Page 63 of Something in Between

After the bus pulls up to the convention center, Coach Davis checks us in for the Medium Varsity Division I Group while we change into our uniforms and fix our hair.

The morning flies by. We watch a few teams compete, some of them good enough to make us worry a little, but we know we’ve got this. Then we stretch for twenty minutes and do warm-ups before the team is called up to compete. Coach Davis asks me to give the girls a pep talk as the competition organizers cue up our music. The girls gather around me, and I look at them, wondering what they would think if they knew I was an undocumented immigrant. Would they care? Would they look at me differently? Would they pity me?

Gathering the girls into a big huddle, I give my speech. “You’ve all been working so hard toward this moment. Your tucks are tight. Your moves are sharp. We’re going to win this thing and we’re going on to Nationals!”

Coach Davis signals me to call the girls to the mats.

“Positions!” I shout, and we all run out to the floor, bouncing and cheering, before taking our places.

This is our moment. Our chance to qualify for Nationals.

The music starts up. We begin our tumbling routine followed by our stunts. I plaster a smile on my face, but my rhythm is off, like I’m moving in slow motion.

The bright lights are shining on us and I imagine that everyone looking at me knows my terrible secret. And I remember the hurt look on Royce’s face when I told him to leave me alone.

My bases start to pop me up for a simple toe-touch basket toss, but I mistime their movements and begin to jump before they’ve released me, sending all of us off balance. On the way down, I try to correct my positioning but I’ve already screwed everything up and come crashing down on my back spotter. It’s Anabel, and she picks me up right away. Everyone gets back on the routine like nothing has happened, but I know I’ve cost our team qualifying for Nationals. I finish the rest of the routine without starting to cry, but once the music is over, I run to the bathroom and lock the stall door.

I can’t believe I’ve let them all down. I’m petrified of having people see me like this. I can’t have them know how close I am to crying right now.

I’m sitting in the stall trying to get control of my emotions when someone knocks on the door. “Jasmine?” Kayla asks. “Is that you?”

Trying to hold back my tears, because I don’t want her to hear, I gasp an uneasy “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Are you going to let me in? Or am I going to have to knock down this door?”

I unlatch the lock, still sitting on top of the toilet in my cheer uniform.

“You can’t blame yourself,” Kayla says. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not on a stupid basket toss,” I say. “It’s such an easy move.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We gotsecondplace. That’s not bad. Come out, they’re about to give us our trophies. We need you out there.”

She’s right. I can’t hide in here while my team accepts our second-place trophy. I swallow my tears and my pride and get up. “Okay,” I say to Kayla. “Let’s do this.”

The team is waiting for me and we all ascend the podium together. The judges hand us our trophy. I smile and wave to the crowd along with the rest of the girls. I know we’re all disappointed, no one more than me, but at least we tried.

Sometimes, it’s all you can do.

We link hands and bow, and watch as the first-place team receives a trophy taller than their coach.

Coming in second means no Nationals for us. Everything I was aiming for, that I had been so sure of three months ago, has completely fallen apart.

My cheer career is over. This was my last chance at glory, and I blew it.

* * *

On the way home, I think of the other good thing in my life that I wrecked. When I first met Royce, I thought he was a total player. He was so confident when we met, and no one that rich and handsome isn’t a player, right?

But when he told me about Carrie, he also told me about other girls. Sure, he’s had a number of girlfriends. (Six. But who’s counting? Me.) But he claimed that four of them were girls who walked home with him between grades two through seven. He said they only held hands. No kisses. No actual dates. Because each one walked with him at least twice, he counted them as girlfriends.

That one made me laugh.

The fifth one was a “real” girlfriend, but they only went out for a month.

So I guess he didn’t have as much experience with girls as I thought.

It’s Christmas vacation, and I can’t get him out of my mind as I go between reading trashy novels, trying to get over losing at Regionals, and helping Mom with her work. She started working at Millie’s old firm the other day.

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