The Cheerleader

Chapter One

Susie

May 1975, UConn, Storrs, CT

It’s ironic and possibly fateful that the first person I see after my appointment with admissions at UConn is Liz McNeil.

“Oh my god! Is it really Susie Bennett? What the heck are you doing here? I heard you were at Smith.”

Liz doesn’t stop walking, heading straight for me, deviating from whatever path she was on to wrap me in a big hug.

I laugh and let out a breath as my heart settles from the initial jolt of seeing her, accepting her embrace and feeling the warmth. Whatever else Liz was guilty of, she’s always been genuine about how she feels and, strangling a flinch of my own guilt, I admit to myself that she’s always been painfully loyal as a friend.

“It’s good to see you too,”

I say, surprising myself. It’s true.

She lets me go, aiming her brilliant smile at me. I find myself smiling right back because I can’t help it. All those junior high hijinks flood my memory—bringing a different set of clothes to school and changing in the girls’ room, tossing out our lunch and eating ice cream that Liz talked the cafeteria ladies into giving us instead.

It’s like nothing ever happened between us. It’s as if she hadn’t been cut out of my life like she was poison. Technically, it was my parents who decided she was a bad influence and sent me to Loomis Chaffee, the prestigious private girls’ high school. Away from my best friend growing up, my best friend to that point.

But her family problems spilled over and worried my parents. They didn’t want me encountering Liz’s father. Didn’t want me poisoned by the terribleness of Liz’s family problems. But what about Liz? Who was going to save her from the terrible problems?

Liz thought it was cool that I was going to Chafe and assumed we’d still be best friends, that we’d share our different experiences like we always did, and hang out in the summers and on vacations. But that never happened.

“It’s been, what? Six years?”

she says. Her smile doesn’t falter, and there’s no accusation in her voice, but that doesn’t stop guilt from attacking me as if it has good reason. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t.

I never told her that my parents forbade me from keeping in touch with her. We wrote to each other for a while until I got caught. My mom was horrified and cried, making me feel so guilty. Mom was there that night I’ve been trying to forget. The night she dragged me to the bar where her dad hung out. Not now. I mentally squeeze the dark memory from my head and try to bury it deep again, where it’s been all this time. Not deep enough.

I was a good girl, always wanting to please my parents because they always wanted what was best for me; they genuinely cared. I had every right to choose my parents over her. I was a child.

So I stopped writing and never spoke to Liz again. Until now.

Now, hopefully, we’ve both done some growing up.

Taking a deep breath, I nod and say, “I just transferred to UConn. I start in the fall.”

I wave an arm in the direction of the admissions building.

She shrieks. “Are you kidding? That’s fantastic. Come with me.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, sweeps an arm around my shoulder, and walks, pulling me into her powerful wake.

Her energy compels me to go along. She’s more forceful now than she was in junior high, seemingly more confident. But I know back then there was a lot of bravado fueling her big personality, and I wonder if her new level of confidence is real or just a more perfected version of her youthful bravado.

“How are your parents?”

I’m curious to know if Liz’s circumstances have improved. Guilt winds its way up my neck to heat my cheeks, and I look away. I’m hoping she’s not still the poor girl with an angry drunk dad who can’t hold a job. It was a hard thing for her.

Since my own dad has been unemployed for six months, I might have the tiniest bit of understanding about money worries. But not the rest of what she’s been through.

I’m not too absorbed in my personal riches-to-rags story to notice the interruption of Liz’s smile and the telltale scrunch of her nose.

But she doesn’t turn away in embarrassment, shame, or apology, and aims those same brave blue eyes at me like she always did. “Mom’s hanging on with the help of food stamps and Dad’s disability checks. He mostly stays in bed now.”

The absence of her smile is strange, making her look like a different person. She acknowledges her stark reality so fully and deeply that I feel the solidness of her bravery, almost like a punch. My chest tightens.

I don’t say anything because I can’t, and because there’s nothing to say. Whatever distance time and my parents threw between us has been obliterated.

Her smile returns, wry and a little sad. “In my opinion, it’s better that he’s bedridden.”

I nod because I know what she means. He used to wreak havoc in their household when he was on a drinking bender, which happened far too frequently. Not weekly, maybe not even every month, but waiting for the inevitable to happen made it worse. At my insistence, Liz spent a lot of nights sleeping over at my house whenever her dad broke his promise to quit drinking again.

When my parents sent me to Chaffee, insisting I make new friends, I resisted for a while out of loyalty, wondering if there wasn’t something I could do for Liz. Now I realize that’s what my parents were worried about—me getting dragged into something dark that I knew nothing about.

We exchanged a few letters before I was caught, and it all stopped. Then I heard nothing about Liz. We lived in the same town but in two different worlds. The only thing I heard about Liz was that she was class valedictorian when it was in the local paper.

