* * *
After school, as Becca and I walk to the gym so I can sign up for the squad, I feel kind of like an inmate on death row being escorted to the chair. The only thing missing is my last meal. That sounds dramatic, I know, but my knees are now beginning to shake the closer I get, and the all-too-familiar feeling of wanting to run away from the situation quickly resurfaces.
I can only imagine the weird and confused looks I'm going to get from whoever sits behind the sign-up table, since I've never shown any interest whatsoever in being a cheerleader.
Just as we're walking up to the double doors at the front of the gym, I look over at the parking lot and see my mom sitting there in her usual spot, looking at us, anxiously waiting for me to go in and sign up. The only reason she's not actually forcing her way into the gym with me is because I made her promise the other night not to overreact in public with all this cheerleader business. She agreed, so now she sits there calmly, smiling and giving a small wave as we walk in.
Once we step inside, the overwhelming sound of basketballs hitting the floor along with shoes screeching on the smooth, light brown hardwood court immediately reminds me that Bryson is in here somewhere, warming up with the team before they begin their daily practice. It's probably a good thing this small detail slipped my mind as we were walking to the gym, because I surely would've turned and run the other way.
But now that we've busted in through the ridiculously loud, thick metal doors, obnoxiously announcing our grand entrance to everyone on the other side, there's no turning back.
I'm now slightly embarrassed--definitely too embarrassed to even look for Bryson. And I'm seriously hoping he doesn't notice me, either. It's obvious why I'm here, and I have no idea what his reaction will be to me joining the squad. Sure, he'll find out soon anyway, but I don't care to deal with it today.
Just when it seems the situation can't get any more horrific, I look over and see Summer sitting at the sign-up table.
"Oh, this is perfect," Becca remarks. "I'm gonna hold her down and make her eat that table."
Fantastic. Just what I need, yet another reason to sprint back out those double doors. Becca is now threatening to violently feed Summer a table which, if I had to guess, will probably draw even more attention to us.
My eyes shoot to Becca's. "Please, control yourself," I demand, my words firm and precise.
Disappointed, she looks down and reluctantly replies, "I will," acting as if she's seven and I just took her ice cream cone from her.
As we approach the table, I feel the stares going through me like lasers, mainly coming from Summer. Alison and two other senior cheerleaders sit next to her, and Holly, a junior, is standing in front of the table. I can tell Summer is holding back tremendously due to Becca's presence, as she sits there all prim and proper with her legs crossed and her back arched, nervously fiddling with the cap on her large bottle of Fiji water.
She's clearly surprised, and even though I'm pretty sure she was completely willing to leave me alone for good after her run-in with Becca, I'm on her turf now, and possibly even getting closer to Bryson as a result. I'm hoping this doesn't cause her to rise against me again.
"Hey, there, you want to sign up?" Holly asks with a huge, genuine smile, unlike the four judgmental grins on the other side of the table.
Becca and I had a couple of classes with Holly last year, and in no way, shape, or form does she fit in personality-wise with the other junior and senior cheerleaders. She's super nice, and for whatever reason she's highly respected by the squad and extremely popular with everyone else. Her being captain would be ideal.
"Yeah, I do," I nod, smiling timidly, trying my best to return Holly's enthusiasm.
"Okay, cool. Just sign the top of the form and then fill out the bottom part," Holly explains. She points to the form as Alison pushes it out to me with an unwelcoming grin.
I write as quickly as I can, desperately hoping none of these girls notices my hand shaking uncontrollably. I'm sure my unwillingness to look up at any of them isn't going unnoticed, either.
"I'm not sure what size uniform I need," I shrug, my eyes remaining glued to the form.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Holly says. "We'll have a box here next week with all different sizes you can choose from."
I anxiously slide the form back to Alison, who grins again as she puts the form underneath a stack of others.
"Okay, well, thanks for signing up, Dori. Y'all have a good weekend!" Holly smiles.
I look over at Becca for the first time during this sign-up session and notice her staring Summer down. I was just thinking to myself how strange it was that Summer had kept quiet this entire time. No rude comments under her breath, no mumbling, no whispering, no giggling, nothing. But I quickly realize she was in the same boat I was, eyes fixed on the table in fear. This whole thing may have been just as awkward for her as it was for me.
I lock arms with Becca and pull her away.
"Sorry, Dor. I did the best I could," she whispers as I drag her. But before I can fuss, a basketball flies into the wall right in front of us, and Bryson runs up to retrieve it.
"Sorry, guys," he grins, grabbing the ball and stopping in front of us. My stomach immediately drops.
"Hang on, I think my mom is trying to call me." Becca digs through her bag and pulls out her phone. "I'll be over here, Dor." She slings the phone to her ear and darts toward the double doors as if she's answering an emergency call. I definitely give her the Best Actress award for that one; I almost believed it myself.
"Everything okay?" Bryson asks, turning back to me after watching Becca walk off.
"Yeah, her mom's probably just worried because we're running late," I reply, feeling guilty about lying. Becca did that for my benefit, and I appreciate the thought, but I'm feeling mixed emotions about standing here alone with him. If I say something stupid, there's no one to bail me out. Then I'll have to stand here like an awkward idiot and just hope to at least get out of the situation without him thinking I'm weird.
"Oh, okay," he nods.
I try to contain myself as he stands there in his tank top, sweat dripping down the top of his ripped chest until it disappears behind his shirt. The muscles in his arms bulge each time he tosses the ball from one hand to the other, and he's giving me that super-sexy grin he's been sending my way a lot lately. I can honestly say I've never thought about a guy in the ways I've been thinking about Bryson. I've read and written a lot about love and physical attraction, but this is surely my first personal experience?unless, of course, you count my five-year love affair with Brad Pitt.
"Well, we really need to stop running into each other like this," he continues, that heart-melting grin never leaving his face.
"I know," I giggle. "One of us is going to end up in the hospital."
Wait, what? I have a hard enough time speaking to him at all, much less making a clever joke. I'm definitely proud of myself for that one.
"I'm telling you," he laughs, appreciating the humor. Then he points to the cheerleaders' table behind me. "So, you're gonna be cheering us on this year, huh?"
"Come on, Bryson!" a teammate suddenly hollers.
"Yeah, I am," I quickly respond.
"Cool. I could use your support." He bumps my elbow with the basketball, smiles, then turns and runs off. Too flustered to say anything at all, I simply smile and wave. It was definitely a short but sweet interaction.