Homecoming 2000 is cloudy, chilly: in short, the perfect soup day. Each of the cheerleaders draws a designated player that we are responsible for "pepping up." Since the athletic director thinks that a set of freshmen twins each being on varsity is adorable, my twin brother is mine. The local newspaper snaps a picture of us in our respective gear at the pep rally. I look beautiful and happy; Felix, tall and suave.
Not for the first time in my life, I thank my lucky stars that Coach values healthy players more than exposed players and agrees to let us march and cheer in our warm-ups of pants and hoodies. By the time of the parade it is a brisk 35 degrees with a breeze picking up speed out of the west.
Rebecca's dad picks the four of us up at the front of the high school at five. Rebecca holds her flute and Jamie her trumpet, both adorned in the white, brown, and gold marching band uniforms. Jessie and I struggle to find a way to hold on to our slippery pom poms with gloved hands.
The cul-de-sac where Rebecca lives is full of new, ostentatious houses. Rebecca's dad is a senator in Lansing, which is what brought the Pittmans to Holt in the first place.
The house smells incredible. Fresh bread bakes in the oven and homemade soup bubbles on the stove. Mrs. Pittman, who insists on being called Kathleen, meets us at the door, shakes each of our hands, and takes our jackets. Senator Leo Pittman shows us to the kitchen table.
I try to remember the last time my whole family sat down to a meal at the same table without someone storming off. It was sometime back in September. Before thoughts of the dark days can get me down, I lower myself gracefully into the chair Leo holds out for me.
"Now, I hope everyone likes everything in the soup, but if not, you won't hurt my feelings a bit if you pick it out." Kathleen brings over four bowls of soup and then a basket full of freshly sliced, still oven-warm French bread. "Cheyanne, Rebecca mentioned you're allergic to milk, so we have dairy-free margarine for you."
I smile and say thank you, touched beyond words. I have to buy soy or almond milk for myself if I want it.
"Who wants my green beans?" Jessie asks.
"Ohhhh, I do!" Rebecca states, holding up her bowl.
"Let's just sit next to each other," Jessie suggests, moving to Rebecca's left.
"Does anyone like potatoes?" I ask.
"You don't?" Rebecca asks. "Who doesn't like potatoes?"
"I do, but they're too heavy right before cheering."
"I'll take them," Jamie offers, and I begin spooning chunks of potato into Jamie's waiting bowl on my left.
"I hate onions," Rebecca offers.
"Cheyanne eats onions like they're apples," Jamie volunteers through a mouthful of French bread. "I'm not kidding. It's disgusting."
"I'm Latina! It's in my blood!" I exclaim. Rebecca spoons onions into my bowl, making a face at me.
"I really don't like carrots," Jamie offers, and Jessie slides her bowl closer.
"Harmony," Leo offers from the doorway.
"You're going to catch each other's germs," Kathleen states, shaking her head as only a mother can.
Jamie and Rebecca laugh; the band is one big infectious hive anyway. Likewise, Jessie and I grin. The cheerleading squad shares lipstick, chapstick, deodorant, socks, and just about anything else...including boyfriends, as three of our seniors discovered earlier in the semester.
Too soon for my taste, Leo tells us it is time to return for the game. Jessie and I join the cheer squad slowly assembling in the locker room while Jamie and Rebecca carry their instruments down to the band room.
I re-apply my lipstick (borrowing Erica's gloss to create a shine over the top) and add another round of deodorant (my own-that is one thing I refuse to share). Pulling on our matching gloves, ear muffs, and our hooded team sweatshirts, the squad leaves to create the tunnel. I spot Danny with friends waiting in line to get into the game and wave. He waves back and blows me a kiss, which I return. Someone snaps a picture of me blowing a kiss and I suspect it will make the yearbook.
The band starts up the fight song; the football team runs through the human tunnel, breaking the banner we worked so tirelessly on during the week. The freshman and Junior Varsity cheer squads join the Varsity squad for the first half of the game, creating a blur of color down the track. When my name is announced preceding the coin toss, I do a few back handsprings down the track. I feel beautiful and relaxed. Felix looks athletic and strong on the sidelines. No one cares that they can see their breath or that snow threatens to fall before the next morning.
Holt beats Waverly, 29-17. The teams retreat to their various locker rooms to get cleaned up before the dance. I brush dry shampoo through my hair, fix my makeup, and spritz myself with Bath and Body Works 'Cherry Blossom' body spray. Once I am satisfied with my reflection, I change into a glittery black halter top, expensive and well-fitting Buckle jeans my aunt bought me for my 14th birthday, and a pair of high black heels.
Danny is waiting for me when I leave the locker room. "You look absolutely beautiful," he says softly. I blush. Despite our virtually life-long friendship, Danny's total confidence in whatever he has to say never quite stops impressing me. Danny's soul is as old as the universe, or so it seems. Shyly, he holds out a plastic carton containing a corsage: a red rose surrounded by baby's breath. He slides it onto my right wrist. We go to the dance.
Across the room, I see Felix greeting Erica with a single red rose. I do not want to think about the fact that my brother is getting hickeys from my stunting partner.
Carl joins the group and greets Jamie not with a flower, but with a book of Sudoku puzzles. Jamie, who loves mathematical puzzles, laughs and gives Carl a hug. I begrudgingly give him one point. The amount of observation that went into the presenting of Sudoku instead of flowers is noteworthy, at least. I still do not trust him or like him, but at least he pays attention.
The DJ switches the music every 20 minutes or so, keeping almost everyone happy. Finally, at 11:56, he announces the final song of the evening. Danny takes my hand, and I put my arms on his shoulders. His hands find my waist, and the opening chords of a slow country ballad begin. I close my eyes and lean my head on Danny's shoulder, breathing in the smell of his body wash and that purely Danny Algrim smell.
YOU ARE READING
Forget Green Gables
Teen FictionBeing a high school freshman is hard enough, but what is a girl to do when her own mother has become venomous, her twin brother rockets to the forefront of high school popularity, and no amount of styling products will keep her hair tamed? As she m...