Stopping on the dirt path to an unfamiliar building, I reach out and take Liz in my arms. She stiffens at first, which is strange, except I understand her pride and not wanting sympathy. Then she softens immediately, expelling a long breath.

“I’m so glad you’re not at home anymore, Liz. So glad you’re here.”

She backs up, separating from the embrace. “Thank God for scholarships for poor kids.”

She makes a face.

“Don’t lie to me. You must have gotten a scholarship at least partly because you’re smart—the smartest one in the class.”

“I’m so glad you’re here now.”

I’m surprised to see the twinkle of unshed tears in her eyes, and whatever trepidation I had about rekindling our friendship disappears. A deep gnawing longing to have our friendship back tugs at me. Liz might still be troubled, but I’m an adult now, and whatever trouble she has, I can handle.

Liz seems stronger than ever and looks like she’s doing fine on her own. Away from her father. At least on the surface.

The idea that I owe her something sneaks into my head. But I’m not going back there, not going to examine the whys and hows and worries of our adolescent past.

We start walking again, and she loops an arm through mine. “How are your parents? How’s the professor?”

I laugh at her old nickname for my dad from when he used to help us with algebra homework in seventh grade.

“He’s good.”

My insides tighten up because my answer to her perfectly innocent question is a lie. Does it make me a terrible friend to hold back on baring my family’s problems?

No. Family first, right?

“Dad’s his usual wonderful self. Same with Mom.”

I deliver the incomplete story, the one that barely skims the surface of reality and is usually reserved for acquaintances, not close friends. Not that I have any close friends.

It hits me that Liz was the last really close, secret-sharing friend I had. Not even my ex-boyfriend Todd was good for soul-baring talks.

No wonder I’ve felt so detached, almost forlorn. Especially since I left Smith. My friends there weren’t close, but at least we shopped and talked about school and the world.

It’s a good thing I’m close to my mom and Aunt Mabel, or I’d be certifiable. Though I can only talk to them about so much.

Liz tilts her head and gives me a funny smile, then she stops walking and says, “I heard your dad was laid off from Hamilton Standard.”

Her voice is quiet and full of empathy.

Surprise and a touch of embarrassment makes me stumble. “He… yes. He was. But?—”

She pats my arm. “I know he’ll get another great engineering job before you know it. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry at all. He’s a wonderful man with a lot to offer.”

Her words give me an instant boost because they’re true, and I give her a grateful smile for the reminder. With her usual good humor, Liz walks with energy as we approach an ancient-looking brick building with high windows and oversized double wooden doors.

“Why did you transfer to UConn?”

Her expression holds a smile, but there’s a crease of curiosity in her forehead, and maybe something more in her eyes—maybe concern.

Holding off the bubble of panic, I shrug. This is Liz. “Money. The tuition is a lot cheaper at UConn.”

Her face brightens. “Plus, UConn is bigger and has a lot more going on than Smith. What are you majoring in?”

Bad subject. This is the sore spot, the one thing truly bothering me, my biggest dilemma. “I’m registered as an Engineering major. Dad insisted. He wants to make sure I can get a decent job when I graduate.”

He said he wanted to make sure the investment of tuition was worthwhile, but those words are too painful to repeat because they made me feel like a burden. Still, it feels good to share some things with Liz.

“That’s very smart. Good choice.”

“Practically speaking, it is.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. I’d much rather be a teacher.”

I take a breath and face her, looking for support from her for my renegade attitude.

She laughs. “You always had a soft spot for helping other kids with math. But your dad’s right. You need to look out for yourself. Engineering pays way better.”

Disappointment comes and goes as I brush off her comment. “You’re no help.”

Liz laughs. “It’s not the worst thing to be an engineer like your dad.”

She smiles. She’s always idolized him. I can’t blame her because her own dad was no role model.

“Maybe.”

But even as I say the word, my soul rebels and determination to be a teacher surfaces. The air in my metaphoric balloon presses hard for escape, making my head ache.

“You know what the best part of being at UConn over Smith is?”

she says. “More guys.”

She elbows me, grinning, and I laugh, releasing some pressure. She’s exactly what I need to escape all the pressure and disruption that brought me here.

“Some things haven’t changed. You’re still as boy crazy as ever.”

I feel lighter for no good reason.

When I’ve thought about Liz over the last six years, worry about her emotional welfare inevitably rose to the surface, followed quickly by guilt because I’d abandoned her to her tough circumstances. I would have felt guilty either way. My parents didn’t want me exposed to her father and his drinking problem.

But maybe it didn’t matter whether I was there or not because Liz seems to have thrived. She’s more poised, mature, and her energy is more controlled.

We walk up the worn granite steps to the heavy doors of the building, which turns out to be a gymnasium with creaky wooden floors.

