Cheerleaders Don't Cry

20

Marcy Hannon

A month had steadily passed by. I finished my community service without much fuss. When it was over, and the head janitor, Mr. Whittemore, stamped my service sheet for the last time, I felt as if a massive weight had been relieved from my chest. It was as if the night of Halloween had never happened. Everybody seemed to have forgotten about that, just as they'd forgotten about Valentine's Day. They always forgot, eventually. All I had to do was keep my head down, and be a ghost until graduation.

It wasn't very difficult. With Spring Break approaching, and basketball season coming to a close, my main obligations were to attend scattered mandatory cheer practices, and keep up on my homework. I hadn't spoken to Travis in weeks, and he hadn't texted me in just as long - though several times, I'd caught him discreetly watching me across the hallway over the past month. He always seemed as if he were about to approach me. Whenever I saw even a glimpse of his shadow, I ducked into a nearby bathroom and hid for ten minutes. Cooper wanted nothing to do with me, and my mom was overwhelmed between work and planning for her wedding. Amber was the last bit of sanity that I had, and I wasn't about to mess it up.

Today, I was passing between fifth and sixth hour when I noticed Travis hovering at the end of the hallway, standing by the wall to avoid being an obstacle in the busy hallway. He was hard to miss - easily clearing 6 feet, he towered over the bobbing heads of the student traffic. He was looking down, most likely staring at his phone, but every three seconds his gaze would flicker up and scan the hallway. Looking for somebody, and I wasn't taking the chance that it was me.

I spun on my heel and quickly followed a group of sophomore girls into the bathroom. They were laughing, smiling with glossed lips and gossiping loudly. They occupied the entire space in front of the sinks and mirrors, so I leaned against the bathroom wall and started a timer on my phone for ten minutes. I tried to ignore that they kept glancing at me in the mirror, giggling with hands covering their mouths, whispering to each other. Maybe they were talking about me. Maybe they weren't.

The girls left after four minutes. I washed my hands several times, filling my palm with more and more soap each time, until the silky scented fluid was leaking through my fingers.

The bathroom door opened at six minutes, and in walked Kathy Jefferson.

Immediately, I knew it was her, even though I'd never actually seen her up close. Everything that Cooper had ever mentioned about her fit like puzzle pieces into the girl that had just entered the room. Short blond hair swayed by her jawline, a silver charm gleaming on the necklace dangling from her throat. Sharp blue eyes that cut through the air, landed on me, darted away. She hadn't even said anything, had simply walked into a stall and slid the lock shut, but I could feel her standoffish presence, rubbing against mine like the friction from scraping nails on a chalkboard.

I wondered if she was putting me together as I had just done to her. What had Cooper ever said about me? What did I look like to her in that single glance?

Bleached blond hair, makeup plastered to her face. Leaning against the sink like she owns the place, pumping out soap and draining the dispenser for her own amusement. Probably cutting class - her academics are obviously of no priority to her. And would you look at that skirt, not enough material there to use as a tissue. It's a miracle she hasn't been called down to the office yet for a dress code violation. Waste of space.

The door to her stall swung back open, and I yanked my hand away from the soap dispenser. She walked to the sink, washed her hands, briskly dried them with two paper towels. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror, wiped something from the surface of her cheek with her index finger, and exhaled. The sound of her breath echoed against the walls.