The Geek Girl's Guide to Cheerleading by Charity Tahmaseb, Darcy Vance
Authors: Charity Tahmaseb, Darcy Vance
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do….”
An hour later a list sat in front of me: “Witty Things to Say When Jack Paulson Is Nearby.” Somehow, Is that a jockstrap in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? did not inspire a ton of confidence. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, not tonight, so I asked Moni, “How’s Minneapolis?”
“Sucks.”
Uh-oh. That meant her dad’s girlfriend, Monica, was there. So much for father-daughter alone time. And this wasn’t the first time her dad had promised his exclusive attention, then gone back on the deal.
“You won’t believe what she did tonight,” Moni said. She was going for sarcastic, but I heard the hurt in her voice.
I started to ask what was going on, but Moni was already launching into a rant.
“She told me how great it was that we ‘share’ a name.”
“What?”
“Moni-ca. Moni.”
I pointed out that, technically, Moni was Ramona. Though it was spelled similarly, it didn’t sound the same at all. She didn’t share anything with Monica.
“Yeah, except my dad.”
Moni continued to complain, but I didn’t mind. It was part of the vow I’d made when her parents announced their divorce. Phone calls until three in the morning. Sure. IMs when Moni was gaming on the computer. Fine. Any time, any place. That was no maybe.
I’d always be there for Moni.
Monday morning I clutched the list and stepped through the door to Independent Reading. I tried to get Jack’s attention before class started, but he and Ryan Nelson were revisiting a play from Friday night’s game—while Traci Olson batted her eyelashes at both of them.
Mr. Wilker tapped his desk. “As you read today, I want you to pay close attention to the inequities between the haves and have-nots in Jane Austen’s era. How do they correlate with today’s social world?”
Let me count the ways , I thought.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, despite constant prompting from Moni, I still couldn’t work up the nerve to use the list. By Thursday I was either determined—or frightened. If I didn’t say something to Jack by the end of the day, Moni threatened to intervene on my behalf.
Thankfully, I spotted Jack early that morning. A gaggle of sophomore girls was knotted at the edge of the gauntlet in front of him, blocking his way to the cafeteria. He looked desperate to find a way through the fray. What Would Lara Croft Do? I thought. Every boy on the geek squad worshipped The Divine Ms. L.—the anatomically impossible heroine of the Tomb Raider video games. WWLCD had become a common refrain among them.
I whispered it to Jack as I slipped past. He looked down at me, wrinkles forming across his forehead. He obviously had no idea what I was talking about. The crowd parted before him. Jack took a few steps away, then shrugged. Maybe he hadn’t heard me. I decided to give it one more try, for the list’s sake.
“WHAT WOULD LARA CROFT DO?”
Before cheerleading this would’ve come out as a whisper too. Not now. Sheila taught us to project to the very top of the bleachers. With Jack moving through the gauntlet, I meant to raise my voice a little. Instead I raised it a lot. The sophomore girls around Jack froze. A few inched backward, putting a safe distance between them and me. Chantal Simmons had to hold on to her sides, she laughed so much. But Jack’s expression was (once again) unreadable as he disappeared into the cafeteria.
I stood there, mortified by my own stupidity. I gave up the idea of following Jack into the cafeteria. The list, I thought, should come with a warning: Say it, don’t scream it.
Friday was the last day before winter break. A snow delay meant a modified schedule—no cafeteria breakfast, no Independent Reading, no Jack. Not to mention no list and no chance of making a fool of myself.
After last bell, Todd trailed me down the hall. He was giving me some terse instructions for my newspaper column when I saw Jack, a full head taller than the rest of the crowd.
Jack waved. I turned
An hour later a list sat in front of me: “Witty Things to Say When Jack Paulson Is Nearby.” Somehow, Is that a jockstrap in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? did not inspire a ton of confidence. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, not tonight, so I asked Moni, “How’s Minneapolis?”
“Sucks.”
Uh-oh. That meant her dad’s girlfriend, Monica, was there. So much for father-daughter alone time. And this wasn’t the first time her dad had promised his exclusive attention, then gone back on the deal.
“You won’t believe what she did tonight,” Moni said. She was going for sarcastic, but I heard the hurt in her voice.
I started to ask what was going on, but Moni was already launching into a rant.
“She told me how great it was that we ‘share’ a name.”
“What?”
“Moni-ca. Moni.”
I pointed out that, technically, Moni was Ramona. Though it was spelled similarly, it didn’t sound the same at all. She didn’t share anything with Monica.
“Yeah, except my dad.”
Moni continued to complain, but I didn’t mind. It was part of the vow I’d made when her parents announced their divorce. Phone calls until three in the morning. Sure. IMs when Moni was gaming on the computer. Fine. Any time, any place. That was no maybe.
I’d always be there for Moni.
Monday morning I clutched the list and stepped through the door to Independent Reading. I tried to get Jack’s attention before class started, but he and Ryan Nelson were revisiting a play from Friday night’s game—while Traci Olson batted her eyelashes at both of them.
Mr. Wilker tapped his desk. “As you read today, I want you to pay close attention to the inequities between the haves and have-nots in Jane Austen’s era. How do they correlate with today’s social world?”
Let me count the ways , I thought.
On Tuesday and Wednesday, despite constant prompting from Moni, I still couldn’t work up the nerve to use the list. By Thursday I was either determined—or frightened. If I didn’t say something to Jack by the end of the day, Moni threatened to intervene on my behalf.
Thankfully, I spotted Jack early that morning. A gaggle of sophomore girls was knotted at the edge of the gauntlet in front of him, blocking his way to the cafeteria. He looked desperate to find a way through the fray. What Would Lara Croft Do? I thought. Every boy on the geek squad worshipped The Divine Ms. L.—the anatomically impossible heroine of the Tomb Raider video games. WWLCD had become a common refrain among them.
I whispered it to Jack as I slipped past. He looked down at me, wrinkles forming across his forehead. He obviously had no idea what I was talking about. The crowd parted before him. Jack took a few steps away, then shrugged. Maybe he hadn’t heard me. I decided to give it one more try, for the list’s sake.
“WHAT WOULD LARA CROFT DO?”
Before cheerleading this would’ve come out as a whisper too. Not now. Sheila taught us to project to the very top of the bleachers. With Jack moving through the gauntlet, I meant to raise my voice a little. Instead I raised it a lot. The sophomore girls around Jack froze. A few inched backward, putting a safe distance between them and me. Chantal Simmons had to hold on to her sides, she laughed so much. But Jack’s expression was (once again) unreadable as he disappeared into the cafeteria.
I stood there, mortified by my own stupidity. I gave up the idea of following Jack into the cafeteria. The list, I thought, should come with a warning: Say it, don’t scream it.
Friday was the last day before winter break. A snow delay meant a modified schedule—no cafeteria breakfast, no Independent Reading, no Jack. Not to mention no list and no chance of making a fool of myself.
After last bell, Todd trailed me down the hall. He was giving me some terse instructions for my newspaper column when I saw Jack, a full head taller than the rest of the crowd.
Jack waved. I turned
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