Backlash

WHEN BREE tells Mom she’s thinking of skipping cheerleading tryouts at di

“What do you mean you don’t want to try out for cheerleading?”

Mom sounds like her head is about to explode. She’s been sending Bree to cheerleading camp since she was practically old enough to walk. When Bree was on JV last year, Mom was at every game taking pictures and video.

“I was just thinking … maybe I want to try something else,” Bree says, but now she sounds a little less sure. “Like dance team.”

“When you have the chance to make varsity cheerleading?” Mom nearly shouts. “Why would you do that?”

Bree looks to me for support, but I’m not about to stick my neck into this fight. Mom’s like one of those crazy stage moms, except it’s about cheerleading. And it’s not like she even made the squad herself.

“I’m bored of cheerleading,” Bree whines. “I’ve been doing it forever.”

“You want to give up because you’re bored?” Mom says. “You’re never going to get anywhere in life if you drop things the minute you get bored, Brea

Uh-oh … Here we go … We’re in for another lecture about how we have it so easy and we need to get some grit, otherwise we’re not going to succeed at college, jobs, life, you name it. We might as well just give up and die because we’re so freaking soft and lazy. Okay, maybe she doesn’t go that far, but the whole time Mom’s on one of these rants you start feeling worse and worse about yourself. You just wait for it to be over so you can escape to your room, put on headphones, and listen to music that lifts you up again.

Except now I’m stuck at the di

Bree stares at her plate, picking at her food with her fork.

“Colleges and employers don’t take kindly to quitters, Bree,” Mom continues. “I want you to think about that before you make an irrational decision.”

If Dad were here, I could ask him if people really look at what you did after school in high school when you apply for a job. He’s okay with those kinds of questions. But Mom takes it badly when you dispute her Truth. Very badly. So I don’t.

But I kind of wish that Bree would. I mean, this is her life. Her fight. If she really wants to try out for dance team, then why doesn’t she speak up instead of letting Mom lecture her out of it?

Whatever. I eat as fast as I can and ask to be excused, leaving Bree to fight her own battles. Or not.

I’M SO nervous the morning of cheerleading tryouts I can barely eat.

“Are you sure this is a good idea if it’s making you so stressed you’re losing your appetite?” Mom asks.

“I’m fine!” I snap at her, and shove a few more spoonfuls of cereal I’m not really hungry for into my mouth just to prove it to her.

Syd slams her cereal bowl down on the table.

“What’s the matter?” Mom asks.

“Nothing,” Syd says. She pours her cereal and milk and starts eating with quiet determination, ignoring Mom and me.

My sister is such a drama queen. But at least Mom’s a

Bree is waiting at the bus stop when I get there. She nods hello as I walk up. There was a time when we would have started talking nonstop the minute we saw each other, even though we’d been texting and chatting for hours the night before. But that was before we got to high school, and she decided I wasn’t worth being friends with anymore. She started hanging out with Marci Liptak and Je

That wasn’t the best time of my life. But I’ve moved on, too.

“Hey,” I say. “You going to cheerleading tryouts after school?”

Bree looks surprised that I’d ask. I guess it is kind of a dumb question, because she was on JV cheerleading last year, and she’s been doing cheerleading practically since she could walk.

“Yeah,” she sighs.

“Me too,” I tell her.

Her look of surprise turns to shock.

“You’re trying out for cheerleading? Why?”

“Why not?” I say. “I’ve always wanted to do it. I just wasn’t in good enough … you know, shape to do it before.”

What I mean is that Lardosaurus would never have been allowed on the cheerleading team. But I’m not her anymore. I’ve changed.

“But it’s not like you know any moves or anything.”

“That’s not true. You taught me, remember?”

Bree shrugs, because it’s true. Back when we were friends, the minute she’d get home from cheerleading camp, we’d get together and she’d show me what she learned that day. I begged my parents to send me to the same camp, but they wouldn’t. They thought I should be more “well rounded.” But I think the real reason was because Mom was afraid I was too rounded.

“Well, good luck,” she says as the bus pulls up. She doesn’t sound like she means it.

“You too,” I tell her, but it’s to her back because she’s already getting on the bus. She goes to sit in the back with someone else, making clear that our mutual cheerleading tryout isn’t something to re-bond over.

Whatever. I tried. I guess you can’t repair some friendships, no matter what.

“Hey, if you’re not going to eat your potato chips, can I have some?” Julisa asks me at lunch.

“Me too,” Luis, her twin brother, says. “What’s with you anyway? You buggin’ about something?”

I hand him the bag of potato chips. “Share them with Julisa. And yeah, I’m bugging about cheerleading tryouts.”

“Oh yeah, they’re today, right?” Julisa says.

“Yup. I’m soooooooo scared I’m going to mess up,” I tell them.

Luis observes me intently as he crunches on a mouthful of potato chips.

“What?” I ask.

“I just don’t see it. Why are you trying out for cheerleading?” he asks. “You don’t seem the type.”

Is he saying I’m too fat to be a cheerleader?

That’s the first thought that goes through my head. I cross my arms defensively over my belly to hide it from his view.

“I mean, going from yearbook and debate club to trying out for varsity cheerleading?” he continues. “That’s … different.”

“Shut up, Luis,” Julisa says. “Lara can do whatever she wants.”

“I’m not saying she can’t,” he says, keeping his brown eyes trained on me. “I’m just curious. Why?”

Luis and Julisa also went to the other middle school in town. They don’t know the sad, painful history of Lardosaurus, and the last thing I feel like doing is going on an archaeological dig so they do. I don’t want to explain that, for me, getting on the cheerleading team would mean that Lardo was well and truly gone and that all the hard work I did to get in shape was worth it.

“It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” I tell him. “And I guess I figured … now or never.”

“Good for you, Lara,” Julisa says. “Go for it. You’ll be awesome.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you will be,” Luis says, even though I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t get why I’m doing it. “Good luck.”