Chapter Six
Susie
Waking up to the whirring buzz of the small box fan on the window sill, I glance over at Liz sprawled on top of her bed in her T-shirt and panties, with the sun glaring through the curtainless window. I forgot to pull down the shade last night. I shrug as I rise from the narrow standard-issue bed, more like a cot. If I thought Smith was stingy with their dorm furnishings, I was na?ve. Because this place is less than bare bones, and I need to do something about it. I’ll have Mom send some pillows and curtains and maybe a small rug.
It’s too late to pull down the shade now, so I don’t bother. No one’s looking in our window. The campus is a ghost town. There are no students, no classes, and absolutely nothing going on except preseason practice for all the fall sports teams, the cheerleaders, and the marching band.
The ringing of Liz’s alarm bulldozes through the quiet morning, and she turns over instead of popping up like she did yesterday. We need to get going, or we’ll be late, so I go over to her bed and gently nudge her shoulder.
“Good morning,”
I say tentatively because she’s got to be hungover.
She flashes her teeth in a convincing smile and rolls to a stand. “Not yet. But there’s aspirin for that.”
She stretches and grabs her toiletry bag along with the bottle of aspirin and staggers to the bathroom ahead of me.
Even when she’s hung over, I feel like the tortoise in a race with the hare around her. Either I better speed up and get on board the Liz train, or I’ll need to get used to being left behind. Being behind someone doesn’t sit well with me. There’s a reason I was valedictorian of my class at Chaffee. And on my way to summa cum laude at Smith—but let’s not think about Smith.
I sigh and grab my toiletries and get moving.
We walk to von der Mehden, the fine arts building on the far end of campus, to practice with the marching band.
“You would think I was asking for the moon when I asked Pete to arrange a joint practice,”
Liz rolls her eyes.
“You called our advisor?”
“Sure. He told me to. He’s also the ticket manager, and that’s the title he goes by. I don’t think he likes being the cheerleading advisor. He acts like he got stuck with the job because someone had to do it and they weren’t about to hire an extra staff person for us.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing that he doesn’t take charge. We can be in charge of ourselves.”
She looks at me and grins. “I like the way you think.”
We reach the glass front doors of the building, and as soon as she opens them, the sound of the band hits us in full force. I love the sensation, the vibration of a marching band close up.
“You’re right. We can do what we want if we do all the work for him. Pete’s a decent guy, and he’ll do what we ask. He’s already going to bat for us to get new uniforms.”
We walk down the empty hall toward the sound.
The other girls meet us in the band room while we watch them practice. We clap when the band finishes the UConn fight song.
“Where are the guys?”
I ask Liz.
“They’ll meet us at the field later. We need more. The new guy, Nick, seems iffy about being on the squad,”
she says. “We won’t be half as good without the guys doing pyramids and mounts.”
“I know,”
Carol says, joining us. “Mary had a point. If we could offer more perks like weekend meals and new uniforms, we might be able to recruit more.”
“I thought we had a budget problem?” I say.
Liz nods. “I think there’s a way to deal with our budget shortage. We can talk about that later.”
She turns to the band director, blinding him with her smile.
He stands in front of a huge mob of marching band members, and they all stare at us like they’re expecting something.
“We’re ready to start any time you are,” she says.
He blinks and swipes sweat from his upper lip. I can feel the waves of nerves coming off him as he looks us over. When he meets my eyes, he looks away quickly, like he’s afraid I’m going to slap him for looking.
“How about if we start with ‘Proud Mary’?”
His voice is so quiet, I’m not sure if I hear him right.
“The Tina Turner song?”
“That’s the one,”
Liz says, smiling big and wide at the band director.
We line up, and he goes into action directing the band. I barely know the routine, but I stumble along, and after the third time around, I have it down, enjoying the fast pace and cool moves.
We try different dance routines as the band plays “Proud Mary,”
“The Stripper,”
and other songs I don’t recognize. When we’re exhausted and I think we’ve been at it forever, the band takes a break, and Liz thanks the director.
“Let’s go get something to eat and then get back to the field for cheers and stunts.”
“Do you think I have time for a shower?”
I ask for her ears only, sensing I’m out of line.
She laughs and wraps a damp arm around me. “We’re only going to get sweatier.”
When we get to the field, the cheer guys have already hauled and set up the equipment, and the football team is on the field practicing.
“The team’s wearing full pads, so they must be hitting,”
Josh says. “A full-contact practice. This will be fun to watch.”
“They’re crazy in this heat with all that gear on,”
I say, glancing at the players. I open the cooler to get a Pepsi. I don’t even care that it’s not diet. “Thanks for lugging this.”
“The season’s starting next Saturday. They have no choice.”
