Chapter 3 – Chelsea
Trying to get and keep the attention of a large group of women is often an impossible task. This season, the throng of current and aspiring cheerleaders seems even more unruly than usual.
“Ladies, ladies,” I call out, but everyone keeps talking to each other, over my voice.
I break out the bullhorn and try again.
“Attention, ladies!”
Everyone quiets down, finally, and focuses their attention on me.
“As soon as the players are off the field, I’d like all current cheerleaders to take your positions, and show the candidates how it’s done. Auditions will be held tomorrow, so there isn’t a lot of time to learn the routine.”
There are murmurs and whispers, as the newbies complain about having such little time to learn something so new and difficult. Yada, yada, yada.
I’m used to such complaints, but this process has proven the best at weeding people out, because every year there are a few talented girls who quickly rise to the top and join our team, while the rest of them are sent home crying.
I have a reputation for being a bit of a hard ass. But someone’s got to do it. And I didn’t become head cheerleader by being a doormat.
Some might assume that I got here by being the football coach’s daughter, which isn’t true, and which is all the more reason I’ve had to work my ass off to prove myself. Ever since my mom died, cheerleading has become my life: something to immerse myself in, to distract me from my thoughts of how much I miss her.
Sure, it’s not a cure-all, but it’s better than lying in bed feeling depressed. I’ve built up this team and trained them to become not only conference champions but state champions too. And this year I’ve got my eye on nationals.
I begin walking onto the field, leading the flock of veteran cheerleaders who are ready to show off for the anxious newbies. And no one is pretending we don’t want to get a look at the football players who are wrapping up their walk on tryouts.
Most of them are familiar faces and we’re happy to see some of them more than others. But there are also always a few promising, fresh-faced and handsome wannabe football players to gawk at.
One of them is still straggling off the field, talking to Christian Lewis. I can’t help but stop dead in my tracks to stare at him. He’s broad shouldered and tall, and his abs are so chiseled that I can make them out from under his uniform.
He’s carrying his helmet and his dark brown hair is hanging in his eyes just a little bit. His hair is even longer and fuller than Christian’s, which is saying something. And from underneath all that hair, the new player is staring back at me.
“Chelsea!”
I hear my name being called, and snap my head to the left, where my best friend and co-captain Taylor Hudson is glaring at me.
“What?”
“Snap out of it. Back to planet earth. They’re waiting…”
She gestures with a quick head movement to the team, ready for me to start the routine.
“I couldn’t help it,” I whisper to Taylor.
As my BFF, she’s the only person on the team to whom I’d admit such a weakness.
“He’s so fucking hot.”
She looks at the new guy.
“He’s fine all right,” she shrugs. “But what’s the difference? He’s just one more football player your dad will forbid you to date, and scare away if he tries.”
“Maybe he won’t make the team,” I say hopefully. “Then I won’t have to be teased all season long by what I can never have.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she replies. “I know you still don’t know or care a lick about football, but I watched him during the scrimmage and he’s probably better than most of the seniors on the team.”
“Great.”
Just my luck.
But I’m determined not to let my dad ruin this for me. I sneak a quick glance back in the new guy’s direction, and I’m pleased to see that I’ve had an effect on him. It’s clear that he can’t stop looking at me, either.
“Ready? Let’s go!” I command, forcing myself to join reality again, and the team kicks off our routine.
One, two, three, one, two, three… I count in my head like a newbie myself, afraid to mess up the steps. Even though I know this routine so well, I’m not used to performing in front of a handsome, mysterious stranger.
I make it all the way through the routine without screwing anything up too badly. But then I just kind of stand around, dumbfounded, as the new player and Christian walk in my general direction.
It looks like he might actually come over and talk to me, which is exactly what I was hoping for. But it appears that I’m suddenly unable to do anything but freeze.
Taylor elbows me and then speaks into the bullhorn on my behalf.
“I hope you were paying attention, ladies,” she says, to the scared looking girls huddled in front of us. “Because that’s the routine you’re expected to have mastered by tomorrow, if you want to have any chance of making the team.”
“Thanks,” I whisper to her, grateful that she stepped in to say something since my vocal chords don’t seem to work.
Taylor has helped me lead the squad, and even though I do most of the choreography and training, she always steps in to help out with anything I need. Just like she does with everything else in my life.
“Get your head out of La-La Land,” she snaps at me. “Tryouts for this year’s team are a lot more important than some guy you’re not going to be able to be with anyway.”
I must really be spacing out, if Taylor is this mad at me.
And I know she’s right. This isn’t even like me. I didn’t get to where I am by being obsessed with boys. Instead, I’m usually focused and determined on the task at hand.
But right now I can’t help but continue to stare at those abs and those eyes on that new guy. I hope he’s really going to approach me, even with my dad so close.
At the last minute, though, Christian says something to him and they make a beeline for the science building, and I realize he’s not coming over to talk to me after all. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.
But then he turns around and looks at me one more time, before sauntering off into the sunset with Christian.
I wonder what Christian said to him. He’d hit on me last year kind of relentlessly. I kept using the excuse that my dad doesn’t let me date football players, and, as often happens, I was glad to have an alibi. Because really he just isn’t my type.
He finally got the hint and he’s cordial enough to me now. But maybe he told the new guy I’m stuck up or something. I get that reaction sometimes from guys I’m not interested in.
I pout about the fact that the new guy didn’t come talk to me, but I know that Taylor’s right. Or at least, she would be, except that this time I’m determined to have things turn out differently.
Because that new football player is one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen and I’m not about to let my father ruin things for me.