Ann Martin - Stacey And The Cheerleaders

When we were finally spread out, the cheerleaders distributed themselves around the gym. Darcy announced, "Okay, make sure you can see one of us. We'll demonstrate the routine twice, and you join in the third time."

I was on the left side of the group, at about the middle of the gym. Sheila had made sure to be the cheerleader nearest me. She saw me over her shoulder and gave a smile.

Darcy pressed a button on a boom box in the bleachers. A rock song blared through the gym.

Well, the combination they did was embarrassingly easy. A few simple steps, kicks, and turns, and one split at the end.

Everyone would be able to do it, I thought. It would be impossible for them to cut anybody.

I was wrong. You'd think some of those girls had never learned their right from their left. And their faces! Half of them looked as if they were being tortured. Not to mention the "cheer," which sounded like a chain gang chant.

"You must be kidding!" Darcy's voice boomed out. "Come on! Have some fun with this!"

After running through the routine a few more times, the cheerleaders began walking around the room. They would casually look over the crowd, then whisper into the ear of a girl.

I was one of the first who got a whisper. It was Sheila, saying, "Get away from these goons. We want to see your routine."

I walked to the stands. My BSC friends were staring at me, all confused. "You got cut?" Jessi exclaimed.

"I got kept," I said, "for the finals."

They jumped up and cheered. We waited patiently until only the finalists (and their friends) were left in the stands — twelve finalists altogether.

In the back of the gym, near the locker room door, the rejected girls were murmuring and complaining. Some were sobbing. The one who had asked the question earlier was at the table in front, pleading with Darcy.

Before long that girl was running for the locker room door, weeping uncontrollably. Darcy just looked annoyed.

"Okay," she announced. "I'm going to assign you each a number. Remember it, because that's the order of your routine."

She pointed to us, one by one, counting out numbers. I was five.

The torture began. Number One was Kathleen Lopez — tall, willowy-thin like a model, and stunning. She even looked great giving her cassette to Darcy. Her routine was pretty good, too. I was dying. "Jessi..." I moaned.

"No comparison," Jessi whispered. "Not even close."

Lisa Kedem, Ronnie Gallea, and Diane Maqnani followed. Each of them had a decent routine — but none of them had been trained by the great Jessi Ramsey, and it showed.

I was beginning to calm down.

"Number Five!" Darcy shouted. "Who's Number — "

"Here!" I said, jumping up.

From behind me, I heard: "Go!" "Good luck!" "Break a leg!" "Show 'em!"

Jessi and I shared a Look. Now she seemed more nervous than I did.

I took my cassette and walked to Darcy, flashing my biggest, happy-to-be-here smile.

What happened next? It's all a blur. My body was on auto-pilot. Here's what I remember: I kept smiling. I didn't lose my place. And the cheerleaders did not take their eyes off me during my performance.

When I was done, my BSC friends gave me a loud standing ovation.

I stood up, panting and sweaty. My breathing sounded like a hacksaw in the vast gym. Very chic.

I couldn't help staring at the cheerleaders. I knew they couldn't tell me on the spot whether I'd be chosen, but I wanted to see something — a signal, a facial expression.

They were all huddled over their clipboards, writing furiously. But as I began walking back to the stands, Sheila looked up and gave me a confident nod.

My friends were still standing. "You were sensationall" Shannon said.

Ill

"Definitely the best!" Kristy cried.

"Sssshhhhh, Kristy, not so loud!" Mary Anne warned. "Be polite."

"She's right, though," Robert said in a softer voice, "Far and away the best!"

Jessi was beaming with pride. "I agree. I am sooo proud of you!"

We stayed to watch the others. After tryouts were finally over, Darcy turned and said, "Thank you for coming. You were all fantastic. We'll make our decision by Friday, and it's going to be a hard one. See you then."

The twelve girls and their friends cheered wildly. I'm sure the other finalists felt just as relieved as I did.

As we stood to leave, Jessi leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "You know what? You're a shoo-in."

My friends nodded.

"Really?" I replied. "You're not just being polite?"

"No way," Jessi said. "Cross my heart."

"Stace," Robert added, putting his arm around me, "you were a nine-one-one."

I glanced at the cheerleader table. The girls were in furious conversation, but Sheila was looking right at me. She grinned from ear to ear and gave me a thumbs-up sign.

I nearly shrieked.

Chapter 12.

Claudia was on a mission To Create An Artist. She had done it once before, with a sitting charge named Rosie Wilder. Rosie had a million talents but was unhappy, and Claudia helped her realize she loved art more than anything else.

Tiffany was going to be Claud's next project.

Claud arrived at the Kilbournes' energetic and happy. Shannon was at some meeting, as usual. Mrs. Kilbourne and Maria were rushing off to a swim meet.

"Tiffany's in the rec room!" was the last thing Mrs. Kilbourne said. "Enter at your own risk! 'Bye!"

Claudia cheerfully walked to the rec room and pushed the door open. "Hi, Ti — "

Bonk. The door hit something and went no further.

"Hey, quit it!" a voice shouted.

Claudia peeked through the crack in the door. "It's Claudia, your — "

Two tries, two unfinished sentences. Claudia could only stare.

She had never seen such a mess — Claudia, the winner of the Least Likely to See Her Own Bedroom Floor Award.

Photo albums and a camera were stacked on the TV set. A tennis racket, baseball glove, and softball lay on the couch, next to a cassette

recorder and about a dozen tapes. The floor was covered with jigsaw puzzle pieces, stamps, an old guitar, Polaroid pictures, photography magazines, coins, lumps of modeling clay, paste, glue, paints, chalk, plastic containers, a model-making kit, and books about horses, birds, jogging, sculpting, music, and space travel.

Tiffany stood up and waded through the junk. She pulled a huge easel away from the door and said, "Okay, come in."

Claudia took a couple of steps in, but that was as far as she could go. "Uh . . . what are you doing?"

"Lots of things," Tiffany replied.

"Are these all ... hobbies?" Claudia asked.

Tiffany whirled around and gave her an accusing look. "Who told you?"

"What?"

"Who told you? Did Mary Anne tell you I was looking for a hobby?"

"Well, yeah. Was it supposed to be a secret?"

Tiffany pushed aside the tennis racket and plopped onto the couch. "I guess not." She let out a huge sigh. "Do you have a hobby?"

"Uh-huh. Art. Can I sit next to you?"

"Yeah." Tiffany put the cassette player on the floor and Claudia sat down. "Music is easy to listen to," Tiffany went on, "but it's real

hard to play. I tried playing the guitar. I even read a book about it. But when I played I sounded like a dying cat."

"When I sing, I sound like a howling dog," Claudia said. "Maybe we could do a duet."

Tiffany smiled. "What kind of art do you do?"

"Painting, sculpture, drawing, everything."

"Well, I tried everything."

"You couldn't have given it much of a chance, Tiffany — "

"I did. But I stink. Also I didn't like it. It's too messy."

"What did you like?"

"Nothing! I try to hit a tennis ball against the garage door, and I miss half the time. When I take pictures, I cut people's heads off. Jigsaw puzzles are boring. Birds all look the same to me, and so do horses. Besides I've seen them and they're smelly. We don't have a piano. And I get sick licking stamps."