Cheerleaders Don't Cry

5

Marcy Hannon

I left Travis' house at 3 in the morning. He had fallen asleep sometime around midnight, but I'd stayed anyway, staring at the dark walls of his bedroom and listening to his deep, even breathing. It was comforting at first, to listen to somebody sleep. My house was always so silent, since mom worked long hours at the hospital. For once in my life I didn't feel as alone as I usually did. But then the hours dragged on and the room got darker and I realized that I was nothing better than a phony, an imposter. I wasn't his girlfriend, Amber. I didn't belong there.
Besides, after freshman year, I made a personal rule; never sleep over. Now was no time to start breaking that rule.
I fell into a deep sleep as soon as I got home, and ended up waking up half an hour late for school. I skipped the shower, threw my dirty hair into a ponytail, and rushed out of the house wearing the same clothes from last night. The driveway was empty, aside from my own car. Mom still wasn't home, which meant she was out having breakfast with boring-boyfriend Gary.
I multitasked on the way to school, switching back and forth between driving, checking my phone for texts from mom, and smearing foundation and eyeliner onto my face. By the time I arrived, I was already twenty minutes late for my first hour English class. My hair was greasy and unbrushed, my eyeliner was fuzzed and uneven, I was pretty sure I forgot my AP Stats textbook at home, and I smelled like day-old perfume. And on top of that--
"Albert Cooper and Marcy Hannon, please report to the principal's office immediately."
Today was turning out to be a pretty shitty day.
I sat in Principal Shafer's office for forty five minutes while he dished out punishments and declarations of disappointment to Cooper and me. Cooper flinched every time Principal Shafer rose his voice; I doubt he'd ever been yelled at before in his life. I'd been dealt my fair share of angry shouting people, but mostly just from mad girlfriends who'd just been cheated on. Up until now, I'd always kept my nose clean in my academics and school. I didn't vandalize, I didn't copy homework or cheat on tests, or mouth off to the teachers. This one black mark on my record was the exception.
The first punishment was a week suspension, effective immediately. The second punishment was 300 hours of community service on the janitorial staff. The third punishment, well...
"These are for your parents," Principal Shafer said as he handed us both a slip of paper. I skimmed over the words at the top of the page. To the parent/guardian of Marcy Hannon, we regret to inform you that your student...
"Those are forms regarding your suspension for your parents to sign," the Principal explained. "I want them back, signed, once you've returned from your suspension. I've already left messages on your parents' voicemails about your infractions, so you can expect that they'll deliver their own punishments." He tapped his desk with his pen. "That'll be all. Your suspension is effective immediately, so I don't want to see you on school grounds for the next week."
Cooper was silent on the walk of shame out of the office. He kept pushing his glasses up his nose and reading the suspension paper in his hand, like if he stared at it long enough it might just disappear.
I had to admit, I felt a little bad for him, no matter how pretentious he was. "Hey, it's not all that bad." I offered. "It's just a week, and a little community service. We got off easy."
"Well I'd hardly call this a 'light punishment,'" Cooper snorted and crumpled the paper, shoving it unceremoniously into his pocket. He glanced at me, a hard look in his eyes. "You don't get it, do you? None of this was supposed to happen. At least not to me. I was supposed to--" He cut himself off, looking away and shaking his head. "Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore."
I rolled my eyes. "No! By all means, tell me all about your great plans for the future that were catastrophically destroyed by this measly suspension. They'll never let you be president now." He was blowing this punishment way out of proportion. What a drama queen.
Cooper glared at me. "I'm not going to be president."
"Not with that attitude," I said as we approached the exit doors. I pushed one open and the cold November wind whistled right through me, burning my cheeks and blowing the wisps of my ponytail into my face.
Cooper followed close on my heels into the parking lot. "How is this not freaking you out?" He asked. "Won't your parents be mad?"
I stifled a laugh. My parents. My mom was at the hospital most of the time and probably wouldn't notice if I stayed home all week. Her signature was easy enough to forge for the suspension papers. And my dad, well, he lived across town with his on-again off-again girlfriend. I stayed the weekend at his house once every two weeks and he paid monthly child support for me, a system that the divorce lawyer worked out when I was twelve and my parents had decided to call it quits. Divorced parents spoil their kids extra; I doubted he'd be that mad, even if I told him.
I smiled wryly. "I can deal with my parents. Relax, Cooper. This will all blow over before you know it."
He sent me a sour look. "300 hours of community service doesn't exactly sound like it'll blow over soon--and are you wearing my sweatshirt?"
I looked down. I was in the dark green sweatshirt I'd picked up off the floor of my bedroom last night before I went over to Travis' house. A vague memory teased my mind, of sitting in the front seat of a car shivering, fishnetted legs damp with fountain water.
I shrugged. "Probably. Want it?"
Cooper wrinkled his nose. "Nah, you keep it. I doubt I could get the smell of your perfume out."
I frowned as he took keys out of his pocket and unlocked his car as we approached it. His headlights blinked and a honking sound echoed in the parking lot. "What's wrong with my perfume?" I asked.
"It itches my nose." Cooper opened the drivers door and got in. "See you in a week, Marcy," he said before he shut the door and started the engine of the car.
As I was walking to my car, the weight of the suspension slip in my pocket felt heavier and heavier. I wasn't going to tell my mom. I didn't know how, and I didn't want to see the look in her eyes when she realized that I wasn't as perfect as she thought. As far as she knew, I was a good student and a good cheerleader. She didn't know anything about my frequent social "activities."
Once I got in my car, I laid the sheet over my knee and took out a pen, imitating the curly writing of my mom as I signed her name at the bottom of the paper.

