I arrived to cheer practice and early and saw a few girls in shorts and tank tops lacing up their trainers. Rosemary jogged up to me, beaming, blonde hair in a high ponytail.
"Lo, I'm so glad you decided to come," she said, more girls passing by me to warm up.
"Sorry, I half forgot, so I didn't bring a change of clothes."
Actually, today had been heavy on my mind for the past few days and, after trying on a few potential outfits for Linda, and Paul, who'd been around more lately, and having her say I looked 'sexy' in front of him, I decided I wasn't ready for anyone to see me in booty shorts and no sleeves.
It had become regular practice for teachers to comment on the length of my skirts, if only to earn brownie points with the Dean or Headmaster. My English teacher, Mr. Grant, a man about Paul's age, maybe a year or two younger, was especially ruthless. He critiqued me at least once or twice a day, and, each time, I patiently reminded him that skirts in my waist size and extra-long were on back order. The day before I attended a cheer rehearsal, he'd called me to his desk in front of the class and loudly asked what would happen if he came to school half-dressed.
"What if I just decided to teach class with no shirt on?"
A few kids giggled at the question, mostly girls. He was the youngest male teacher at the school, I think, with bright blue eyes and wavy, mahogany hair he kept neatly gelled. He was tall, close to six foot and slim. With a pair of glasses, he'd look a little like Buddy Holly.
I thought it was a retarded question, so I just stared at him for a few seconds, shoulders round, gaze weak. Once I realized he expected an answer, it was too late to think of something witty, so I just averted my eyes to his neatly organized desk.
He sighed in disapproval. "Very well; take your seat, Ms. Foxwell."
On my way to the third row, a boy tripped me and chuckled as I struggled to steady myself.
I wasn't being 'bullied' or anything as trite as that, but I was treated strangely, especially by the boys. Everyone knew I was Linda Eastman's step-daughter by now, but it wasn't my connection to Paul that was leading some of my peers to trip me or drop lizards on my exposed thigh at recess. It was more the expectation that the step-daughter of a former Beatle should be groovy, or at least attractive, and I wasn't. I wore boring shoes and never knew how to manage my fringe. And no matter how popular Twiggy was, I never felt confident in my curve-less, boyish frame.
So as long as my short skirts had to be reprimanded daily by teachers, I just wasn't confident enough to wear an even more revealing outfit to cheer practice.
At least none of the girls have seemed to be one of the handful who'd picked on me. I don't even think there was a single student from my English class on the team, which was a relief.
Rosemary made extra-sure to tell me it was perfectly fine to just watch today. There appeared to be around fifteen girls, but a few (the less attractive ones, I noted) just "boosted morale" in the stands while the core cheer group did the routines.
Everything I'd heard about cheerleaders, especially from American television, appeared to be total bullshit. The girls seemed at least cordial if not very friendly, only two or three were model-attractive, Rosemary being one of them, and, subverting my biggest expectation, it appeared to actually be a lot of hard work. At the end of the two-hour practice, with only four short water breaks, every girl was red-faced and panting, baby hairs pasted to their foreheads with sweat.
A girl with a dirty-blonde, pin-straight ponytail that, even though it was cinched at the crown of her head, reached past the middle of her back, pulled up the hem of her t-shirt to dab droplets of sweat from her face, exposing wash-board abs.
I looked on with longing; I'd kill for a perfectly flat stomach.
"What'd you think?" Rosemary asked, cheeks the color of a ripe tomato, eye makeup smudged in an oddly sensual way.
"It looked..." I searched for the right word, not wanting to sound like a spastic. "...fun." I paused. "And also intense, hard."
"I couldn't have put it better myself," she said, beaming proudly. "We've ordered a uniform for you already, and don't worry, we don't give a damn about it being knee-length," she said almost conspiratorially. I couldn't help but notice how clean and upper class her diction was, even when she was cursing, like she'd gotten her tutor straight from Buckingham Palace. "So are you in Lo?"
I looked around at the girls of all ages exchanging hair ties and sharing water bottles, watched them stretch their calf muscles or put an ice cube on the back of their neck to help cool down.
I looked back at Rosemary with a smile. "Most definitely."
Sorry about this chapter being a bit short, I hop to post another shortly, thanks for reading and hope you'll vote and leave a comment!