Page 7 of The Cheerleader

“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?

Chapter Two

Susie

Dressed in a pair of Liz’s flare-bottom jeans that are a little loose and a bright floral halter top that makes me look like I’m ready to do a hula dance, I lead Liz to my mom’s car, an old Volkswagen Beetle, parked in the visitor lot.

“You look like a different person,” I say as we get in the car. She’s all made up, wearing big hoop earrings, a white sleeveless blouse, and washed-out jeans with platform sandals that make her look as tall as me.

“So do you. I like you in bright colors with your dark hair. You should wear them more often.”

“I think we’ve had this discussion before,” I chuckle as I turn the ignition to mom’s car. “About six years ago.”

She giggles and then gives me directions. Ten minutes later, we arrive at Chuck’s Steak House and join the other girls in the lobby as we wait for our table. Liz introduces me to two girls from this year’s squad who weren’t at the tryouts. One is a senior and graduating. I don’t know what the story is with the other one, why she’s not cheering next year.

When Carol arrives, Liz takes her aside, but I’m standing next to them and hear every word whether I’m supposed to or not.

“Carol, I want to tell you I had no idea Pete was going to appoint me captain next year. I hope everything is cool between us, that you don’t mind.”

“I might have been a smidge disappointed, but when it comes down to it, you really are the best person for the job. You’ll do great.” She touches Liz’s arm, and her expression is earnest. Liz, of course, gives her a big hug.

The hostess shows us to a long table set for sixteen. Everyone talks at once as they take their seats in an excited rush. I tense up like we’re playing a game of musical chairs and I’m about to be the odd person out—my worst nightmare when I was a kid. It only happened once, and I’ve worried about it ever since.

Instead of finding a chair, I freeze in place. Liz takes my hand and pulls me to the seat next to her at one end of the table. I don’t know how she figured out that I panicked because I think I’ve remained calm on the outside. But as we sit, I give her a grateful smile.

When I ask about Carol, Liz tells me she’s the only senior next year and she clearly thought captain was hers when the other two seniors, Linda and Ellen, dropped out. “Linda got engaged⁠—”

“Linda dropped out of school because she got engaged?” I keep my voice low. It shrills through my words.

“No, both of them dropped off the squad, not out of school. Ellen dropped cheering because of her class workload. She said she had to choose between cheerleading and med school, and it was no contest.”