Cheerlebrity Confessions

Chapter 4

I scored the highest at tryouts, so I'm still center point flyer. We break up into stunt groups and start working on our stunts. Matty's in my group, along with two new bases. For the first set I do a front stretch and tick-tock to bow and arrow. One of the new bases doesn't grip my foot in quite the right place and I bobble.

"Jamie, let's try that one again!"yells our coach. "Five, six, se-ven eight!"

My group lifts me again and I shoot into the air. I like being up here. Usually I feel so secure and perfect. Ninety-nine percent of the time I hold my weight in the air well and my balance is excellent. But today something's off. The new base feels like she's not even gripping my foot. Before I realize it I'm lurching to the side, falling, and my hands shootout so I can catch myself. I hit the mat with a thud and hear screaming.

"James, you okay?" Matt's crouching next to me.

"I think I'm fine. I didn't hit my head or anything." My knees just sting from the impact. "Who's yelling?" I ask, hearing some girl shrieking in the background.

"Uh, Amy, she—you—" Matt does a sideways nod toward the new base, who I see has blood all over her face. I had kicked her in the face on my way down. Instinctively, I look down at my white sneakers. The right one has red splatters allover it.

I jump up and go toward her.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," I say,but she just runs off the mat crying.

"It's for the best," Matt says. "You only fell 'cause she wasn't basing very well."

"Jamie's stunt group, come over here for a minute and regroup," coach says. He knows I'm a solid flyer; I hit at every major competition last year. But I see a tiny flicker of doubt in his eyes as he looks at me. One of the things with flying is you're really dependent on your bases. If they don't get the grips right or aren't strong enough, even if you're a perfect flyer, you're coming down.

The other thing about flying is that you're the one everyone's looking at—so if you fall, the crowd usually assumes it's your fault.

"Hang on a minute while Amy washes up," coach says. "Maybe this particular group isn't going to work out."

I hope that's true. I can't have Amy messing up my record—especially not with the new competition around. Peyton's just as good as I am; she could easily take my spot. Maybe that would be fair, since I've already been center flier for a while. But secretly, despite our friendship, I don't want to give it up.

And then there's Alison, throwing some stunts in the back of the gym. She runs and throws a front handspring. She's so tiny that her body flies upward effortlessly.  She almost bounces on the mat when she lands. Her torso is ridiculously skinny. She floats like a feather, almost free from gravity. She reminds me a little of Carly, whose kick full-kick basket toss I secretly envy.

If Alison alone can push herself so high, what will a full-powered stunt group be able to do? I'll have to keep an eye on her when she's in the air.