Ann Martin - Stacey And The Cheerleaders

I nodded. "Uh-huh. Well, what's it going to be like? Do I just walk in and do my routine? Should I memorize one of your cheers?"

"No," Penny answered. "We'll teach everyone a cheer, very slowly. All the basic moves will be in it, so we'll be able to tell two things — how you learn, and whether or not you have the stretch and the energy and the coordination, stuff like that. If you survive the cut, you get to do the routine. We'll provide a boom box, but bring your own cassette."

"Have you started preparing a routine?" Corinne asked.

"I'm going to ask Jessi Ramsey to choreograph one with me," I replied. "She is an amazing dancer."

Corinne looked at the others. I could see the trace of a smile on her face.

Penny and Margie were smiling, too. "Uh-huh," Margie said. "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," I said. "See you!"

" 'Bye!" they replied as I turned to leave.

I tried to ignore their smiles. Corinne kriew who Jessi was. She must have told the others

I hung out with sixth-graders. I guess they found that amusing.

It didn't matter. If Jessi could help me look like a good dancer, I'd be the one smiling after tryouts.

"Wow! Come on over!"

That was Jessi's reaction when I phoned to ask for her help with the routine.

"Now?" I said. "The BSC meeting starts in an hour."

"That's plenty of time!"

"Oh, okay. I'll be right there."

I clomped upstairs and changed into my Danskins. I hadn't worn them in ages. They were wrinkled and musty.

I didn't care. This week they were going to get a workout. And so was I.

I was going to blow everyone away at the tryouts.

Chapter 8.

"Aaaaaugh! I am dying!"

My screaming did not faze Claudia one bit. She looked at the panicked face in my bedroom mirror. "What is it now, Stacey?"

I held out a fistful of my hair. "Look at this! I can't leave the house. Call Robert! Tell him to cancel!"

Claudia sighed. "Stacey, that is a hair kink. It is not the end of the world. Many girls survive on dates with a kink in their hair."

"How do you know?"

"I read a study, okay? It said that ninety-eight point two percent of all single-kink-haired girls under the age of fourteen have reported that their dates fell madly in love with them." She grabbed my brush and began running it through my hair. "It's a fact. In the Connecticut Journal of ... Hair Disorders."

I looked at her. She looked at me.

Together we burst out laughing. I fell off my chair.

There could be only one explanation for our bizarre behavior. Fear. Absolute, sheer terror.

Friday night had come much faster than I expected. Robert was due any minute. If Claudia hadn't agreed to come over and help me out, I'd be a basket case.

I had had an awful night's sleep on Thursday, and it showed. When I awoke, my hair looked like a swamp. I showered, I brushed, I managed to get rid of the knots and twists.

But nothing could get rid of The Kink.

When I climbed back onto my chair, it had gotten worse. One whole section of my hair looked as if it were trying to rise up out of my head. "Oh, Claudia, it looks like a wing. Maybe I should fly to Robert's house and pick him up."

"Why don't you just wear a ski cap, if you're so concerned?"

"Oh, right. So I can look all flat-haired like Morticia Addams when I take it off in the theater? Puh-leeze!"

Claudia threw up her arms. "Well, at least your outfit looks good."

She was right. It did. Robert and I were only going to a movie and then a coffee shop. I didn't want to overdress but I did want to look

terrific, so I decided on a pair of new jeans with a brand-new white cotton cardigan with gorgeous floral embroidery and a scalloped, crocheted neckline. On my feet were suede ankle boots. Flat-bottomed suede ankle boots.

"Maybe I should wear something with more of a heel," I said. "I mean, he's so tall, and — "

Riiiing!

I grabbed the back of the chair to keep from keeling over.

"Calm down," Claudia said. "And if you're going to fall, fall on the kink. It might straighten out."

"Claudia, don't remind me of that!" I hissed.

"Stacey?" Mom called from downstairs. "Robert's here!"

I gulped.

"Should I escort you by the arm?" Claudia asked.

"No, I think I can make it by myself."

Claudia followed me down the steps. In the kitchen she squeezed my hand and said, "Good luck!"

I don't remember if I answered her. As I headed for the living room, I caught a whiff of something I'd never smelled in the house.

Men's cologne. Robert was wearing cologne.

I didn't know what brand it was, but I loved it.

"Hi, Stacey!" Robert said brightly as I entered the hallway. "Wow, you look great."

"Thanks. You too!" He was wearing a zipped-up down coat, but it was nice as down coats go.

Had I noticed he had a dimple on his left cheek before? Had I noticed his eyes were so dark and deep they seemed to pull me toward him like a hidden pond on a summer evening?

Had neither Claudia nor I noticed the price tag hanging from the bottom of my cardigan?

Well, Mom did. "Oops," she said. "Let me get the scissors and cut that."

"Oh! I can't believe I left it there!" I yelped.

Robert laughed. It was a friendly laugh, not judgmental. "Don't worry. No big deal."

I could practically feel Claudia groaning in the kitchen.

Mom returned with the scissors and my coat. She cut the tag, we all said good-bye, and Robert and I left.

Mrs. Brewster was waiting in the car. "Hi, Stacey," she said, and I saw immediately where Robert got his beautiful eyes. We chatted a moment, and she asked, "Where to?"

"Well," Robert said. "I looked at the movie

listings, and ... I don't know. What do you think?"

He handed me a carefully cut-out piece of newspaper. His mom turned on the overhead light.

I looked down the list of movies at the cine-plex. Mall Warriors II was playing on two screens now, and the rest looked pretty boring.

"Not such a great selection," I said, giving the sheet back to him.

"Yeah." Robert stuffed it in his coat pocket. "Maybe we should just get something to eat. You know, talk, maybe take a walk. . . ."

Take a walk? In twenty-degree weather?

It sounded like a wonderful idea.

Mrs. Brewster drove us to a coffee shop called the Argo in downtown Stoneybrook. Her last words to us were, "Take your time. Call me when you're ready."

"Your mom's really nice," I said as we walked inside.

"Yeah," Robert agreed. "For a mom."

"Two?" asked a harried-looking waiter. He grabbed a couple of menus and led us to a cozy booth by a window.

As we sat, Robert asked, "Did you have dinner?"

"Yes," I replied. "But go ahead and eat, if you want. I can order a salad or something."

"I ate, too. I figured we'd be going to a movie." He scanned the menu. "These desserts look great! How about this 'Brownie Ice Cream Delight for Two'?"

"Uh, no ..."

"Pecan pie a fa mode? Or maybe carrot cake?" Suddenly he looked very solemn, as if he knew he'd made a mistake. "Or maybe something lighter, like yogurt?"

I took a deep breath. He seemed so caring and earnest. He hadn't made fun of me for being a "girl" on a "diet." Somehow I didn't feel like dancing around the truth. I'd promised myself not to say anything about my diabetes, but I thought he deserved to know.

So I told him. He listened carefully, nodding and asking questions. He didn't gag when I mentioned my injections.

And when I finished, he didn't automatically change the subject, or look at me as if I were dying. He just said, "Wow, I'm glad you told me that. Otherwise you might have felt uncomfortable."

Now, Robert could have said a lot of things. He could have told me how gorgeous I was. He could have compared my hair to a cascade of satin (well, kinked satin) and my eyes to sapphires.