A Year Being the Cheerleader

34.

Tuesday
Dear Olivia,

Too much of one thing isn't good at all. I know this for a fact as I realize that by being too sociable causes everyone to know you, so rumours are easy to spread. Like for one thing, they think I had sex with some a$$ of a footballer at the party I went to with Ramona the other day. I mean, I wasn't even inside the party house. I was the DD for crying out loud! This is upsetting and for once, I actually care what people say about me. Well, not exactly people, more like one person. Nate. Because I am a cheerleader and the captain of the squad 'so quickly' that they now label me as some slut or wh0re, maybe even both. I mean, what is wrong with these people. This is why I have decided, to quit the cheerleading squad. Soccer practice is more of a headache now that all these rumours are going around and my teammates are believing. The worse thing, they think that me being silent means I have really done those things. I use to believe that rumours, even though exaggerated and mixed with a bunch of lies, had a beginning of facts. But these rumours are all lies. As much as I try to brush it off, the who-cares-what-people-think attitude, it still hurts that people actually believe this crap. Even...Nate believed and thought it was a fact. I mean, he knew me basically all my life and believes what some "friend" told him. And instead of at least talking to me about it, he ignores me. His excuse? He was confused. That is absolute bull. If this is what being social and...may I even say it, normal, I really prefer my antisocial and "abnormal" behaviour. And my first step of doing so; getting a new phone number. Thanks for hearing me out Olivia. I guess I am one of those desperately crazy persons now, but it was all my old therapist's idea of getting a diary, so what does that make her?

AMBER

"Amber!"

I know that voice anywhere and just like the phone calls, I want to ignore the caller. Or rather the screamer since it sounds like she is saying my name at the top of her lungs. Like really? Is that even necessary. You can really pick out the drama queens.

I take up my bag, stuff my things from the locker into it for my next class. I would have done this earlier, but I didn't know if they went as far as messing with my lockers. I don't watch chick flicks, but hey, it's a crazy world we live in.

I leisurely swing my bag over my shoulder and close my locker. As usual, I wait for the click of the lock before moving away. At least not everything changed about me. At least not the way Nate made it sound. I still can't believe I listened to that craziness. I should get over him anyways. He might have been my best friend and the only one I spoke to on a regular basis, but I am always alone. I just need to own up to that and stop being dependent on him or anyone. Yeah, it's for the best.

"Amber," someone panted beside me, but I don't even glance that way. I just continue walking, ignoring all eyes, voices and people. Like I have always done. It wasn't hard then and it isn't hard now.  Yeah, right. "We need to talk."

I remain silent and she grabs my arm as I reach my class.

I spin around to face her with a clearly unhappy expression. She looks the same, only she seems a little tired. But that isn't my problem. I wonder where her minions are.

"What is wrong with you?" She asks breathlessly and her eyes glisten with tears.

Don't tell me she is going to cry? I hate, hate, hate girlie tears. They are just so...girlie. It makes me feel like the bad person or culprit and she's the victim here. I roll my eyes as I realize tears are actually rolling down her cheeks. Her mascara is good for there are no black streaks, but she cannot be serious. At my class doorway. This is what you call insane.

"Don't tell me you are going to let those rumours get to you," she states after a few seconds of me not answering her. "I thought you were tougher than that."

I couldn't care less about what she thought of me, all I want is for her to release my arm so I can go to my seat. And I make that pretty clear with my scratching and glare at her hand. Can't she let go? I am destroying her manicure. Why isn't she seeing that? I focus back at her perfectly put together face. Tears stream down her cheeks and I swear to God she should go on the big screen. She is that good and she looks that good doing it.

"Don't quit the cheerleading squad," she pleads, giving me her puppy eyes. If I was only a normal person, I would have done anything now for her. But I am not. I was never met to be an average, normal teenager and it makes no difference I even try. I take my arm out of her hand and go inside my classroom without a second glance behind.

I went to my seat ignoring the audience and eerie quietness in the room. Silently, I open my book to review the same notes I studied last night. Before the tension could explode, the teacher enters the room with a smile.

"Pop Quiz!"

The entire class groan, but I just smile. It's good not being normal.

1999beauty
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