The young woman's body abruptly inhabited space with an almost postmortem poise. Her feathery, fragile lashes rested on cheeks still flushed from exertion. Full lips, sensuously parted. Stiff arms at the sides of the equally rigid form whooshed through the still and silent air. Fine but curly hair gathered in a disheveled semi-ponytail flung droplets of sweat.
It is an unnatural sight, a horizontal body suddenly made vertical by external forces yet here her body was, hoisted straight up as if in a surreal barn raising.
But in this case, it is not natural for a body to remain on its feet. Green eyes suddenly snapped open like a doll's. The arms knifed out, making a "V", and the woman somersaulted head first, leaping high into the air, five, six, seven feet. Eight sweaty hands caught Penny Gallagher 30 inches short of the mats.
Female mouths screamed, whistled. Applause popped in the gymnasium like savagely twisted bubble wrap.
"That's the way it's done," Penny said to the Middlesex Regional High cheerleaders. She pawed briefly at a loose strand of hair matted against her cheek and forcefully exhaled. "I haven't done that since senior year. Make me do that again and you'll all be doing laps until baseball season."
The ponytailed fifteen year-old who'd had trouble with the stunt uncertainly took her position in the formation as the rest of the squad prepared for the routine again.
"Okay, remember," Penny said, walking to the boom box to rewind the tape, "I want to see smiles!"
Young, glistening faces contorted with maniacally earnest grins. Penny knew that grin. It was one that she herself had molded onto her face when she wore the maroon and gold, cheering on the football and basketball teams. It was a rictus that said not "Rah rah sis boom bah!" but "As soon as the bitch's back is turned I'm shoving a medicine ball up her ass."
Still, they did the stunts and won the state championship twice in the three years since Penny volunteered for the coaching job. While the other high school teams were still struggling with scorpions and Statue of Liberties, Middlesex Regional High School was perfecting stunts that were easily as sophisticated as anything Assumption College or the Boston universities were already doing. They loved Penny and always chipped in for a present when the football season ended in November.
She'd reciprocated their affection, naturally. She loved helping the girls forge themselves into competitive athletes in their own right. Champions. It wasn't about skimpy skirts without bloomers or panties and brainless orgies with the football team on Saturday nights. None of the cheerleader stereotypes applied to Penny's squad. It was maintain at minimum a C average, keep your nose clean, and pull your weight. If you can't do that, take a permanent shower. It was all about character.
Penny Gallagher watched the stunt wind up and develop to the blaring beat of badly dubbed and edited rap music with a boot camp instructor's eye.
"Base girls!" she yelled over Puff Daddy's blurry voice, "Feet closer together. You're about to suddenly take on 100 pounds of weight. Good."
The petite sophomore, horizontal but face down, held two to two and a half feet from the ground, was then flung back in a vertical position. She could be seen counting silently, waiting, tensing. A midair somersault and she'd perfectly duplicated her coach's feat.
"Okay, that was good, Megan. Try to get a little more elevation next time but that was much better." The last time, the girl's legs had buckled as she was shoved back and the entire squad, base and all, had collapsed into an impromptu game of Twister.
A squat, gray-clad figure peeked from behind the double doors so only half the form was visible. Maria Chaves, the matronly super of the school. She was pointing to her watch, signifying that it was time for her to sweep the gym floor. Seven-thirty already?
Clapping her hands first, Penny then finger-whistled the teenagers into silence. "Ladies, that was a good practice but I've seen you do better. I want to see an improvement the night after tomorrow. Remember, the regionals are coming up."
Then, the usual organized disorder- bag, coat, and water bottle retrieval; mat-gathering and folding; suddenly materialized parents picking up the younger ones. Those old enough to drive home fished for car keys attached to Gigapet key chains.
Penny had a theory as to why the girls' stunts were off tonight. She could understand the undercurrent of tension. Nowhere did it say, however, that she had to tolerate it. Business as usual.
Unplugging the second-hand Sony boombox, Penny heard a deep voice above her head.
"Nice job you're doing with the girls."
Penny's semi-ponytailed head jerked up a few degrees. Megan Flannery's dad. A refrigerator of a man, easily a head taller than Penny, a head and a neck above his daughter, and close to twice as big around as either. He looked familiar in a way you remember a week-old dream.