“Don’t remind me. I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
A swarm of butterflies decides to come to life in my belly at the idea, but I take a swig of the Pepsi and tell myself to calm down. It’ll be like a dance recital. Only with thousands of people. No problem.
“Line up,”
Liz calls out. “Let’s practice the fight cheer.”
As we’re finishing our third round of it, Pete shows up and claps his hands for us like he means it.
“Great job, girls—and guys.”
We follow Liz, surrounding Pete because it’s obvious he has something to tell us. The man is definitely a hands-off adviser since this is the first time we’ve seen him since we got to campus. But no one seems to mind, certainly not me.
“I have an update on the uniforms. New skirts and vests have been approved.”
A small smattering of clapping starts, but he puts up his hands to stop us. “Only for the girls. Sorry, guys.”
He pauses, then smiles, and I realize I haven’t seen him smile until now.
“My wife will be making the uniform skirts and vests. You’ll report to my house tomorrow for fittings.”
He hands Liz a piece of paper. “Here’s our address, directions, and phone number. Mrs. Chenersky will be expecting you at nine.”
“That’s fantastic, Pete. I’m glad you found a way to get us new uniforms.”
Liz smiles, and I know she’s holding herself back from hugging him, which would be normal for her, but he’s not the hugging type. And not to mention, he’s our advisor.
“What about sweaters? Your wife can’t make those,”
I say, a bright smile aimed at him. “Will we still be wearing the old ones?”
He looks at me like he’s just noticing me and trying to remember my name. “We’ll buy some new sweaters.”
“Excellent,”
Liz says. She bounces and wraps an arm around me as if I’m the one buying them.
Then she stops bouncing and says, “What about the guys? Is there any way we can get pants and sweaters for them?”
“Afraid not. Not enough in the budget. I told you when you girls wanted to add male cheerleaders that you could, but we aren’t budgeted for them.”
“Thanks, Pete. I know you’re doing the best you can for us,”
Liz says, more poised than I remember her—of course. I keep remembering her as that thirteen-year-old troublemaker. But she was really just a troubled girl.
I wonder how much of that little girl still lingers. It almost feels like she’s trying too hard all the time, always striving and never arriving, afraid she might fall behind.
“We’ll be at your house tomorrow for fittings.”
She turns to us and bounces again, excited, same as always.
Josh, my stunt partner, comes up to me like he has something to say. He’s grinning in spite of the bad news about the guys’ uniforms.
I say under my breath, “Sorry, Josh.”
I pat his shoulder. “Liz says we can find another way to get you guys uniforms. A fundraiser. Maybe a car wash?”
His grin widens and he pats my back. “Don’t worry. I have some ideas for fundraisers that’ll blow the lid off a car wash or a cupcake sale.”
The way he says it, with such confidence, like his brain is whirring and plotting something big, makes me curious.
“What are you thinking about? You have something devious on your mind, don’t you?”
He laughs. “You have no idea. This is a big one. I can’t tell you now because I’m working on getting a friend to invest, and I’m close to closing the deal, but not there yet. But just you wait.”
“An investor?”
He nods like he’s sitting on a Mount Vesuvius-style secret.
“In the meantime,”
Carol says, “I’ll call a promotional company we used back in high school. We can sell candy. Chocolate bars with UConn Cheerleader labels.”
“That’s a great idea,” Liz says.
Josh rolls his eyes. “If you want, but whatever you make from candy bars is going to be peanuts compared to what I have cooking.”
He grins. Everyone laughs.
“Every little bit helps,”
I say in Carol’s defense.
We put in another hour of practicing cheers and building pyramids. Then we take out the mini trampoline and practice doing flips off it. I’m last in line, trying not to show that I’m scared because I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m lucky I can do flying cartwheels. A couple of the girls do roundoffs into back handsprings like in gymnastics, but I’m no gymnast.
My strengths are dancing and the straddle split, so when everyone else is climbing into a pyramid, I’m down front in a split, which is fine with me.
When it comes to my turn, sweat breaks out when Liz calls out instructions. I want to throw up, but there’s no way, with all eyes on me, that I’m going to back out or let them see I’m nervous. I need to prove I belong on this squad, and this feels like a test.
“You’ll catch me if I land on my head?”
I give a strained chuckle.
“You’ll be fine,”
Liz says. “Three steps, jump, and plant two feet in the middle. Bounce straight up, tuck and roll forward. Keep your eyes on the ground and land on your feet. I’ll be here.”
My stomach clenches when she says, “land on your feet,”
because that’s the trick, the part that could go all wrong and land me on my head if I miss. Shit.
She stands on one side of my landing spot, and Keith, a former gymnast, stands on the other side. My heart pounds. Everyone is watching. There’s no way I can get away with backing down. But I’ve committed to being a cheerleader, so I’m going to give it my best and jump in with two feet—literally.
