The Cheerleader's Guide to Roller Derby

Chapter Twenty: A Chink in the Armor

I had my suspicions but I didn't really know what Todd thought he knew. At the moment, I didn't care. I just wanted to get my community service form signed and get out of there before anyone else became aware of my "situation".

"Is it really such a secret?" my counselor, Ms. Hernandez, had asked once when we were sparring over the reasons I thought it was important to keep "the unfortunate incident" and everything that surrounded it, as quiet as possible.

"I believe in your rights to privacy and confidentiality," she went on. "I would never share anything you said in a counseling session without your permission, but your level of secrecy is something I just don't understand."

"That's because you've never been a cheerleader," I said.

"What does that have to do with it?" she asked.

"Everything."

She gave me a look like she thought I was exaggerating but, if anything, what I said was an understatement -- on so many levels.

Level One: "Cheer + Leader," I tried to explain. "The school expects us to set an example. We are supposed to be the 'good kids'. We don't drink. We don't smoke. We don't swear. We don't go past first base."

"That's a little disingenuous, isn't it?" Ms. Hernandez said. When I didn't answer right away she started to define the word for me.

"I know what it means: dishonest, untruthful, false, hypocritical. It's on all the SAT vocab lists." I made a sincere attempt not to roll my eyes.

"Good for you," she said. "But do you understand the way the word relates to what you've just told me? And how it contrasts with so much of what you've said before?" She picked up her tablet and started scrolling through her notes from our previous sessions. "I'm pretty sure you don't smoke, but I've heard you swear. You're really quite accomplished at it under the right circumstances. You've done a good job of skirting around the issue of sex when I've tried to bring it up but I believe you've referred to ... ahh, here it is ... a fellow cheerleader, Felicity, as having 'an easy button' when it comes to guys." She placed the tablet back on her desk and turned it so I could see the display. "And then there is the primary reason you are here, the -- "

"The unfortunate incident."

"Yes. The one where -- "

The eyeroll slipped out despite my best efforts. "Okay. The one where I was at a party and there was drinking and I got in a car with Dina and Traci and there was an accident and ... seriously, how many times do we have to go over this?"

"At least once more, apparently," she said. "Can you explain to me how the school's expectation that you and be a 'good kid' matches up with the reality of your behavior and the behaviors of your friends?"

I drew in a breath. Acting angry wouldn't help. It would just give her fuel to bring up one of my other 'issues', as she liked to call them. "It isn't really expected that we don't do those things. Everyone knows that you have to do those things to fit in with the crowd. We're just not supposed to talk about it."

"Ever?"

"Never, at least not to grown ups."

"Even when someone gets hurt as a result?"

"Especially if someone gets hurt."

If I hadn't had the sudden urge to escape Ms. Hernandez, her questions, and the freakishly sadistic way she had of making me feel like crying, I might have gone on to explain a few more levels.

Level Two, for instance: I know I've said this before but, really, there can be NO chink in the armor. Despite what Ms. Hernandez might believe, talking about your problems only reveals the places you are open to being hurt. And believe me, if you are a high school student who leaves a spot unprotected, someone will find it. They will shove in a knife. And then they will twist it.