I squirmed in my chair. White-hot interrogation lamps couldn’t have made me feel more scrutinized than the penetrating gaze of the director and head choreographer of the Texas Scorpion Cheerleaders.

“Eden, we’re just not seeing that fire,” the director Margo King said, drawing out the word fire into at least three syllables and fluffing her red hair.

“You’re putting us to sleep out there,” the choreographer Andrea Reynolds chimed in.

I had no idea what they were talking about. I’d been practicing several times a day like always. I was giving this experience everything I had. Cheering for the Texas Scorpions was my dream job, and I’d worked my butt off to get it. Okay, maybe job was the wrong word, considering we only get paid a few hundred dollars a year, but I’d wanted to be a professional cheerleader as long as I could remember. When I was nine years old, I dressed as a Texas Scorpions cheerleader for Halloween. Cheering for the Scorpions was my ultimate goal. They were the best.

Dumb, huh? That’s what most people think of cheerleaders. Vacuous bimbos with loose morals. If that’s what you think, you’re wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth. At least not at this level.

No, to be a Texas Scorpions cheerleader you need the skills of a professional dancer, a practically perfect body, and “the look.” The look was subjective of course, but it had been described numerous times as that of “Texas Sweethearts.” Scorpions cheerleaders also had to display appropriate behavior both on and off the field. Last year two girls were released for less-than-stellar reputations. One had posed topless and the photos showed up online, and the other had posted a picture of herself smoking pot on her Facebook page.

My “real job” is in the medical field, but I’ve been a lifelong dancer, and when I moved to Austin and discovered I could try out for the squad I was thrilled. The first year I tried out, I made it to training camp, and got cut a week before the first pre-season game. After that, I doubled up on my dance classes, worked my butt off, and came back for tryouts again last year. It was a monumental challenge, but I made it, and this year I was finally a veteran.

In the real world, I’m a doctor, one of those really smart people who finished high school early, did college online and finished medical school by my early twenties. Then during my residency, I invented a device now used in surgical procedures, so rather than practice medicine, I have my own medical supply company that frankly makes more than enough money to keep me comfortable. So—if you think I’m cheering looking for that sugar daddy you’re wrong. I do it because I love to dance, and because most of my life I’ve stuck out like a sore thumb, and I love finally being a part of a team.

Now Margo and Andrea were telling me that I was lacking. I gulped. They didn’t usually bring you into their office unless they were seriously unhappy with your performance. “I’m sorry. I’ll work on it.” Whatever it took to bring the sparkle back to my dancing—I’d do it.

“Well,” Margo began. “You might want to consult with Judy. You know that dance teacher who helps us out sometimes? She's really good at helping girls who are struggling.”

“But we’re not going to be able to bring you with us to St. Bart's for the cup calendar shoot,” Andrea said.

My heart fell to my toes. Only veterans were allowed to go on the calendar shoot, and I had been so excited to be included in the lineup for this year. I'd been working out longer hours, and I hadn't had dessert in months. But this was like someone putting a piece of cake in front of me, and then yanking it away. “I understand,” I managed, trying not to cry, but tears stung the backs of my eyes. These women saw a lot of tears. They had a tough job and I didn’t blame them, but I wasn't going to be one of the girls they had to offer a tissue to either.

“I appreciate the feedback, and I'll get to work on it right away. I'll call Judy this afternoon.” I needed to stop being so frivolous with my free time and really focus on my goals. I’d worked hard to get here, and I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip through my fingers now.

The two women smiled at the same time. Tight, forced smiles. Practiced, but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you, Eden,” they said in unison.

“Thank you,” I said automatically, rising from my chair. I left the room, closing the door behind me and made my way to the locker room. There wasn’t a time that I stepped foot in that locker room that it didn’t still seem hard to believe that I was a Scorpions cheerleader. Nerdy old me with the big brain and the less-than-bountiful breasts.

As I changed from my workout uniform to my street clothes I thought about how if I didn’t step up my game I might not be one for long. Maybe Judy would have some tips for me, because I wasn’t sure what Margo and Andrea had been complaining about. I wish they’d given me something more concrete to work on, like improving my kicks, or sharpening up my turns. Unfortunately, their critique had been vague. It was much harder to fix something when you didn’t understand exactly what was wrong.

It was dark when I stepped outside. The other girls had already gone home, so the security guard walked me to my car. “Thanks, Carl,” I said, throwing my bag in the front seat and climbing into my car.

“Have a good night.” He waved as I pulled out of the parking lot and for one rebellious moment, I considered stopping on the way home for some donuts.