How to Be Brave(7)

She talked about everything that came after—how the art world was so tough. How there was no money and little gratification in it. How owning a restaurant with my dad was even harder. She described the miscarriages and endless fertility treatments when she was trying to have me.

She held the photos and said that second to being a mom, this had been the best time of her life.

I like to imagine her that way, how she was long before I was born, before the interminable rejections got to her.

But at the end, she told me to be brave—to try anything and everything.

And now, when I think about it, I think maybe she was the one who was the most confident, even more than her friends. She was the one who demanded attention, and because she never let on that she was secretly nervous, secretly afraid, no one else knew.

I’m going to do my best to demand their attention, to show them what I’ve got.

I step over to the table.

“Georgia?” Avery looks up from her post, cracks some gum, and snickers. “Are you thinking about trying out for cheer?”

Ugh. I just don’t understand. Why is she so mean?

“Maybe,” I mutter. “Can I? I mean, if I’m a senior?”

Avery’s about to say no when Chloe whispers in her ear, “That could work for Junior Varsity. Miss Rawls said we have to, you know, diversify.” She’s not very good at whispering.

“I don’t think she meant that.…”

“When you say ‘that,’ you mean my weight, right? You don’t think I can be a cheerleader because I’m a senior, or because I’m fat?” The words pour forth from my mouth, but I can’t believe it’s my voice I hear. Where did that come from?

Chloe’s eyes widen. Avery flips her hair and stumbles over her words. “What? No—I didn’t mean—”

“You can try out for the Junior Varsity squad,” Chloe finally says.

Avery looks away. The last thing she wants is me associating with her circle of friends. Especially after Liss’s jab last week. I catch her eye. “Great,” I say, as bubbly as ever. I even flip my hair. It’s heavy with curls, so it doesn’t have quite the same effect as Avery’s smooth princess locks. “So when are tryouts?”

“Oh, well, you’ll have to dedicate a lot of time and money—” She struggles to find a loophole to keep me from coming.

Chloe interrupts her. “Come to practice next Monday three P.M., and we’ll teach you the routines. Tryouts start Wednesday. You have to sign up for your slot here.” Huh. She seems nice enough. Maybe I’ve been too hard on Chloe. Maybe I have a snowball’s chance in hell, after all. She holds out a pen and a clipboard and issues me a gigantic smile. It might even be genuine.

Okay. We’ve been in the same classes for the last four years and my best friend just did you the honor of insulting your face, but sure, I’ll pretend that everything’s fine and normal between us. I take the clipboard from her. She hands me a pen.

Avery stands up and walks away.

I write my name. My hand is shaking.

Then she gives me a thick folder full of pages and pages of info, including one particular brochure printed in fluorescent pink that catches my attention:





WEBSTER HIGH SCHOOL


CHEER SQUAD


THERE’S MORE TO CHEER THAN MEETS THE EYE.





REAL-WORLD ADVICE


from one cheerleader to another BEFORE TRYOUTS:





GET OFF YOUR BUTT


BUILD MUSCLE


STRETCH


TUMBLING


DANCE: JAZZ/HIP-HOP/AEROBICS

Go to ALL practices to learn the routines.

PRACTICE. PRACTICE. PRACTICE.

DAY OF TRYOUTS:

Get plenty of sleep.

EAT breakfast.

AT TRYOUTS:





MINIMUM QUALIFICATIONS


Outgoing, fun, energetic

Think Positive! School Spirit!!

Flips, handsprings, and tucks are not required, but will earn extra points #YOLO!





ADVICE


HAVE FUN!!!!

SMILE!!!

DO YOUR BEST!

BE YOURSELF, BUT BETTER!


I muffle a laugh. Whoa. Are they kidding? That’s the most bizarre and uneven use of ALL CAPS and exclamation points I’ve ever seen. Hashtag YOLO? What year is it? Do people even say that anymore? And I don’t understand: Smiling seems especially important, but it’s only number two on the list. Be yourself, but better? What the hell is that?

“Do you have any questions?” Chloe asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “You’ve been very helpful.” And she has been. Maybe a little too helpful. I tuck the folder into my bag and scamper away as quickly as possible.

Shit. What have I gotten myself into?

*

This is what it says:





DEATH NOTICE


Diana L. Askeridis, née Melas, beloved wife of John Askeridis; loving mother of Georgia;

proud teacher of many dedicated students; generous friend.


Eclectic artist,

Associate Professor of Drawing and Printmaking at Chicago City College, co-owner of John’s Diner & Family Restaurant in downtown Chicago.