Ann Martin - Stacey And The Cheerleaders

She gave me this condescending, nothing-more-I-can-do look, then turned around again.

It wasn't true. Something else had hap-

pened. I have pretty good instincts, and they were screaming foul right now. I felt like grabbing Margie by that shoulder. I felt like crying. I felt like screaming. I could barely see straight.

When my eyes cleared, I caught a glimpse of Corinne. She was backing away from the others and signaling me to follow.

She led me to a secluded corner of the gym.

I didn't know how to read her face. She wore a sympathetic expression, but I couldn't tell if she was just arranging her features that way. I didn't trust anybody at that point.

"Stacey, I know how you must feel," she said.

I bit my lip.

"But I have to tell you the truth. Kathleen wasn't better than you. We all knew that."

I could feel my mouth drop open. "Then what happened?"

"You're not going to like this, Stacey." She sighed. "The reason you didn't make it was because you were too good. You're so talented, so pretty, so smart, so nice. I think a lot of the girls felt, well, threatened by you. So we took Kathleen."

Corinne was smiling at me now. She seemed calm, almost happy. Her face didn't quite match the words she was saying.

What was going on? I mean, I appreciated

the truth, but why was she telling me this? Why Corinne?

"Thanks," I said, for lack of anything else to say.

Corinne returned to her group. I began walking to the gym door.

The gym was empty except for the cheerleaders. The other girls were long gone. I kept my eyes on the floor as I left. Corinne's face kept coming back to me. That smile . . .

Suddenly it was as clear as day. She was enjoying telling me the truth. She knew it would hurt. She thought I'd stolen Robert from her, and she wanted to teach me a lesson — that I should never try to be better than she was.

I marched straight to the cafeteria. I didn't even look at the BSC table. In the back, the basketball team was eating alone at The Group table.

Marty saw me first. He nudged Robert. They all looked up expectantly. Robert's eyes locked into mine.

"Did you . . . ?" he asked, his voice trailing off.

Hot tears sprung into my eyes. "No," I said. "They rejected me."

"Whaaaat?" Robert bolted up from the table. He took me by the arm and brought me to a

quiet corner. There I told him everything — Corinne's and Penny's comments, the conversation in the bathroom, the works.

By the end of my story, Robert was fuming. "Stacey, this is so unfair."

"I should have listened to you when you warned me about them," I said.

"I mean, I knew they were vain, but I didn't think even they could do something like this."

"I guess I was spoiled by you," I barged on. "I figured if someone as nice as you was in that group, they couldn't be too bad."

Robert's face fell. I realized I had said something totally stupid.

"I'm not blaming you, Robert!"

"No, no, don't worry about that," Robert replied. "You're right, though, Stacey. I mean, I do kind of turn my back on all the stuff they do."

"No, you don't. You talk about it to me, you tried to talk to Marty that morning — "

"But that's aU I do, talk. That doesn't change anything." He took a deep breath and grabbed my hand. "Come on, Stacey."

Before I could say a word, Robert and I were jogging out of the cafeteria and down the hall to the gym. I was worried he'd burst in on the cheerleaders. I didn't want that. I never wanted to see those girls again.

But Robert detoured into a small office just before the gym. The basketball coach, Mr. Hal-vorsen, was sitting at his desk inside. He was reading a newspaper with his feet propped up on the desk, next to a half-eaten sandwich and an empty coffee cup.

"Heyyy, Brewster, what can I do for you?" Coach Halvorsen asked.

Robert stared him straight in the eye. "Coach, I quit."

I don't know who was more surprised, the coach or me. Both of our jaws dropped open.

"Uh, say what?" Coach Halvorsen said. "I don't think I'm hearing you right."

"I said I quit," Robert repeated. "As a protest. The cheerleaders led an unfair try out."

"Cheerleaders?" the coach bellowed. "What does that have to do with us?" He gave me an accusing look.

"A lot, Coach. We're all part of the same problem. I've been thinking about this a long time. The members of the sports teams in the school — and the cheerleaders — are treated like gods. That kind of thing goes to people's heads. It's like, one set of rules for us, and another for everyone else. It's not fair, and I don't want to be a part of it."

The coach chuckled in disbelief. "Robert, come on. What kid doesn't want to be treated

special? You guys deserve it. You're the best thing to happen to this school in twenty years."

Robert shook his head. "Maybe that's the way you feel, but I don't."

"Well, suit yourself, Robert. I've got plenty of quality players on the bench who'll be thrilled by this news."

Robert didn't answer. He and I turned and walked out the door.

Chapter 15.

SMS NEWS & VIEWS EDITORIAL

There is a spirit in SMS these days. It's not the school spirit we usually feel. It's not our incredible pride for the greatest sports team in recent memory, perhaps in school history. No, it's the spirit of negativity. The spirit that wants to tear us down, and for what?

Favoritism? Unfair treatment? So says a certain former mediocre player who quit the team. Well; I would like to ask him, where does he think he is? The NBA?

Maybe it was "unfair" that he missed sixty-three percent of his baskets in the last game. Maybe it

was "unfair" that he had to spend part of the second half on the bench. Maybe Coach Halvorsen was showing "favoritism" to the other players, who just happened to be scoring more!

But it wasn't enough to bring down his own team. This same mediocre former player decided to bring down the cheerleaders. All because his girlfriend wasn't good enough to make the squad. "Unfair" again?

This is not the kind of spirit the rest of us feel at SMS. This is called bad attitude. And it's one thing we just don't need around here.

Nice article, huh? It came out on Wednesday, five days after Robert quit.

Lots happened over that time. Robert's quitting really shook up the school. Some kids were furious. Jason Fox refused to talk to Robert.

The good news was that many others approved of what Robert had done. Wherever Robert or I went, kids swamped us with questions. Apparently a lot of kids had thought the sports teams got away with murder. They'd

just been too afraid to speak up.

Robert was brave. I still had the BSC, but he had a lot to lose, like his best friends. He was prepared to face angry teachers, too.

But you know what happened? The teachers and administrators called a meeting that Tuesday night to "re-evaluate the sports program." Robert and I were invited, and a committee was set up to "investigate academic abuses" and "institute a non-biased minimal grade-point standard for athletic participation." (In plain English, that means if your grades are too low, you don't play sports.)

The next day, Robert was asked to rejoin the team — first by Coach Halvorsen, then by the players themselves. To them, it was embarrassing that a star player had quit.

Robert said no.

Then, on Wednesday morning, as I was walking to homeroom, I heard someone shout, "Stacey, wait!"

It was Sheila. I had not spoken to her since the tryouts. I'd felt so betrayed by her.

"What?" I said flatly.

She looked as if she were about to cry. "Don't be mad. It wasn't my fault. I kept sticking up for you until the final vote. I know how unfair it was."

Some of my anger melted away. I believed her. "Well, thanks for telling me," I said.