On One Condition — A Memoir
Anna Tatum
Period 2
Memoir
On One Condition
It was one of those rare sunny February days, where you can catch just the smallest glimpse of summer. Sitting in a sixth grade lit class was not where any of us wanted to be. The time given to us to work on a project had quickly turned in to a time to socialize with one another. I sat in a corner with Lene, as Stephanie told us about a recent win at her cheerleading competition. We rolled our eyes and quickly brushed off her story, because who cared about a bunch of forever smiling girls coated in glitter and makeup? Definitely not me, unless I happened to be mocking them.
My friends’ involvement in a competitive cheer team, Southside All-Stars, was a joke to us. Rahrahrah, kick your legs in the air, yell a lot, right? So when Stephanie got us back onto the subject later that day, this time asking if we wanted to go to a practice with her, I laughed in her face. Me, a cheerleader? Ha. I didn’t give it a second thought.
Stephanie was persistent, and kept pushing cheer on Lene and I. I’m still not really sure why she was, but I am grateful for her stubbornness. She finally wore me down, so I left it up to my mom.
I think I startled her with such a random question that afternoon because, although I was active, I had never taken a day of dance or tumbling in my life, and I wasn’t exactly coordinated. It was obvious that she was reluctant, either because she didn’t think I could do it, or I wouldn’t like it I’m not sure. But she didn’t stop me, and now the decision was mine. The next day I told Stephanie that if ( and that was a very big if) I did it there would be one condition: she couldn’t tell anyone. After all, we didn’t want anyone knowing we were cheerleaders. The idea was practically unspeakable.
I spent all night thinking. Even though I wouldn’t admit it, in the pit of my stomach and pushed far to the back of my brain, I really did want to try it out. It was something new and different. On the other hand, it was something new and different. Maybe I’d stay with the sports I’d done since kindergarten, playing with the people I’d known even longer. Cheerleading held too much uncertainty. What if I didn’t like it, or the kids didn’t like me, or I was just really, really bad? There was too much to worry about.
I couldn’t make up my mind, and neither could Lene. We decided we’d go to one practice. Just to watch, of course, to see what this really was all about, and if it was worth a shot. The twenty minute car ride there seemed to stretch on for hours. We sat in the back seat, nervously tapping our fingers and staring out the window, as Stephanie, in the front seat, talked continuously to no one in particular. My nerves had taken over. I imagined a bunch of catty girls laughing at me as soon as I entered. I pictured scenes from the Bring It On movies.
The car parked, and her mom wished us luck. I braced myself for the worst, while hoping for the best. The door swung open and I held my breath.
The ride home that night was completely different than the one there, and much less dramatic. We smiled and laughed, joking about Lene and I attempting dances, unsuccessful, but hilarious.
Looking back on this now distant memory, we overreacted. Cheerleading wasn’t some huge secret, not an embarrassment, and the sport was definitely not as easily done as said, as I quickly discovered. Just one practice in, but I was hooked. And I didn’t care who knew.