“Welcome to the Hawley Armory,”

Liz says, entering ahead of me.

I look around the large, almost empty space, fanning my face as the stuffy air and heat threaten to suffocate me. “What are we doing here?”

“Cheerleading tryouts.”

I give her a blank look, reflecting my blank mind. I have no idea what to make of her statement.

“Cheerleading tryouts?”

She takes my hand, her smile undiminished, and pulls me forward into the cavernous space.

It strikes me that there should be lots of eager girls jumping around with nervous energy if this is supposed to be cheerleading tryouts for a big university like UConn.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Probably studying for finals next week. We’re early. I wanted to practice. Even though I was on the squad this year, I’m not taking any chances.”

She sits on the floor and stretches her legs out like I used to do in dance class. I join her, folding my legs under me because I’m wearing a shortish dark blue skirt with my white polo shirt and espadrilles. It was mom’s idea for me to dress in UConn colors for my admissions appointment.

“You have to try out again even though you were already on the squad? There must be a lot of competition.”

I look around again, waiting to see a line of girls rushing inside.

She shrugs. “Not really. We’ll probably get a couple dozen girls for tryouts, and they pick eight to ten.”

She laughs. I must look confused because she goes on. “It’s a rule from the old days when cheerleading was more popular that you try out your first two years, and then your third—senior—year you’re on the squad automatically.”

She continues bending at the waist one way, then the other, while I’m trying to make sense of what she said. It doesn’t sound right, nothing like I would have expected. But then, what would I know? I’ve never been a cheerleader.

Finished with her stretching, Liz jumps to her feet. “Do the Huskies dance routine with me.”

She takes a pose, standing sideways with her left foot extended and pointed and her right arm extended up, then starts dancing, humming what I assume is the school song. Laughing, I get up and stand behind her. I follow along, mimicking her moves.

It’s fun. I’d taken dance lessons for years when I was younger, and I always enjoyed it. But that was before I got serious about school.

“You keeping up?”

she asks over her shoulder.

“Sure. It’s a basic routine. Is this what UConn cheerleaders do? What about jumping around and cartwheels and?—”

“We do all that too.”

She turns to watch me, giving me one of those looks like she used to when she was cooking up trouble—like the time she stole some of her father’s cigars and we snuck out the back door of the gym to smoke them. We ended up getting sick and being sent home.

“What? What are you thinking?”

I’m afraid to ask as I come to a stop on a high kick. At the same time, a jump of excitement pulses through me, that same ripple of anticipation I used to have when we were kids, the kind I used to get when we were headed for trouble.

“You should try out—you’re a natural. I’ll go over the routines with you now and?—”

I laugh, truly amused and amazed at the suggestion. “You’re crazy, Liz. That’s your wildest idea yet.”

“Wildly good!”

“I’ve barely been admitted—I’m not even an official student yet until next semester?—”

With undiminished enthusiasm, she takes my hand and turns me to stand next to her. “You’re officially enrolled. That’s good enough. I’m perfectly serious about this. It’s a brilliant idea.”

Her expression is serious even as her enthusiasm turns feverish.

“I’m not dressed for this.”

I look down at my outfit, which isn’t terrible, but the espadrilles?—

“You look fine. You can dance in those clothes. And the shoes. They’re almost flat and they’re flexible. We could be cheerleaders together. Think about the fun. Now follow my moves.”

She starts the dance over again, singing the UConn Huskies fight song in earnest now, and I automatically follow along, once again caught up in the wake of her energy. Except it’s more than that because I like dancing, and there’s something about the idea of being a cheerleader that intrigues me. Being out there in front of people is a little scary, yes, but I never minded dance recitals. Performing in a group was kind of fun.

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.”

We all turn sideways with our arms poised, and Mary calls out, “Five, six, seven, eight.”

Here I am doing the dance routine I learned an hour ago with the official cheerleading squad for UConn. A laugh spills out from my wide smile, and the giddy feeling is unexpected.

I’m not a giddy person. I’m not even sure what it means to be a cheerleader or what I’ve gotten myself into, but the pure joy of this group of girls bubbles over like champagne, and I’ve taken a big sip. I know without knowing why that I’m in for the time of my life.

When the routine ends, we collapse into a huddle, laughing and hugging each other. Liz hugs me and then Carol. She has tears in her eyes, and I’m assuming they’re joyful.

Mary comes down from the stage where the judges were sitting and joins us.

“Congratulations, ladies. Before you go, I’d like a few minutes with you. Let’s sit.”

We all take seats on the floor in a circle as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. It’s not, I remind myself, but I follow suit.

“I’ve been asked by Pete to introduce you to the program. Some of you were on the squad last year, so you know at least some of it, but let’s go over everything.”

Her smiling eyes travel around the group.

