Page 62 of Tell Me Softly
There was no other explanation.
I’d told my brother I wasn’t about to play babysitter to a bunch of seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds—they were old enough to take responsibility for themselves and know what time to call the party off when they had a game the next day. But they couldn’t, and there they were: a total disaster.
I had no idea how late they’d been up. I wasn’t at the motel. I knew a chick in Falls Church who’d invited me over for dinner when she found out I was going to be in town. I was happy to accept. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened with Kam: every hour, every minute, the image of it came back to me. I never thought something like that could turn me on so much. But it had. And we hadn’t even kissed.
So I’d blown off some steam with my friend here. We’d been at it all night, in every possible position. And the whole time, I imagined I was with Kam.
As you can see, I had a problem.
She was the real reason I had showed up for the cheerleading. I had wanted to see her again. Cheerleaders, their routines, I couldn’t care less about all that. Now, though, I wished I hadn’t. They were a joke, and it was clear my guys weren’t the only ones who were having trouble focusing. The only one who seemed to have it together was Kam. She kept shooting nasty looks at the captain, who hadn’t stopped yelling at everyone since they’d arrived.
It was irritating. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.
I always felt like if you had to yell, that meant you were doing something wrong. If people didn’t trust and respect you enough to just do what you said, that was because you weren’t good at your job. But what did I know? I’d only coached guys. Maybe girls were a different story.
Finally, the cheer team started. I had to sit through three other teams’ routines before the Carsville Lions took the floor.
Kam had her hair braided in pigtails that just grazed the top of her breasts, and she’d made up her face with glitter. Her cheerleader uniform clung to her body, and you could see her soft curves as her skirt bounced up and down with each step. I imagined standing behind her, pushing her spine downward, watching her arch her back as I lifted her skirt, tugged down her panties, and slowly…
I closed my eyes and told myself to stop and focus on anything else. I was starting to make myself hard, and the game was about to begin!
When I opened my eyes, their routine had started. Everyone was looking down until the music began and they started the dance they’d been practicing since the beginning of the semester.
I was momentarily relieved. They were perfectly coordinated, moving to the rhythm of the music. I knew they were good, but damn… Not long afterward, though, something started to break down in the middle of their routine. Right as they were jumpingand doing somersaults and all that fancy stuff that always made the audience ooh and ahh.
Kam was theflyer—I’d only learned that term because I’d heard it so many times at practice. She was the one who got thrown in the air and twisted into amazing positions. She was doing great, but I couldn’t say the same about the people who had to catch her. One of the girls looked pale and on the verge of fainting. She was the only one who couldn’t even manage to smile at the audience.
And then it happened, as if in slow motion: everyone took their positions. Kam started at one end of the line, turning somersaults that got faster and faster until her teammates lifted her up and tossed her in the air. As she spiraled gracefully, the pale girl turned away to vomit, and the arms that were supposed to catch her disappeared. Kam looked down, her expression fearful, before she crashed headfirst into the ground, taking another girl down with her. I heard a scream that echoed through the entire gym. The audience was completely silent.
As I stood, I couldn’t help thinkingCome on, Kam. Get up. Please.
But she didn’t.
I was over there in three seconds, jumping down the bleachers to the floor and pushing through the crowd that had gathered around her. The girls were shouting for a doctor. In thirty seconds, utter chaos had broken out. I knelt down beside her, not touching her because I was scared I might hurt her worse, praying that there was a doctor or at least a nurse in the room.
“Kam… Kam, open your eyes,” I begged, terrified.
Please…please…not her.
I heard my brother next to me shouting, “Someone call an ambulance!” He must have run down as fast as I did. Thankfully, Falls Creek had sideline medics who hurried over to load her onto a stretcher just as she started opening her eyes. She blinked a fewtimes, disoriented, then looked at me. I was desperate to know she was OK.
“I dreamed you were kissing me,” she said, and I knew she was delirious. But it didn’t matter. I heard it. And so did my brother.
They took Kam and the other girl to the athletic trainer’s office. I was furious with myself. I had been the one responsible for making sure things like this didn’t happen. I realized then that the game, the cheerleaders, coaching—none of that mattered. All I cared about was Kam being all right.
***
“I’m fine,” she said for the umpteenth time.
“You need to get a CAT scan,” my brother said. He hadn’t been willing to leave. I was on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and watching as I waited for the medic to come back in.
“How’s Nadia?” Kam asked.
I told her what the doctor said, that he was 99 percent sure Nadia’s arm wasn’t broken. The most likely thing was a bad wrist sprain, which would mean a month or so of rest. No training, certainly no competitions.
“Dammit,” Kam said. “It’s my fault. I broke her wrist when I fell on her.” She sat up slightly on the stretcher.
“I said it was sprained, not broken, Kam,” I repeated patiently.
