Page 83 of Against The Rules

“Thank you,” I tell the waiter, and he nods at the menu in my hands, the menu I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“Have you decided on dinner?”

“Greek salad, dressing on the side, no cheese,” I say automatically.

“Lamb gyro with a side salad,” Kelsey says, and then he scurries off without another word.

A lamb gyro sounds so good, but I already cheated yesterday with margaritas and chips and tacos.

Salad it is. I sigh, then look up to find Kelsey watching me with pursed lips.

“So, you know that I’m writing a piece on the Beaver Cheer team,” she says slowly.

I nod, putting a piece of pita on one of the little plates, then adding a tiny spoonful of hummus. I should have asked for some carrots to eat this with.

“Right.” I don’t point out that this is completely obvious information, considering she’s become a fixture at practices and on the sidelines.

She folds her hands on the table, a serious expression on her super pretty face. “I want to be completely candid with you about the kind of piece it’s going to be, and you can decide if you still want to talk to me, on the record, off the record, or we can just chit chat about whatever else while we eat. No pressure, okay?”

I gulp, sitting stock still in my chair.

“The AFL cheer teams are drawing nationwide scrutiny for how they treat their cheerleaders. The rules, the expectations, the unspoken rules…” She trails off, steepling her fingers and watching me with hawk eyes. “I am going to be honest. I think the way they treat you all is terrible. Especially in comparison with how they treat the football stars.”

I push the plate away from me, feeling slightly ill. This isn’t good.

But at least she’s not onto my and Tyler’s illicit romance, I guess.

“It’s a privilege to dance for the Beavers,” I say slowly.

Her eyebrows rise, and she purses her lips, clearly waiting for more.

“I’ve wanted to be a professional cheerleader my whole life.” My voice cracks on the last word.

I take a bite of the pita because I need something to do with my hands and my mouth to stop from talking. I’m so hungry, and it tastes so good.

Kelsey signals to the waiter, and when he reappears, as I’m masticating manically, she orders a bottle of white wine. I nod wordlessly when she asks if that’s fine, hardly hearing the question.

It’s fine, I’m fine.

This is fine.

“You wanted to be a cheerleader your whole life?” Kelsey repeats after I’ve swallowed.

“My mom was a pro cheerleader in Georgia,” I tell her. “I looked up to her so much. She loved it. She put me in dance. I love to dance. It seemed like a natural… progression.”

“You’re a great dancer,” Kelsey tells me, and to my surprise, she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You said seemed?” she asks the question softly, and there’s real sympathy on my face.

"Yeah," I say, and the waiter magically appears with a bottle of wine, pouring us two glasses. “Yeah.”

“That’s past tense. Seemed.” Kelsey pushes a glass of wine towards me. “Seemed like a natural progression. Does it not anymore? Is that why you’re crying?”

My hand shakes as I press it to my cheek, surprised to see my fingers come away wet.

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.

She sighs, settling against the back of her chair. “Why don’t we just talk tonight? It seems like you need to get some things off your chest, and if you want to go on the record about any of it, you can. Otherwise, this can just be between you and me. I promise.”

The funny thing is, I believe her. So I nod, I wipe my tears, and I start to talk.

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