“First, you are now representing the University of Connecticut when you put on your uniform and even when you’re not in uniform. Keep that in mind as you go through your days in class and out around campus.”

She pauses to glance around at us to make sure we understand the gravity. “Second, you’ll be required to attend practices two to three times a week all through football and basketball seasons, and in addition, you’ll report to campus a week before classes for two-a-day sessions at training camp. Your dorm rooms will be available for you to stay at, and you will be eating breakfast and lunch at the Student Union using ID cards.”

“That’s so cool,”

Penny says. She has an adorable, almost Minnie Mouse voice and Shirley Temple honey blond curls. She’s the only one of us who wears glasses, and I wonder how she’ll manage without them when we have a game. She pushes them up her pert nose now and catches me watching her.

“Very cool,”

I say and smile at her. I’m not sure if it is cool, but I guess I’ll find out. So far, cheerleading sounds like a big commitment, and I wonder if it might interfere with my studies.

Mary finishes up about the code of conduct and then asks Liz to stay behind a minute while we go back to the sidelines to gather our things. The girls are all about to disperse and go back to their dorms or classes when Liz lets out an ear-piercing whistle.

“Hold up. One more announcement.”

She and Mary come over to us.

“Pete and the athletic department decided to name Liz McNeil as the captain of the cheerleading squad next year. Let’s all congratulate her.”

I give Liz a genuine hug. “I’m so happy for you. You’ll make a great captain.”

“She’s always in charge, so it makes sense,”

Carol says, smiling. The others laugh.

“That’s not all I have to announce,”

Mary interrupts the buzz of congratulations. “The University will host a dinner tonight at seven at Chuck’s Steak House for the cheerleading squad, current and new members?—”

“Including the guys?” Liz says.

A pop of surprise dislodges my tongue. “Guys?”

The others laugh, and Mary continues. “Sure, let’s include them. Maybe you can use the dinner as a perk to encourage more guys to join the squad.”

She smiles wryly at Liz, then goes on. “As usual, Pete has left it to me to represent the Athletic Department, so he won’t be there tonight. And I’m passing the torch.”

She hands Liz a blue card. “You can be in charge of the bill and the paperwork.”

Liz laughs, and Mary glances at the giant clock on the wall, her face registering alarm. “I’ll leave the rest of the announcement to you, Liz. I can’t be late to my next class.”

Mary leaves, and the rest of the girls break up, getting ready to follow suit.

Liz takes my arm as she gathers up her things shoved against the wall. “I knew you’d be a natural. Look at you!”

“This is crazy. I’ve barely been admitted to UConn—a few hours ago.”

“Shh. You don’t tell them, and I won’t.”

I glance at my watch. “Shit. I have to go too. My parents will be wondering what happened to me.”

“You sure you can’t stay over and celebrate? You can call your parents from my room and tell them.”

“You’re crazy.”

I wonder if I should call Mom to ask if I can keep her car and stay overnight. I can’t tell her I’d be staying with Liz of all people.

She laughs. “What else is new?”

She shouts, “Let’s do it. Dinner at Chuck’s Steak House tonight. And remember, the university is paying.”

She waves the plastic card around like it means something.

“What’s that?”

“The university’s Diners Club card.”

I take it from her and look it over. I’d never seen one like this before. Dad’s is plain white. I hand it back.

“It’s crazy that they gave this to you and that someone from the university won’t even be there at dinner.”

“Typical. Our adviser, dear Pete, has his hands full with his real job as the ticket manager. Not to mention his family. He has three kids.”

“Really? So we’re on our own?”

She laughs. “We are. The university trusts us to represent them well.”

I nod. “If the cheerleaders are a big deal, representing the university, I wonder why there weren’t more girls trying out.”

She shrugs. “I think it’s an anti-establishment thing. Their loss. We’re definitely a big deal. A bigger deal now that you’re with us.”

She throws an arm around my shoulder like we haven’t lost six years and we’re up to no good, about to do something crazy like the last time I saw her.

I grin. “How can I say no? I’ll call my mom.”

I think Mom might even be pleased by the news.

Liz turns and yells to the other girls who are standing around waiting for her that we’ll all meet at Chuck’s tonight just before seven. A bubble of trepidation rises in me. This is not part of my plan, certainly not part of dad’s plan for me, and I wonder if I can keep up my studies in engineering while cheerleading.

Or maybe I won’t, a tiny grain of rebellion speaks up. My parents always taught me I should be independent. The whole world in the form of the feminist movement is telling me I should be independent and make my own decisions.

Maybe this is my time to do what I think is best for me. I should change my major from engineering to education and be a teacher.

The idea of going against my dad and his good advice scares me. Can I pay my own way if dad doesn’t pay my tuition?

More immediately, am I crazy for joining the cheerleading squad for no good reason except fun?