***

Albert Cooper
As expected, my parents blew a fuse once I showed them the suspension paper. I'd never been suspended before in my life, never even had a trip to the principal's office. My mom just kind of stared at the paper in shock as I explained the unfortunate situation, and then she took away my car keys and sent me to my room, as if that would fix everything. My younger sister, Miranda, poked her head out of her room just to shoot me a now-its-your-turn-to-be-the-troublemaker look, complete with the middle finger and the tongue sticking out. Miranda has been a nuisance since elementary school, when she first developed a thing for punching people in the stomach. Her classmates, her teachers, the principal, it didn't matter who. She's a sophomore at South Westport High now and has since taken to dying her hair black, getting her nose and eyebrow pierced, and smearing thick black makeup around her eyes. It's hard to go a single day without her fighting with our parents.
Except for today. Today, I'm the one in trouble.
When my dad got home, I was forced to sit at the kitchen table and have a heated conversation with my parents about my actions. And by conversation, I mean that they yelled at me while I sat there and nodded, "yes, I shouldn't have done it," "yes, I knew better," "no, it will not happen again."
Once they were finished, they sent me to my room (again). I laid on my bed with the MIT rejection letter in my hands, rereading the words "We regret to inform you, we regret to inform you, we regret to inform you..."
Miranda wandered into my room around 9:00. She plopped in my beanbag chair and crossed her legs, a smug smile on her face.
I looked up at her. "Get out of my room."
She twirled her hair around her finger and leaned back in the beanbag. She'd just been in the shower, so her hair was wet and her black makeup was smeared in a way that made her look particularly ghoulish. "You didn't tell them everything," she said.
My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Marcy Hannon." Her smile widened. She loved it, those rare times when I got into trouble. Except that every other time was for small things, like missing curfew or not doing the dishes. This was much, much bigger. "You neglected to inform our parents that you weren't alone that night. You were hanging around the school slut." She clicked her tongue. "I wonder what they'd do with that information."
I rolled over on my bed so that I could see her better. "How did you even know about that?"
Miranda shrugged. "People talk. Also, your names were announced over the intercom to the entire school. I'm not deaf, Albie."
"Such a shame that you're not." I reached into my dresser drawer and pulled out a 10 dollar bill from under my clothes. I tossed it to Miranda. "Don't tell, or I'll make sure they know about that infected belly ring of yours."
Miranda caught the dollar bill and tucked it into her pants, frowning. "It's not infected," she said as she stood to leave. She took a step towards the door, hesitated, and then turned around towards me. "Seriously though. Marcy Hannon? Of all people?"
I pointed to my door. "Out. I paid you, and it's none of your business."
She rolled her eyes and left reluctantly. After she shut my door, I turned the lights off and tried to sleep. The MIT rejection letter was on my dresser, and I could feel it's presence no matter how hard I tried to forget it.