I Was a Non-Blonde Cheerleader by Kieran Scott

walked past Whitney—who smiled covertly—and over to Mindy, who grinned unabashedly. These were my allies. Everyone else in the room might as well have been shooting me with subzero freeze rays. Where were these other girls Whitney had told me about? The ones who supposedly wanted me there?
    I didn’t have long to think about it. Coach Holmes camein, and if she was surprised to see me there, she didn’t show it. She warmed us up with twenty laps around the gym, a hundred jumping jacks, and as many push-ups as we could do in one minute. I checked in with a pathetic five. “Unprecedentedly sorry” was the phrase Coach used. She was wearing a tank top and had a set of Serena Williams arms. I had a feeling it was time to hit the gym.
    “All right, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Coach called out after warm-ups. “This team isn’t just about regionals. We have a pep rally this Friday and a game this Saturday and our two new members need to be prepared for both.”
    Tara opened her mouth to protest, and it was like Coach Holmes’ eyes were hooked into Tara’s jaw. The second Holmes looked at Tara, her mouth snapped shut.
    “I’d like a volunteer to work with Mindy and Annisa while the rest of the team practices the routine for regionals,” Coach Holmes said. “A flyer would be best so that we can keep most of the formations intact. Anyone?”
    I was so relieved when Whitney stepped forward, I could have kissed her. Tara did a classic soap opera betrayed look-chin pulled back, mouth open. Whitney didn’t appear to notice.
    “Okay, girls,” Whitney said, leading us into a corner. “We’ve got a lot to learn, so pay attention. This is our hello cheer.”
    Then she launched into the most intricate cheer I’d ever seen. There was this one clap sequence where her hands were just a blur. Mindy and I looked at each other. This was not going to be a cakewalk.
    For two hours we practiced with Whitney while the rest of the squad danced and cheered behind us to a tight mix of songs. Whenever we took a break, I couldn’t help staring atthe squad. The routine was intense. Intensely amazing. It looked just like something out of
Bring It On.
Suddenly, I had stars in my eyes. I remembered why I was here in the first place. Competition. The thrill of victory. The agony of defeat. Getting to strut my stuff on ESPN in front of thousands of crazed cheerleaders.
    As a couple of girls launched into perfect scorpions, my skin felt all tingly. It was going to happen. I could feel it.
    “All right, girls, take five,” Coach Holmes called out at the end of one of their run-throughs. “Mindy, Annisa, can I see you?”
    The rest of the team collapsed on the bleachers—everyone except Tara, Whitney and Coach Holmes. Mindy and I stood in front of them, sweaty and tired. My head was full of a zillion cheer catchphrases. “Go! Fight! Win!” “Here we go, Sand Dune, here we go!” “V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!” I could barely hear myself think with all the shouting going on in my gray matter.
    “What do you think, girls?” Coach Holmes asked Tara and Whitney. She looked Mindy and me up and down. “I think Gobrowski’s the flyer.”
    The flyer?
I was going to be a flyer? My heart jumped excitedly. We barely ever got a basket toss off the ground back home, but on this squad I’d be catching more wind than a 747.
    “Yeah, I guess,” Tara said. “Kristen was a base and Danielle was a flyer,” she explained, looking exclusively at Mindy. “Can you handle basing?”
    “No problem,” Mindy said.
    “She did, like, thirty push-ups,” I put in.
    Tara looked at me like I’d just put a hex on her. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll throw you.”
    So
not the words you want to hear from the mouth of your mortal enemy.
    “Autumn? Chandra? I need you at the mats,” Tara said.
    A couple of sturdy-looking girls roused themselves from the bleachers and walked with us to a set of mats in the center of the room.
    “Autumn Ross, Chandra Albohm,