"Oh, thanks," she smiled while wrapping the cord, suddenly mindful of her sweaty body odor. She pulled on a dark blue windbreaker.
"I guess I'll be marrying this one off in a few years."
"Uh…" Still wearing the now-forgotten smile. "Excuse me?" Poor Megan was inspecting the mercury vapor lights perched twenty feet above the basketball court.
"Well, you know, being a cheerleader and all. She'll land a husband in no time."
"I… don't see the connection." Now the smile was gone as well as forgotten.
"You know," began Brian Flannery as if he had to explain to her the plot of a Dick and Jane book. "It's a pretty savvy move for a girl to make if she's looking for a husband. Captain of the football team marries a cheerleader. I mean, who else really pays attention to them? When I go, I go to watch my boy play. I'm glued to the game."
Penny looked to his daughter. By now, she was staring at the lights as if wondering whether they'd hold the weight of her body and a rope. Obviously, he'd made similar pronouncements in her presence before.
"Dad, we've already discussed this. I'm going to college in three years. Don't do this… !"
Penny widened her feet a few inches, then abruptly looked up at him.
"Mr. Flannery, let me get a few things straight with you. First of all, I am not running a dating service. I coach a cheerleading squad. The defending state champions. They work just as hard as the boys, put in just as many hours, compete against their counterparts, and are just as competitive as the teams for whom they cheer.
"Second, you'd be surprised at how many people actually watch them. Parents, other cheerleading coaches, reporters, maybe even a scout or two. The notion that these girls joined my squad just to meet boys and land a husband right after high school is an attitude that I'm surprised has survived the Jurassic Age."
Brian Flannery, his Irish high coloring coming out, wouldn't go down without a fight. Baring his teeth in a parody of a smile, he countered, "Okay. Name me one person famous for cheerleading. Hell, the Patriots cheerleaders don't even get paid. None of the NFL cheerleaders do." Megan had given up on the rope and was now pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Mr. Flannery, anyone who does anything for fame and fortune is an idiot. And, as for NFL cheerleaders, they stand to gain much more than fleeting fame. If they work hard and distinguish themselves, they can land very lucrative commercial endorsements. How many commercial endorsements do you have? How many posters are you on?"
"Nice talking to you, coach." Giving up already, you neanderthal? Flannery scratched at the air as he stalked to the door. "C'mon, Meg."
"Nice talking to you, too." Then with sincerity, "See you the night after tomorrow, Meg. 5:30."
The girl waved weakly at Penny, barely giving her a glance. Penny's own high Irish color, she surmised, must've made her face look like a light bulb in Amsterdam's combat zone.
" 'I'll be marrying this one off in a few years, huh?'" she said in an oafish tenor. "Fucking moron."
The trophies outside the gym stood in mute rebuttal to the chauvinist's beliefs. Penny owned them as much as any of the girls. Still, it was a shock to her system that someone could try to take away all that hard work and achievement with a careless remark without even being aware of the attempted theft. She noticed for the first time that the gym was empty.
Her watch said 7:40. She'd put in over 12 hours at the school, typical for a practice day. She was also one of Middlesex Vocational High School's gym teachers. She damn sure wasn't ready for an eight hour shift but she had no choice. Chalmers was out with pneumonia and Penny got tapped just the night before to cover his shift. Such was the lot of auxiliaries. When someone got sick, went on vacation, whatever, she got the call, whether or not it meant staying up for 24 straight hours.
Already mentally making a schedule grid, Penny calculated under her breath: "7:40-8:00; Driving time. 8:00-8:15; shower. 8:15-8:30; dressing for the detail. Shit. Scratch that. I haven't been home to do laundry. Okay. 8:15-9:15; laundry. That gives me just enough time to get dressed and drive to the station… shit…"
And Penny Gallagher walked out of the school alone, not giving her hard-won trophies even a cursory glance as she walked out the front door. With every quick step, "EASTBRIDGE PD" crinkled in white block letters on her back.
Enjoy! Let me know what you think. My email address is Crawman2@Juno.com