glasses slide down to the end of her nose and looks at me from above the lenses. Her eyes are like blue sparks of electricity bursting under an icy surface. If it wasn’t for their sharp color, there would be nothing about this lady that would connect her to the girls she coaches on the cheerleading squad. She has none of their perfection. Her face is lined with age and her skin has taken on the gray color of ashes that old people often get. Her dress is drab and shapeless and makes her look like a giant hen sitting on her roost. But the eyes are the same and I wonder if she was pale and thin and beautiful once, too.
“You know we have a very high standard,” she tells me in a flat tone.
I nod. Thinking about my own beauty and wondering if she’s saying that as a way of letting me know I’m also far from being flawless.
She covers her mouth with the palm of her hand and taps her fingers against her cheek. The glare of the sun catches her glasses and erases her eyes. Two blank circles stare at me and I start to feel self-conscious as she tilts her head to one side and then the other trying to get a good look at every part of me. Then she asks me again if I’ve ever had any experience.
I bite my lip and consider lying to her and telling her thatI used to cheer. It wouldn’t be a complete lie. I used to cheer when I was seven years old. I’d twirl around and wave my pom-poms out of rhythm to the chant and pretend I was a ballerina when my skirt lifted into the air. But I know that’s not what she means and she’d be able to see through it. Her eyes are the kind that can pull the truth out like a magnet. So I keep my response vague like before.
“Sort of,” I say, putting my hands back in my pockets.
A skeptical look transforms her face and I can tell right away it’s not going to be enough.
“Well, I did do gymnastics for two years,” saying it a little too quickly, a little too eagerly. It’s the truth, though. I just leave out the part about it having been over a year since I’ve practiced anything.
“Gymnastics?” Mrs. Donner says and smiles patiently the way people do when they’re listening to little kids tell a story that doesn’t make any sense.
“I know it’s not the same thing,” I admit, “but some of it is. I can learn the rest of it if you give me the chance.” The chance is all I want. All I’m asking for and nothing more. One try to show everyone I’m not what I’ve been made out to be through whispers slipping off slithering tongues.
The tap-tapping of her fingers drumming against her chin starts over again and I start to sway at the hips. I can hear voices drifting in from the hallway as the minute hand ticks closer to class time. My stomach begins to turn over and over as Mrs. Donner considers me. Taking my hand from my pocket, I start to bite my nails. She catches me and gives a stern look. The kind of look teachers give to address any bad habit and I take my hand away from my mouth. It’sclear that nail biting certainly doesn’t go along with her high standard.
Mrs. Donner seems happy that I’ve caught on so quickly. She smiles and the wrinkles disappear to wipe the age away from her face. “Okay, let’s see what you can do,” she finally says and I feel the knots inside me begin to loosen.
“Thank you!” I shout, bringing my hands together as if saying a prayer. My heart races inside me like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage and I can’t stop smiling. “I won’t let you down,” I promise her and she nods to show she doesn’t expect me to.
“See you after school, then,” she says with a reminder of where and when I’m supposed to report to face my fate. I nod and hurry past the kids who are filing into the room. Wave once over my shoulder as my reflection grows smaller in the glare of her eyeglasses.
The hall is a dizzy maze of backpacks and blue jeans and colored lockers and dust specks that catch in the sunlight. Same as it was this
“You know we have a very high standard,” she tells me in a flat tone.
I nod. Thinking about my own beauty and wondering if she’s saying that as a way of letting me know I’m also far from being flawless.
She covers her mouth with the palm of her hand and taps her fingers against her cheek. The glare of the sun catches her glasses and erases her eyes. Two blank circles stare at me and I start to feel self-conscious as she tilts her head to one side and then the other trying to get a good look at every part of me. Then she asks me again if I’ve ever had any experience.
I bite my lip and consider lying to her and telling her thatI used to cheer. It wouldn’t be a complete lie. I used to cheer when I was seven years old. I’d twirl around and wave my pom-poms out of rhythm to the chant and pretend I was a ballerina when my skirt lifted into the air. But I know that’s not what she means and she’d be able to see through it. Her eyes are the kind that can pull the truth out like a magnet. So I keep my response vague like before.
“Sort of,” I say, putting my hands back in my pockets.
A skeptical look transforms her face and I can tell right away it’s not going to be enough.
“Well, I did do gymnastics for two years,” saying it a little too quickly, a little too eagerly. It’s the truth, though. I just leave out the part about it having been over a year since I’ve practiced anything.
“Gymnastics?” Mrs. Donner says and smiles patiently the way people do when they’re listening to little kids tell a story that doesn’t make any sense.
“I know it’s not the same thing,” I admit, “but some of it is. I can learn the rest of it if you give me the chance.” The chance is all I want. All I’m asking for and nothing more. One try to show everyone I’m not what I’ve been made out to be through whispers slipping off slithering tongues.
The tap-tapping of her fingers drumming against her chin starts over again and I start to sway at the hips. I can hear voices drifting in from the hallway as the minute hand ticks closer to class time. My stomach begins to turn over and over as Mrs. Donner considers me. Taking my hand from my pocket, I start to bite my nails. She catches me and gives a stern look. The kind of look teachers give to address any bad habit and I take my hand away from my mouth. It’sclear that nail biting certainly doesn’t go along with her high standard.
Mrs. Donner seems happy that I’ve caught on so quickly. She smiles and the wrinkles disappear to wipe the age away from her face. “Okay, let’s see what you can do,” she finally says and I feel the knots inside me begin to loosen.
“Thank you!” I shout, bringing my hands together as if saying a prayer. My heart races inside me like a bird beating its wings against the bars of a cage and I can’t stop smiling. “I won’t let you down,” I promise her and she nods to show she doesn’t expect me to.
“See you after school, then,” she says with a reminder of where and when I’m supposed to report to face my fate. I nod and hurry past the kids who are filing into the room. Wave once over my shoulder as my reflection grows smaller in the glare of her eyeglasses.
The hall is a dizzy maze of backpacks and blue jeans and colored lockers and dust specks that catch in the sunlight. Same as it was this
Similar Books
