|
2 Comments
Doug
“Dude, there’s no way you’re going to be able to lift a cheerleader.” I didn’t even bother reaching my hand out to shake Preston’s. He had moved into our school district a few weeks ago and made ripples in the status quo by joining the cheerleading team. The first guy in the history of Grand Haven’s high school sports to become a cheerleader. “I’m stronger than I look.” Preston put his hand on his hip and pouted, actually pouted. Who does that? Maybe I was just comparing his size to football players. “If I’m going to teach you technique, you have to agree to come with me to the weight room.” I knew enough about cheerleading to know he was going to be a great addition to the team. His tumbling skills outperformed most gymnasts. But he needed some serious upper body strength if he was going to handle lifting these girls. “You want me to come with you to the weight room?” Preston raised his eyebrows. “With all those sweaty guys?” “You got a problem with sweaty guys?” I let my question hang in the air while he stood in the sun with perspiration on his forehead. Maybe I was being a jerk, but he needed to grow up. Preston glanced around at the eleven girls gathered around him, all of whom were a least a head shorter than him and had curves in all the places he and I would never have. “Newsflash, you are a sweaty guy. And if you want to be a cheerleader you need to learn how to be an athlete. Takes more than backflips to cheer as well as these girls do.” Okay, maybe that was bordering on insulting, but he got the point. “I am an athlete. I’ve taken gymnastics lessons since I was four. I just need to learn the technique.” “Fine, which one of these girls is your flyer?” “My what?” “Your flyer. The girl you’re going to be in charge of lifting. If you don’t have a perfect connection with her, you’ll drop her. Lesson number one in cheering. Your flyer doesn’t hit the ground. If she falls, you better be underneath her. Because you need to work on your upper body strength, you’d better choose the smallest girl on this team to be your flyer. Which one of you is shortest?” I looked around at the girls. “Serena? You’re short and small. Do you want to train as Preston’s flyer?” “Um… sure.” Serena bit her lower lip and allowed her eyes to rove Preston up and down. “Don’t worry, we’ll start off with some easy stuff and once he builds up strength”—I looked at him pointedly— “And he will if I have anything to say about it—then we’ll try some more difficult moves.” “Okay, if you say so.” Serena stepped closer to Preston and wrapped her arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. I titled my head to the side, evaluating the two of them. “Yeah, this could work. Let’s head to the weight room.” I started to turn toward the field to go tell my coach I was cutting out early and would be in the weight room, but Preston stopped me. “But… we’re in the middle of cheer practice. I can’t just leave.” “Yes, you can.” Several girls, including the cheer coach echoed the sentiment. Their coach, Mrs. Briggs stepped forward. “For you, this is cheer practice.” “Fine.” Preston almost stomped his foot in reluctant acceptance and started to follow me. The girls stayed on the sidelines. “Uh, I need Emma and Serena too.” I raised my eyebrows at them. “How am I supposed to demonstrate the moves without my flyer.” I held out my hand to Emma and she took it without hesitation. We didn’t let go until reaching the middle of the field and I had to grab my gear bag. I explained to Coach Bryant that I was needed in the weight room and he didn’t question my departure. On our way up to the school the realization hit me. I just held Emma’s hand, like I was her boyfriend. A tiny smile crept onto my face. That could be cool.  Emma
“This isn’t working.” I stepped back, hands on my hips, ready to give up. No matter what I did or how I explained the stunting technique, Preston wasn’t getting it. He was trying. His heart was in the right place, but he needed a guy to demonstrate the correct way to lift a cheerleader. He needed Doug. My next-door neighbor, Doug Wilcox, could do these stunts better than Preston and he was just a varsity football player. He’d been helping me with stunting since we were in elementary school when I wanted to pretend to be a cheerleader. I’ve always loved cheerleading. We’d watch cheer competitions on sports networks and practice the moves in the back yard between our two houses. Doug inherently wanted to help me become a good cheerleader just like I inherently wanted to help him become a good football player. Gender roles never really defined us. I played trucks in the sandbox and he played house with my Barbies. We threw baseballs and footballs back and forth, we played basketball in the driveway, and he helped me learn to do a back handspring. On rainy days we played video games or watched sports on the big screen television in my basement. He was the closest thing I had to a brother. He was also the closest thing I had to a boyfriend. We tried to kiss once, back in sixth grade, just because we were curious what the fuss was all about. That didn’t work out very well. We bumped noses, had no idea what to do with our tongues, and his mouth tasted like pizza. Not the best first kiss experience, but I had nothing else to compare it to. As a senior in high school, I still had never kissed anyone else. To my knowledge, neither had he. There had never been a moment when we looked at each other and suddenly thought the other was attractive, more that we’d always been there, like a sister and brother. But yeah, if I had to admit it out loud, as a man, Doug was smoking hot. Most likely everyone in our high school thought of us as a couple. We sort of were. We rode the school bus together until he was old enough to get a car and then he drove us back and forth. That’s probably why neither of us had dated. Doug was mine and I was his. End of story. No other guy would think to look in my direction. And what girl would want to date a guy who spent every day with another girl? He was pretty much off the market. Fine by me. I didn’t want to lose my best friend. Today, I needed my best friend to teach Preston how to do stunts. Cheer camp had been last month, but Preston hadn’t joined the team until last week. He had the cheers down; he learned them quickly. He could tumble and flip and jump. I’d never seen anyone do six back handsprings in row and then end with a back tuck and come out of it smiling and cheering. He was going to add spunk and life and energy to our team. He was just having trouble with the stunts. I thought I knew enough about these moves to teach them to him, but I was coming at them from a girl’s perspective. I contemplated for a moment before stomping defiantly onto the football field and marching myself over to where Doug was practicing with Derek, his quarterback. Doug was a decent wide receiver, probably the best on his football team. “I need your help.” Not caring that I was interrupting practice, I reached for his wrist and dragged him away. With wide eyes he tossed the ball to Derek and followed me without hesitation. “Are you okay?” Always looking out for me, his first instinct was to protect me. His sultry voice was low and concerned, not even annoyed I was pulling him away from practice or wondering if he would get in trouble with his coach. “You need to teach Preston how to do lifts.” “The kid’s scrawny,” Doug said. “He’s never going to be able to lift a cheerleader.” “You’d be surprised. He’s a gymnast, you know. You’ve never seen him up close. He just needs to learn the proper technique,” I reasoned. “You’re a guy. You can teach him.” “I may be a guy but I’m not a miracle worker,” Doug grumbled. Still he followed me without question and a dozen cheerleaders watched in shock as I dragged a football player over to the sidelines. “Doug, this is Preston. He needs you to teach him how to do lifts.” I held out my hand, presenting our new student like a game show host displaying a grand prize. |
Archives
August 2022
Legal Pages |
