Dawnn’s idea, honoring the heritage of a lot of the cheerleaders and the players," Saphya whispers to us.
Very quickly, stunts and jumps are added, all in time to the clapping, slapping beat in rapid succession. A shiver runs down my arms, and this time, it's a familiar excitement. My legs tingle with the desire to run and launch myself after the others. I remember perfectly how it felt when I flew, and my heart aches when I think that it will never happen again. I've given up that part of my life, I can't turn back now. Besides, I probably wouldn't even be capable of it anymore. I'm well aware of the drastic discipline required of athletes, and I'm no longer in top form like I was seemingly a lifetime ago.
No, I can't be acheerleaderanymore. I thought I had mourned this chapter of my life, at least I believed I had, but tonight, watching this impromptu practice, I feel tears welling up. I push them away and keep up appearances until we return to the dorm, where I quickly retreat to my room. I collapse on my bed without even changing my clothes.
Tonight, I'm alone because Keri is honoring her part of the bargain—actually, she's doing even better by staying out all night. Only then do I allow myself to shed a few tears.
I refuse, however, to fully open the door to my pain and regrets, for fear of not being able to repair the damage done to my heart. I give myself a few moments before sitting up and changing for the night.
The smellof the gymnasium is as familiar to me as that of my bedroom, maybe even more so. I spend so many hours here that I should almost be paying rent to the high school.
I smile at this thought while putting on my cheer uniform. This practice is even more important than the others because it's the last one before the team leaves for the state championships. Many of us hope to receive offers to join university teams, snagging oh so precious scholarships. I'm still too young for that sort of thinking, with two years of high school left, but I'm just as excited as everyone else. Maybe even more! I'm determined to prove myself and show that I've earned my place through hard work alone.
My legitimacy has never been questioned, but that doesn't change the fact that there are many girls trying out each year, and spots on the team are highly coveted. I'm determined to keep mine at all costs.
I lace up my shoes before joining the rest of the team in the small basketball gym, which is ours for the day. The polished wood squeaks with the sound of my footsteps. Conversations are flowing. I remain silent, focused on the routine I'm about to perform.
Then, everything seems to accelerate. Music roars from Coach’s boombox, which is old school like her and loud enough to be heard fifty yards away. The choreography begins and I feel adrenaline coursing through me. Its flow is powerful, intense, electrifying. I know nothing else like it.
We take our positions following the choreography that we know like the back of our hands, to the point where we could perform it with our eyes closed. And when we all execute the tucked back flip simultaneously, I enter my zone of concentration, where nothing matters except my body moving in rhythm, performing movements repeated so many times before.
A connection forms between all members of the squad, I feel it passing through me to the point where I can almost visualize it. I'm part of a whole, part of this unit that is our team. Nothing brings me as much happiness as this.
I don't have time to think, I just need to act. And that's what I do, pivoting on my toes until I'm facing Bradley. My brother will be my basefor the next lift. He gives me a knowing wink before I launch toward him. I run fast before performing a cartwheel then a round-off that positions me with my back to my partner. In the next second, I take flight and it's my base who catches my ankles. From up high, I can see the entire room, but I'm focused on what I need to do.
The next section is the most complicated, as I have to change bases before coming down in a perfect cradle. I execute a double twist before positioning myself correctly for the catch and then fall… too much.
I wake with a start, my heart pounding, mouth dry, and body sweating. I've been fighting against my sheets which are twisted around my body. I free myself from them before leaving the room.
The floor is cold beneath the soles of my bare feet, but I don't care. A familiar tingling has awakened in my forearm. Instinctively, I run my fingers over my scar, which is barely visible but remains evidence of a mistake. One small moment of inattention that was nearly fatal.
14
PLAYER
Like after every game,I feel completely energized even though it's nearly two in the morning. I'll be a zombie tomorrow as I try and catch up on classwork that I’ve been putting off all week.. I push that thought from my mind. I could just say fuck it, and my problem would be solved.
