decides to drop in and pay him a visit.
But I don’t want to tell him all that and make him feel bad, so instead I just say, “I don’t know, I guess we’ll just see how it goes, you know.” Then I gawk at the screen showing the flamboyant preacher in the sparkly, yellow suit, standing next to his God-fearing wife with the lavender hair, dress, and shoes.
“Okay, but I’m warning you, I already bought two tickets, with open dates on each end, and I’ve mailed them out so they should be there by Monday. Tuesday at the latest,” he says.
I just mumble good-bye and close the phone, my eyes glued to the line of converts falling to the ground, writhing in ecstasy, as the preacher taps each of their foreheads, absolving them of sin and saving their souls, while his color-coordinated wife smiles beatifically beside him.
At four o’clock I go to Sloane’s. I mean, I’d wasted my entire day calling every two hours, and either listening to her cell go straight to voice mail, or getting the run-around from the maid. And the truth is, you just can’t practice a two-person cheer with only one person. Not to mention that she still has all the words, which left me in the very awkward position of winging it.
I stand at her front door, ringing the bell, and hoping, as usual, that her mom’s not home, while fully prepared to do battle with the maid. So when Sloane answers, I’m actually caught off-guard.
“Hey,” she says, all casual, like she was fully expecting me or something. “What’s up?” She takes a sip from her bottle of water, then wipes her hand on the side of her sky-blue, terry- cloth shorts.
“Well, I thought we were gonna practice our cheer, since we’re running out of time, and all,” I say, feeling pretty awkwardto just be standing in the doorway, and wondering why she isn’t inviting me in.
She leans against the doorjamb (which pretty much prohibits any form of entry short of knocking her over), scrunches up her nose, and goes, “About that.”
And as I watch her expression change, my stomach fills with dread. But I don’t say anything. I just stand there and wait for what’s next.
She gazes down at the ground, and then back at me, and then she finally shrugs and says, “I think it’s probably better if we try out separately.”
“What?” I just stare at her, my mouth hanging wide-open, knowing there’s no way she can be serious. “But we’ve been planning this for months!” I say, hating the way my voice sounds all whiny and desperate, like I’m about to cry or something.
“Yeah, well, I just think it’s better if we each do our own thing,” she says, unwilling to look me in the eye.
I just stand there, gawking. I mean, I can’t freaking believe this. My best friend since third grade
won’t even look me in the eye!
“Listen, practically everybody says it’s better that way, Jaci, Ginny, . . .” she trails off. “Anyway, just trust me, it’s all for the best.” She nods.
“But that’s so not true! You and I broke it down, remember? We studied all of the cheerleaders since junior high, and every single one of them tried out with a partner! The judges always fall for that phony, cutesy, buddy stuff,” I say, searching her face, and wondering why she’s decided to do this
now.
I mean, after all of our planning, all of our pie chart graphing.
But she just rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and when she finally looks at me, she sighs and says, “See, that’s exactly my point.
You
think it’s all fake and phony, but I
don’t.
I really do think it’s cute. And that’s why I’m trying out with Jaci.”
“Omigod,” I say, taking a wobbly, unstable step back.
“I’m sorry, Winter. I didn’t want to tell you, but I figuredyou’d find out anyway. I just think you should maybe reconsider, you know? I mean, maybe you’re just not cut out to be a cheerleader. Did you ever think of that? It’s like, you spent that entire meeting rolling your eyes, and
But I don’t want to tell him all that and make him feel bad, so instead I just say, “I don’t know, I guess we’ll just see how it goes, you know.” Then I gawk at the screen showing the flamboyant preacher in the sparkly, yellow suit, standing next to his God-fearing wife with the lavender hair, dress, and shoes.
“Okay, but I’m warning you, I already bought two tickets, with open dates on each end, and I’ve mailed them out so they should be there by Monday. Tuesday at the latest,” he says.
I just mumble good-bye and close the phone, my eyes glued to the line of converts falling to the ground, writhing in ecstasy, as the preacher taps each of their foreheads, absolving them of sin and saving their souls, while his color-coordinated wife smiles beatifically beside him.
At four o’clock I go to Sloane’s. I mean, I’d wasted my entire day calling every two hours, and either listening to her cell go straight to voice mail, or getting the run-around from the maid. And the truth is, you just can’t practice a two-person cheer with only one person. Not to mention that she still has all the words, which left me in the very awkward position of winging it.
I stand at her front door, ringing the bell, and hoping, as usual, that her mom’s not home, while fully prepared to do battle with the maid. So when Sloane answers, I’m actually caught off-guard.
“Hey,” she says, all casual, like she was fully expecting me or something. “What’s up?” She takes a sip from her bottle of water, then wipes her hand on the side of her sky-blue, terry- cloth shorts.
“Well, I thought we were gonna practice our cheer, since we’re running out of time, and all,” I say, feeling pretty awkwardto just be standing in the doorway, and wondering why she isn’t inviting me in.
She leans against the doorjamb (which pretty much prohibits any form of entry short of knocking her over), scrunches up her nose, and goes, “About that.”
And as I watch her expression change, my stomach fills with dread. But I don’t say anything. I just stand there and wait for what’s next.
She gazes down at the ground, and then back at me, and then she finally shrugs and says, “I think it’s probably better if we try out separately.”
“What?” I just stare at her, my mouth hanging wide-open, knowing there’s no way she can be serious. “But we’ve been planning this for months!” I say, hating the way my voice sounds all whiny and desperate, like I’m about to cry or something.
“Yeah, well, I just think it’s better if we each do our own thing,” she says, unwilling to look me in the eye.
I just stand there, gawking. I mean, I can’t freaking believe this. My best friend since third grade
won’t even look me in the eye!
“Listen, practically everybody says it’s better that way, Jaci, Ginny, . . .” she trails off. “Anyway, just trust me, it’s all for the best.” She nods.
“But that’s so not true! You and I broke it down, remember? We studied all of the cheerleaders since junior high, and every single one of them tried out with a partner! The judges always fall for that phony, cutesy, buddy stuff,” I say, searching her face, and wondering why she’s decided to do this
now.
I mean, after all of our planning, all of our pie chart graphing.
But she just rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and when she finally looks at me, she sighs and says, “See, that’s exactly my point.
You
think it’s all fake and phony, but I
don’t.
I really do think it’s cute. And that’s why I’m trying out with Jaci.”
“Omigod,” I say, taking a wobbly, unstable step back.
“I’m sorry, Winter. I didn’t want to tell you, but I figuredyou’d find out anyway. I just think you should maybe reconsider, you know? I mean, maybe you’re just not cut out to be a cheerleader. Did you ever think of that? It’s like, you spent that entire meeting rolling your eyes, and
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