Runner Girl

Chapter Eight

Despite the weirdness of the interview, the jitters I get whenever I think about Rakesh, and how much energy I've put into avoiding my dad this weekend, the first day of school actually isn't that bad. I guess there's only so many ways a high school can torture students, and even though my new classmates all stare at me curiously, the teachers don't single me out, and I make it through the day with a backpack full of homework and no major mishaps. It's a good thing, too; I'm a bundle of nerves about cheer, and I don't think I could have made it through the day without passing out if anything had actually gone wrong.

Kary wrinkles her nose at lunch when I tell her I'm trying out for cheer. "But you're a runner," she says, lowering her voice and leaning across the table. "Not a Barbie."

I shrug, picking the lettuce off the sandwich that I'm too nervous to eat but am trying to force down anyway. "Why can't I do both?" I see her expression, and I hurry to explain. "I mean, I don't want to be a Barbie, but why can't I run and cheer and, I don't know, maybe wear a cute skirt once in a while?"

She shakes her head. "You'll basically be a glorified stripper. Have you seen what the cheerleaders wear here?"

I haven't, not yet, but how bad can it be? Short skirt, tight top, and a perky pony tail; that's the standard cheerleader uniform, right? Wordlessly, I keep picking at my lunch.

She stares at me for a minute, and then she sighs theatrically. "Fine. But you'll still do track with me in the spring, right?"

I nod, even though my stomach tightens at the question. I still haven't told her about the endorsement deal, haven't decided if I'll be doing track or not this year. I mean, I can't give up running entirely, but I sure as hell don't want to make things easy on my dad. "And we can run on the weekends?" I ask hopefully. I'm not naïve enough to think I'll have time after school; if I make the cheer team, I'm sure we'll have practices every day, but weekends will hopefully still be safe.

Kary give me a cheesy grin. "You can count on it."

By the time the afternoon rolls around, I'm wound tight enough to snap, and when Kary walks me to the gym before giving me a double thumbs up and vanishing into the crowd, I almost beg her to come back and try out with me. Put on your big girl panties, I tell myself sharply as I head into the gym.

There's already a tight little knot of girls in front of the bleachers on the other side of the gym, stretching out and talking. Their voices bounce around the otherwise empty space like weird, breathy echoes, and I hurry to the locker room to change out. I glance at one of the cracked mirrors hanging over the sink as I re-tie my pony tail. Muted grey eyes stare back at me, and I wonder nervously if I should have tried to wear makeup or something to look more like the kind of girl who belongs on a cheer team. I swipe at the freckles on my nose and purse my lips critically. Finally, I shake my head. It's too late to pretend I know how to be girly; hopefully, that's something the girls will teach me, as long as I actually make the team. "You've got this," I whisper to my reflection, trying to ignore the fact that I look like I want to throw up.

Hoping I can act more confident than I feel, I leave the locker room behind and walk over to the girls. Back home, our cheerleaders were always decked out in purple and gold, but these girls are mostly wearing white t-shirts and an array of colored shorts, so there's no way to figure out what the school colors are. It's the dumbest thing, but I sort of wish I'd looked it up before my first day, and I feel silly for not asking Kary or Rakesh. I hate to feel unprepared, and I glance around the gym quickly, hoping for some clue, but the floor is painted with the standard generic markings, and the walls are surprisingly blank; no mascot mural or encouraging quotes to intimidate the other team, and it occurs to me that this school might not emphasize the sports teams as much as my old school.