“You can do it,”
Josh says, sounding confident. I squeeze my eyes in a quick blink. Inhale. And go.
Landing on my feet stuns me, but then I stumble back at the end and fall on my butt.
“You under-rotated.”
Liz pulls me up off the ground and gives me more instructions. There’s no question that I’m going to try it again—and again.
Turns out the third time is the charm, and I get the benefit of the entire cheering squad yelling and jumping up and down, cheering for me.
Laughing, I join them in the celebration, jumping up and down myself.
“Three more times,”
Liz says. “You need to land on your feet at least three times in a row before you’ve officially got it.”
I doubt that’s a rule, but I go along with it, suddenly confident that I can do it with no problem.
Three more quick jumps onto the mini tramp and up into front somersaults later, and I was right. My sense of accomplishment is exhilarating. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like this.
“Wow, you’re a natural,”
Carol says. “It took me a dozen tries last year. Maybe more.”
Josh says, “At least you finally got it. I’m still working on it.”
He laughs.
He points over my shoulder. “Looks like we have company.”
I turn and see a man with a camera hanging around his neck striding in our direction with purpose.
“He must be here to photograph the team,”
I say, dismissing him.
“Nope.”
I turn back, and sure enough, he’s veering in our direction as he lifts his camera and points it in our direction. It’s a first for me, to have some professional photographer interested in what I’m doing.
Liz spots him and blows her whistle. “Line up, everyone. Photographer.”
That’s all she says, and the girls scamper into place. I follow along, trying to keep up, but Liz and the other experienced girls know exactly what to do. Within three seconds, we fall into our two-row lineup for a pose.
The man gives the okay sign and clicks away on his camera from different angles. It only takes a minute before he finishes and thanks us. Then he moves on to where the football team is practicing twenty or thirty yards away.
“Who was that?”
I ask Liz after he’s gone.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. If we see a camera aimed at us, we smile and pose. It’s part of our job to represent the university. Though it mostly happens at games.”
She yells out, “Time for a break.”
We sit on the grass near the ten-yard line, a distance from the action, and watch the team practice. As far as I can see, they haven’t taken any breaks.
Liz had the guys pack the cooler with a carton of orange juice along with the soda and ice. They brought it to the field while we were at practice with the marching band, so it’s all probably warm by now. But we’re all so thirsty, no one complains.
She pours out cups of orange juice, but I grab another Pepsi and take a long gulp.
Josh grabs a Pepsi too. I like him, the way he always cracks up at his own jokes, always grinning like he’s saving the funniest lines for himself.
“You really enjoy cheering, don’t you?”
I sit down next to him.
“I can’t help myself. I’d be yelling and jumping around in the stands, annoying everyone around me if I didn’t join the cheering squad.”
I smile. “I can tell your enthusiasm is genuine. You’re a real football fan.”
“At the risk of sounding arrogant, I’m something of an expert.”
He elbows me. “Ask me anything.”
I lean in and lower my voice. “Is it obvious I know nothing about the game?”
He nods, grinning.
“Then I’m lucky I have you for a football tutor.”
I think I’ll feel comfortable asking him what’s going on because he won’t make me feel stupid or silly. He’ll just explain it so I can understand it.
“But don’t tell anyone I’m a football dunce,” I add.
He makes a zipping his lips gesture, and I laugh.
Finishing the last sip of my soda, I unfold myself and stand. “I want more practice on that mini tramp. Maybe I’ll try for a double somersault. Who wants to spot me?”
Judy laughs, not taking me seriously.
Liz jumps to her feet, ready to help me. “Let’s go.”
She walks with me back to the mini tramp, but she’s preoccupied, watching the football team as they practice.
I nudge her. “You watching Bryan?”
She smiles. “Of course. I can never get enough of him. I really want to see him. Maybe I’ll go over to his apartment again, but not as late this time.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She looks at me with surprise that I’m questioning her. “Why not? We’re friends. I have his key, remember?”
“It’s just that last time…”
“I was drunk. He doesn’t like it when I drink.”
She shrugs and looks down. I’m really surprised to hear her say this.
“Everyone in college drinks.”
I don’t know why I feel compelled to come to her defense, but I do, even though there’s something about Liz drinking that bothers me too—because of her father’s drinking problem, I guess.
“Everyone but Bryan,”
she says. “I won’t drink next time I see him. I’ll make sure of it.”
She crosses her heart like she’s making a promise.
I’m unreasonably pleased about her determination not to drink, and I grin at her.
“Okay, girl scout, let’s hit this mini tramp and see if I can stick a landing without falling on my rear.”